Hogwarts.
It had been many, many years since he last returned.
The previous time he set foot here was more than fifty years ago.
Back then, he had come to see Albus Dumbledore, humbly requesting a teaching post—hoping to replace the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who had already taught at Hogwarts for fifty years.
He had been willing to dedicate himself and his talents to Dumbledore, to share all he had learned with Hogwarts students, even to conduct research here and push magic to heights never before seen…
But Albus Dumbledore had rejected him outright.
From that day on, he never returned to this school—the first place he had ever called home.
And from that day on, no Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts ever lasted more than a year.
...
Voldemort opened his eyes again, crimson light sweeping across the room.
The already cramped space was now crowded with more than a dozen wizards—his loyal servants—each standing rigid, barely daring to breathe.
"Draco," Voldemort called softly.
Draco Malfoy steeled himself and stepped forward, stopping before him.
"Master…"
"You have done well, Draco," Voldemort said with a faint smile. "Extend your arm."
"Thank you for your generosity, Master," Draco replied, struggling to steady his voice as he rolled up his sleeve to his elbow.
A vivid red tattoo appeared on his forearm—a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth.
Draco let out a stifled cry of pain.
"I have always said that loyalty will be rewarded," Voldemort declared. "Albus Dumbledore is not in the castle—I can feel it. Now is the time for you to prove your loyalty."
"Yes, Master!" the Death Eaters responded in unison.
"I… I'll go out first and check the corridor," Draco said through clenched teeth, still enduring the burning pain in his arm.
He pushed open the door of the Room of Requirement, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.
...
"All clear, Master," Draco whispered after scanning the eighth-floor corridor and confirming there were no patrols.
"Excellent."
Voldemort's serpentine face appeared in the hallway moments later.
One by one, the Death Eaters filed out behind him.
Voldemort reached out his long fingers and lightly brushed the tapestry depicting the troll beating a foolish wizard. His voice was soft, almost nostalgic.
"The scent of Hogwarts… unchanged, even after all these years. Though it would be better still if every Mudblood were purged from this school."
"What are your orders, Master?" Draco asked uneasily, glancing around the empty corridor.
"Gibbon," Voldemort said calmly, "take your men and head toward the Forbidden Forest. Cause as much destruction as you can along the way. When we're finished here, we'll leave Hogwarts by that route."
"Yes, Master."
"The rest of you, follow me to the Astronomy Tower—"
"Who's there?!"
Before he could finish, angry shouts erupted from the far end of the corridor.
Several Aurors in patrol uniforms had spotted movement.
With a contemptuous flick of his wand, Voldemort conjured a thick cloud of pitch-black mist that swallowed the corridor, cutting off the Aurors' line of sight.
"Proceed according to plan!" he commanded sharply. "Until Dumbledore returns, I will not make another move."
A sharp explosion rang out from the other end of the hall—an alarm had been triggered.
The Death Eaters split into two groups along the staircase.
The alarm had clearly alerted Hogwarts' defenders. The group heading toward the Forbidden Forest soon clashed with teachers and guards rushing to intercept them.
Voldemort paid no attention. He led the remaining Death Eaters straight toward the Astronomy Tower.
...
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office not far from the unfolding chaos—
"Tom Riddle!"
Harry Potter broke into a cold sweat the instant he saw the name.
To most people, it meant nothing.
But Harry knew exactly who Tom Riddle was—the name Voldemort had borne at Hogwarts.
And the Marauder's Map never lied.
"Voldemort's here!" Harry seized Jon's arm. "Where's Professor Dumbledore? He has to stop him!"
"Calm down, Harry. Stay calm," Jon said steadily. "Professor Dumbledore has his arrangements. We have ours."
"Then what are we supposed to do?" Harry demanded.
"Our allies should be here any second," Jon said, glancing at his watch.
With a flick of his wand, the fireplace in the Headmaster's Office roared to life.
Two figures stepped out of the flames in quick succession.
Alastor Moody emerged first. His magical eye spun toward Harry briefly before fixing on Jon.
"Hart," Moody said in his gravelly voice, "we moving out?"
"Just a moment. Two more to come," Jon replied calmly.
"Kingsley!" Harry gasped as the second figure came fully into view.
In a single evening, he had already seen two people he had believed to be dead.
"Good evening, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his deep, steady voice.
The flames flared again.
Two more figures stepped from the fire.
The first was a hunched, rather unsavory-looking old man.
Harry recognized him at once—the headmaster of Durmstrang, the Dark Wizard who had led the attack on Hogwarts on Christmas Eve.
The witch behind him was equally familiar.
She had been among those who attacked Grimmauld Place before Christmas—and had supposedly killed "Kingsley."
After stepping into the room, the witch gave Kingsley a slight nod. Kingsley returned it with a calm smile.
"Everyone's here," Jon said, his expression firm. "Time to step onto the stage. Ready?"
"Perhaps I'm simply slow-witted," a portrait on the wall muttered. "Jon, I still have no idea what you're planning."
"You'll understand soon enough, Phineas," Jon said with a faint smile.
"I'm about to play a little dirty with Tom."