Late at night, when the Burrow had finally fallen silent, Rowan slipped out of bed and vanished.
High above the crooked rooftops, he raised a hand.
"Reveal the path… Tom Riddle."
The tracking charm unraveled in midair and fizzled out.
"…Anti-tracking wards," Rowan muttered. "Figures."
Since the Azkaban breakout, the Ministry had never stopped hunting escaped Death Eaters. Voldemort and his inner circle were obviously carrying layered counter-curses.
Rowan didn't look bothered.
"No problem. I've got better toys than this."
He flicked his wrist.
Four sheets of light, blue, white, red, and black, spun into a circular sigil beneath his feet and spread outward like ripples in water.
"Fourfold Locator Array."
A Puritan-era seeker spell.
In the hands of an ordinary wizard, it could sweep a few kilometers.
In Rowan's hands, it blanketed all of Britain.
A second later, his eyes narrowed.
"…Of course. That's exactly where he'd hide."
He vanished again.
When he reappeared, he was hovering above a massive estate surrounded by iron gates and peacock gardens.
Malfoy Manor.
Invisible, he drifted through walls and down into the grand hall.
And there Voldemort was.
Alive.
Fully restored.
Rowan studied him with mild surprise.
"So he revived early."
Originally, Voldemort had refused to resurrect until he could steal Harry's blood, believing only that could break Lily's protection.
But too many Horcruxes had already been destroyed.
Too many plans had failed.
He'd panicked.
If he waited any longer, Dumbledore might find and erase him permanently.
So he'd rushed the ritual.
Used Nagini.
Used a controlled Muggle.
Pulled himself back into flesh.
Then he'd turned the Dementors, broken Azkaban, freed the Death Eaters, and begun rebuilding his empire in the shadows.
Rowan drifted higher, listening.
At the long table below, the Death Eaters were gathered.
Lucius Malfoy sat near the front.
"My Lord," Lucius said carefully, "the Quidditch World Cup is tomorrow. Harry Potter will definitely be there. Should we seize him?"
Voldemort turned his head slowly.
"Not yet."
His voice was silk wrapped around a blade.
"Wizards from all over the world are arriving. The Ministry is on full alert. Aurors everywhere. Identity checks. Wards. Surveillance."
He tapped the table.
"We wait until the Cup ends. Until they relax."
Then his gaze slid to a pale blond boy trembling in his chair.
Draco Malfoy.
"I hear the Triwizard Tournament is being revived," Voldemort said softly. "Excellent."
He stepped behind Draco and placed a cold hand on his shoulder.
"You'll kill Harry Potter for me. That will be your first task."
Narcissa shot to her feet.
"My Lord, he's just a child—"
Lucius's face went white.
Voldemort cut them both off.
"When I was his age, I had already killed."
He leaned down beside Draco's ear.
"If you fail, it means you have no value to me."
Draco's lips trembled.
"I… I'll do it."
He looked like he might collapse.
Rowan watched from the rafters, unimpressed.
"So that's the timeline he's going with."
Voldemort returned to his seat.
"Our real target is the Ministry. Within a year, I want it under my control."
Rowan sighed.
"…A year is too slow."
Originally, he'd planned to let Voldemort stir chaos, then swoop in as the hero, climb the Ministry ladder, and take control from inside.
But waiting a year?
No thanks.
He turned away from the ceiling.
A new idea had just finished forming.
A plan that could hand him control of the British Ministry almost overnight.
And from there…
The entire wizarding world.
A plan that would rewrite how wizards and Muggles coexisted.
It was aggressive.
Violent.
Reckless.
And completely within his ability to carry.
Step one was simple.
Kill Voldemort.
So Rowan waited.
When the meeting ended.
When the Death Eaters scattered.
When only Voldemort and Nagini remained in the hall.
Then Rowan let his invisibility drop.
"Good evening, Voldemort."
Voldemort froze.
Slowly, he turned.
Rowan stood a few meters away, hands in his pockets, smiling.
"…Who are you?"
Voldemort wasn't panicked.
Just curious.
Aside from Dumbledore, no wizard alive scared him.
"You already know me," Rowan said lightly. "Rowan Mercer. The kid who graduated early."
Voldemort's eyes sharpened.
"Ah. You."
He studied Rowan with open interest.
"You revealed yourself. That means you're not here to report me."
A thin smile crept across his face.
"So… are you here to join us?"
Rowan tilted his head.
"…No."
And smiled wider.
...
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