Chapter 5
Later that day, Harry decided that some fresh air might calm the chaos — a tragic miscalculation.
The children had been let loose in the garden, and predictably, things escalated almost immediately.
“Uncle Paddy says you’re not a real Marauder until you’ve staged a proper prank war!” Ares announced proudly, sprinting across the yard with a bucket of suspiciously pink water.
“Does he now?” Harry muttered grimly.
“FOR GLORY!” Erebus bellowed, leaping out from behind a bush and flinging a water balloon directly at Ares.
The balloon struck him square in the chest, exploding in a burst of shimmering, rainbow-colored liquid.
“MY SHIRT!” Ares shrieked, staring down in horror as his clothes rapidly turned neon pink. “I LOOK LIKE A CANDY FLOSS!”
“It’s war now!” Ares declared, grabbing his bucket and charging after Erebus.
Salazar, meanwhile, had opted for a sneakier strategy — building an elaborate tripwire system out of sticks, string, and what appeared to be Hermione’s best yarn.
“Sal,” Harry called, watching his youngest carefully arrange leaves to disguise his trap, “what are you doing?”
“Winning,” Salazar replied simply, then grinned like a goblin.
Sure enough, moments later, Sirius — gleefully tossing prank supplies from the sidelines — tripped over Salazar’s creation and landed flat on his face.
“YES!” Salazar punched the air in triumph.
“You little gremlin!” Sirius groaned, spitting out grass.
“Papa says that word suits me,” Salazar declared proudly, skipping away.
Meanwhile, Voldemort — who had been quietly reading on the porch — suddenly found himself the target of a rogue water balloon. It struck him squarely on the shoulder, turning his robes a garish shade of green.
Voldemort froze. Slowly, he set his book down.
“Oh no,” Harry muttered. “Boys, you’ve done it now.”
Erus, still holding the empty balloon in his hand, stared at his father in abject horror. “I — I was aiming for Uncle Paddy!”
“Run,” Harry advised.
“RUN!” Erebus screamed, grabbing Erus and bolting for the garden gate.
For a man known for striking fear into the wizarding world, Voldemort had an unsettling talent for vengeance. With a flick of his wand, jets of enchanted water burst from the ground, drenching the children as they scattered, shrieking with laughter.
“That’s cheating!” Ares yelled, slipping on the wet grass.
“I am Lord Voldemort,” Voldemort called after him smugly. “I never play fair.”
By the time Mrs. Weasley arrived to round them up for dinner, the garden looked like a swamp, Voldemort’s once-dark robes were blotchy and multicolored, and Sirius was still trying to wash glitter out of his hair.
“I’ll never be clean again,” Sirius moaned.
“You’ll survive,” Remus said dryly, tossing him a towel.
“Papa won!” Salazar announced proudly, climbing onto Voldemort’s shoulders like a victorious general. “He’s the King of the Prank War!”
“I was the Dark Lord,” Voldemort muttered to himself, looking up at Salazar, “and now I’m a human jungle gym.”
Harry came up beside him, grinning. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Voldemort huffed, but his arm wrapped securely around Harry’s waist as they herded their chaotic family back inside.
“Come on,” Harry said with a smile. “Dinner’s waiting.”
And as Voldemort looked around — at his soaked, glitter-covered children laughing and teasing each other, at Sirius dramatically pretending to limp,
The next evening, Harry found himself attempting the impossible — putting childrens to bed.
"Story!" Salazar demanded from his spot under the blankets, clutching his stuffed dragon tightly. "I need a story!"
"You've had three stories," Harry reminded him, tucking the blankets around him.
"But none of them were good ones," Salazar argued dramatically.
"Yeah!" Ares piped up from the other bed. "We need one with explosions or trolls or — or a wizard duel!"
"You’re supposed to be winding down for sleep, not plotting a remake of the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry sighed.
“Papa tells really good scary stories,” Salazar chimed in, eyes wide with admiration.
“Of course he does,” Harry muttered. “He’s literally the scariest wizard in history.”
“Was!” Voldemort’s voice called smugly from the doorway. “Now I’m apparently a bedtime storyteller.”
“Please, Papa?” Salazar begged, clasping his hands under his chin like he was about to propose marriage.
“You won’t sleep,” Harry muttered.
“We never sleep anyway,” Erebus said from his bunk. “Might as well go out with a bang.”
“Fine,” Voldemort sighed dramatically. He entered the room with the air of a man preparing to deliver a dramatic monologue at the theater. “Once upon a time... there was a terrifying wizard who struck fear into the hearts of all.”
“That’s you!” Ares grinned.
“Shh!” Erebus hissed. “I wanna hear this!”
Voldemort smirked. “This wizard was known across the world for his cunning, his power... and his unstoppable rage when someone interrupted his tea time.”
“Uh-oh,” Ares whispered.
“One fateful day,” Voldemort continued, “a foolish wizard attempted to prank him —”
“That’s Uncle Paddy!” Salazar gasped.
“— and dumped glitter,” Voldemort said with disdain, “all over his robes.”
The children shrieked with laughter.
“Oh no,” Erebus choked. “The horror!”
“But the terrifying wizard got his revenge,” Voldemort finished with a smirk. “The prankster woke up the next morning bald — with the words ‘I am a sparkly goblin’ permanently glowing across his forehead.”
“That’s genius!” Ares gasped.
“I think we’ve had enough bedtime villainy for one night,” Harry cut in, trying — and failing — to keep his face straight. “Sleep now.”
“Wait!” Salazar called out. “You didn’t say what happened to the terrifying wizard!”
Voldemort paused dramatically. “Oh, he settled down, married a brave and handsome hero, and ended up being tormented by four tiny goblins disguised as children.”
“That’s us!” Ares crowed.
“Unfortunately,” Voldemort added dryly, “they never let him sleep again.”
“Best story ever,” Erebus announced proudly, snuggling under his blankets.
Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “Alright, lights out. No escaping, no sneaking downstairs for biscuits, and no wizard duels in the hallway.”
“Yes, Dad,” all four chorused in suspiciously innocent tones.
“Goodnight, Little Princes,” Voldemort added quietly, surprising Harry with his soft tone.
“Goodnight, Papa,” came the sleepy replies.
As they stepped out of the room, Harry leaned against Voldemort’s shoulder with a tired smile. “You know... you’re a terrible influence.”
“I know,” Voldemort replied smugly. “But they adore me.”
“Yeah,” Harry murmured, glancing back at their peacefully sleeping children. “They really do.”