Chapter 7
The Potter-Riddle household was buzzing with excitement. The children dashed back and forth, preparing for the grand family dinner that Harry had insisted on hosting. Guests were arriving — and that meant trouble was inevitable.
“I’ve got the dessert!” Salazar announced proudly, balancing a heavily frosted cake on his tiny hands.
“Sal, no!” Erus lunged, but too late. Salazar tripped over his own shoelace, and the cake wobbled dangerously.
“Accio cake!” Voldemort’s voice rang out, and the cake soared into his hand — albeit a little lopsided.
“Nice save,” Harry said, passing by with a tray of glasses.
“Being a Dark Lord has some transferable skills,” Voldemort muttered, adjusting the frosting with his wand.
Moments later, the guests began to arrive. Molly and Arthur Weasley greeted the children with warm hugs. Remus and Tonks came bearing sweets. Sirius swaggered in, already wearing a smug grin.
“Alright,” Sirius declared, dramatically rolling up his sleeves. “Who’s ready for a prank war?”
“Sirius,” Harry warned, “we’re having dinner, not a duel.”
“Can’t it be both?” Erebus asked, eyes sparkling.
“No.”
Dinner itself started smoothly enough — plates piled high, warm conversation filling the room.
“So,” Sirius said, leaning in conspiratorially, “how’s the Marauder training coming along?”
“Sirius!” Harry groaned.
“Oh! I’ve been practicing!” Salazar chirped excitedly. “I even invented a new prank!”
“Oh no,” Voldemort muttered. “This can only end badly.”
Salazar beamed proudly. “I charmed the spoons to scream whenever someone eats pudding!”
“...I’m almost impressed,” Voldemort admitted.
Sure enough, the moment Molly took a bite of treacle tart, her spoon let out an ear-splitting wail.
“OH, MERLIN!” Molly yelped, flinging the spoon across the room. It bounced off the wall, still screaming like a banshee.
“Sal!” Harry groaned.
“Brilliant!” Sirius roared with laughter, clapping Salazar on the back.
Molly’s eyes narrowed. “You, young man, are spending tomorrow scrubbing cauldrons with me!”
Salazar’s grin faltered. “I regret everything.”
After dinner, things seemed to settle — until Ares challenged Erebus to a duel in the hallway.
“Wand or sword?” Erebus asked smugly.
“Pillow fight!” Ares declared, brandishing a cushion like a mighty weapon.
Moments later, feathers were everywhere.
“You are both disasters,” Erus sighed, stepping around the chaos like a war general navigating the battlefield.
From the sidelines, Voldemort stood with his arms crossed, looking somewhere between unimpressed and vaguely entertained.
“You’re just going to watch?” Harry asked.
“I’m studying their tactics,” Voldemort replied dryly. “I see potential.”
“Of course you do,” Harry muttered.
Later that evening, as the guests gathered in the living room, Salazar snuggled beside Voldemort on the sofa, barely able to keep his eyes open.
“Papa?” Salazar mumbled sleepily. “Are we... a weird family?”
“Yes,” Voldemort replied without hesitation. “Extremely.”
“But... a good one, right?”
Voldemort blinked, startled by the question. He glanced at Harry, who was teasing Ares about feather stuffing still stuck in his hair. Erebus was helping Ron patch a hole in one of the pillows. Erus was curled up with a book, completely at peace in the chaos.
“We’re the best kind of family,” Voldemort said quietly, pressing a kiss to Salazar’s forehead. “The kind that always sticks together.”
Salazar smiled sleepily. “I’m glad,” he murmured before drifting off to sleep.
And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Voldemort knew what true peace felt like.
The End.