Chapter 3
Snake forays aside, Harry is a remarkably well behaved child - quiet, disciplined, and keeps giving Voldemort food.
“You do not need to give me food,” Voldemort says one day, when Harry gives him some berries. “You do not need to buy my affection. I already maintain that you are a personable child.”
Harry spends the rest of the day glowing like a lightbulb.
***
“Sir?”
Voldemort looks up from the spell he is crafting. He is getting used to looking below navel high now, what with Harry being so small. “Yes, child?”
“Sir, I heard Uncle Lu saying that you’d nabbed me, and I wanted to know if it was true,” Harry said. “But I don’t hate it here! I think you’re nice, and Aunt Cissa is sweet to me, and Draco is pretty too.”
“Uncle Lu,” Voldemort says slowly, making a point to crucio the man, “has a big mouth. I will not do you the disservice of lying to you, Harry. I did, in fact, nab you. There was an accident, wherein you lost your memories, and regressed in age.”
“What’s regressed?”
Voldemort blinks. “Sit. This will take a while.”
***
“So I’m actually fifteen?”
“Yes.”
“And my friends have been bothering you?”
“Endlessly.”
“They… they miss me?”
“I should say so, yes.”
“And I have a crazy godfather?”
“In fairness, his entire bloodline is crazy.”
“And there’s an old man you don’t like.”
“Intensely.”
Harry thought about these facts, and then came to a decision. “Can I go to sleep? Only, my head is hurting now.”
“You may- not here!” Voldemort cries, but Harry had curled into a ball and fallen asleep on the sofa. Seeing her chance, Nagini slugs over and drapes herself over Harry. In the end, Voldemort is forced to leave the room, because Nagini keeps stretching out and encroaching on the sofa.
***
Voldemort is not anticipating Harry’s reaction. He’s not.
The dark lord is fresh off crucio-ing some hapless death eaters,as well as some victims, and is presiding over an evening meeting when Harry comes waddling through. Everyone stops to stare as he approaches the dark lord, and tugs on his sleeve.
“Auntie Cissa says I have to go to sleep now.”
“It is a reasonable hour,” Voldemort agrees.
Harry tugs on Voldemort’s sleeve again, and gestures for him to bend. Lord Voldemort is inflexible, and does not bend to others. Instead he picks Harry up balancing his feet on his knees, and is eminently surprised when Harry gives him a kiss on his cheek, and jumps off with a cheerful “goodnight!”
“Oh I say,” Voldemort mutters, before recovering. “Goodnight, child.” He turns back to the stunned death eaters, and raises his eyebrow archly. “Surely you are familiar with the affections of children? Or have I accumulated a following of the most unloved people in Britain?”
There is a flurry of movement and muttering to bow respectfully and declare unworthiness in the eyes of their Lord, to which Voldemort has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
At least something here can keep his life interesting.
***
Hermione and Ron pace the playground in anticipation. At the early hour, it is deserted, and Voldemort has specifically spelled this muggle play area to repel all others save for themselves.
“Where is that ugly prick,” Ron mutters agitatedly. He’s brought along his old Martin Miggs comics for Harry, as well as his old teddy - the very one his awful brothers had turned into a spider.
Not to be outdone, Hermione had brought with her several junior mathematics books, colouring books, and art supplies. “Ronald! He could be nearby! If you scupper our chances of seeing Harry, I’ll rip your teeth out one by one!”
“You are more vicious than I gave you credit for,” a smooth voice comes from behind them. Ron and Hermione turn to see the now banging looking dark lord, and really, life is not fair, evil people should look like fish or birds. Instead, Voldemort has seen fit to regrow his nose and hair, and now looks like a refined gentleman in his long coat, trousers, and scarf, because fashion.
“Harry!” Hermione breathes, and Harry peers out fully from behind Voldemort’s legs and smiles heartbreakingly, his cheeks dimpling. Hermione abandons all caution and runs to him, pushing the dark lord out of the way to hug Harry, who is grinning like a tiny lizard, for he is loved and cherished by all.
Voldemort stumbles into Ron, and they end up holding each other in a pose reminiscent of a tango, or a rumba. It is unpleasant for all involved.
“Harry, are you alright? Oh, we’ve been so worried!” Hermione smiled through her tears. “Is that man treating you alright?”
Harry nods. “Uh huh. Mister Mort-“
“What?”
“My name has a taboo,” Voldemort explained. “I would rather not bother with the hassle. Mister Mort is easier for Harry, at any rate.”
“Mister Mort says that he nabbed me, and that I was actually fifteen, and that you were my best friends ever, and that you keep bugging him with letters with stuff for me, so I know that you love me lots, so I love you lots too-“
“He has excellent lung capacity,” Voldemort comments.
“He played seeker,” Ron says. “Do you let him fly, or play quidditch?”
“Quidditch! Don’t be ridiculous, as though any child under my care will indulge in such foolishness-“
“Oi! It’s not foolishness, it’s a sport with a long history of-“
“-the earthly point of such an activity, it provides no substance nor import to society-“
“-a noble tradition where men and women squish their nads on sticks in order to experience the thrill of competition and adrenaline-!”
Harry giggled. “Mr. Mort is arguing,” he points out to Hermione. “He doesn’t like quidditch, or brooms. Whenever we go anywhere, he likes to walk, even when it’s raining.”
“Where do you go?” Hermione asked, keeping her voice light.
“Loads of places! We go mushroom picking in the woods, and hare hunting for Nagini because she’s elderly and complains about her old bones, and we go to get scones from the bakery in the village because Mr. Mort says the Malfoy elves butcher the scones.”
Hermione looked deeply emotional and hugged Harry again. “I’m so glad you’re happy, Harry,” she whispers. “You deserve it. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
“Thanks, you too,” Harry smiles.
“Why is she so emotional, is this a womanly issue?” Voldemort asks.
“I reckon so,” Ron replies sagely. “Hey Hermione, give over, I want to squish Harry.”
Harry squeals happily as Ron proceeds to throw him up in ot the air and catch him, before regaling him with stories about Fred and George’s antics, Ginny’s shenanigans in dating, and Sirius’ blood magic to kill Voldemort.
“Is Black really doing blood magic?” Voldemort asks Hermione.
“Yes,” she mutters. “He’s very intent on getting Harry back, killing you, and de-masculating Lucius Malfoy, in that order.”
“Oh egads.”
When it came time for breakfast, Ron pulls out a packet of corned beef sandwiches, which Harry absolutely falls in love with. “Want one?” Ron offers Voldemort, who looks suitably horrified.
When they leave, Harry is several comics and colouring books richer, and he loves that at some point in his life, he made friends who loved him very much, and continue to do so.
“You might not be the Harry we knew,” Hermione had smiled wetly, “but you’re still our Harry, and we will always love you, so, so much.”
Taking Harry away from his friends had been a tearful process, with several promises of seeing them again to the tearful child. Voldemort was then faced with the conundrum of crying teenaged girl, and when did he sign up for this again?
Still, the dark lord counted it as an overall success, as Harry chattered to him all the way home about how awesome he was for arranging the meeting.
And to think that Voldemort had survived the angry muggleborn without breaking into hives.
***
It struck Voldemort that with his new nose and his luscious hair, he was essentially unrecognizable as a dark lord. This put him in the unique position of being able to go out and about without having people running away with him.
To this end, Voldemort requisitioned Jonaquin Avery as his faux-beau and makes him go around with him to tea cafés and dark arts shoppes and introduce him as one Thomas Gaunt, Lord Gaunt, fromerly Riddle, recently returned from doing research in Costa Rica, surely you remember old Tom, he was head boy from our year.
Honestly, Voldemort thought it was a pretty genius move.
Avery, now betrothed to the most notorious dark lord of the age, firmly disagreed.
***
Of course, Thomas Gaunt would run into a seething Albus Dumbledore in Flourish and Blotts. “Tom.”
“Headmaster,” Tom says, with a thousand watt smile. “How lovely to see you. You remember my fiancé, Jonaquin Avery?”
“Lord Avery,” Dumbledore says, turning to Jonaquin, who has been cringing since two weeks. “I had heard that you had managed to woo Tom Riddle out of seclusion.”
“That’s me, Master of Romance,” Avery flinches. “I’d been pining after Tom since our fifth year, and was too much of a coward to do anything about it,” he recites, falling back on the backstory that the dark lord gave him.
“He even bought me a ring,” Voldemort says, and displays the shimmering emerald ring that Harry had picked out for him at a jewellery shop on the High Street, because they looked like his own eyes, and it would be as though Harry would be with him always.
The subtle messaging is not lost on Dumbledore, who looks seconds away from committing murder. Instead, he opts to step in closer, as though examine the ring. “Enough games,” he mutters, his power crackling around him, “where is Harry?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Tom murmurs back delightedly. “He was most keen on the ring, you know. He picked it himself, because he says that it will be as though we will be together, always.”
“You are so far fallen so as to manipulate the affections of an innocent child, whose love you are undeserving of,” Albus seethes. “Harry, even in his state, is more than the man you will ever be, Tom, and he will find a way to break your hold over him.”
“Hold? What hold? Oh! You mean the way he holds my hand when we go berry picking? Or when he puts his little arms around my neck when he gives me a kiss goodnight?”
Voldemort is revelling in the shade of red that Dumbledore turns, but ultimately backs away. “Come Jonaquin, I recall that my young child has requested that I be home for tea today, as he is going to read me the story of the Giggling Grindylow. Headmaster, a pleasure, I’m sure,” he says archly, and drags Avery off.
“I won’t lie, that was pretty amazing,” Avery admits.
“Your awe and praise is noted,” Voldemort replies. “You did well to keep your cool, Avery. Come, I shall buy you your favourite strawberry tart as a reward.”
“You remembered that I like strawberries?”
“Avery, we slept in adjacent beds for seven years, I know most things about you, including that you kept a sock to sin into in the mornings.”
“Argh, I’d forgotten that, trust you to remember, my lord, with your impeccable memory.”
“Sometimes, a photographic memory is a curse,” Tom mutters, as they veer off to get Avery’s promised pastry.
***
Voldemort returns to find Narcissa decorating Harry’s hair with little flowers, and pointedly does not say anything.
He does, however, compliment Harry when the boy runs to him later on for tea time.