Chapter 4
Voldemort meets his match with the dragon pox. It’s not fatal for children - quite the opposite - only giving them tiny purple dots and a fever high enough to make them uncomfortable.
“It will pass, sweetling,” Narcissa soothes the teary Harry. “You must be brave.”
“But it itches so bad, Aunt Cissa,” Harry whimpers. “I’ll try real hard to not itch though.”
Voldemort, who never had dragon pox, but rather had the lesser chicken pox, knows just what to do, and plunks Harry into a bucket of oatmeal. “There, just what Mother Mort recommends for itchy little boys,” he says, gratified when Harry’s discomfort fades.
Rabastan walks past to see a child marinating in a bucket of oatmeal and the dark lord sitting in a nearby armchair, levitating more oatmeal onto the child, and is suitably horrified. “My lord, I love you, but even I must draw the line at cannibalism!” Rabastan declares heatedly.
Voldemort looks up in shock, because Rabastan is actually quite soft spoken, and this is the first time he has heard the man speak quite so loudly, and to him as well.
“I… love you too? Harry has dragon pox, oatmeal baths soothe the itch. I am not about to eat my own ward, Rabastan,” Voldemort replies bemusedly.
Rabastan spends the rest of the day hiding, but Voldemort is surprisingly alright with people who want to defend his kid.
***
Hermione and Ron panic when they hear through their letters that Harry is poorly, and essentially bombard Voldemort with mail consisting of calamine lotion, fever potions, paracetamol, and bubble bath solution.
Voldemort decides on the jasmine scented bubble bath for Harry, because it is a dignified and calming scent - nothing so common as rose, or lavender.
Harry is entranced by the bubbles and suds, and for a while, forgets that he is itchy.
***
The dragon pox is finally waning, and the purple dots on Harry’s face are fading. He is still tiny, and tired, and holds Voldemort’s hand when he drifts off to sleep. For his part, Voldemort is alright with being fashionably late to death eater meetings.
It is nine ‘o clock before Harry’s fever is broken enough for the dark lord to be able to leave. As he walks out, Voldemort bids Harry his customary, “Goodnight, child.”
Harry, sleepy and not completely coherent, mumbles a faint, “night night, papa,” and thereby wrecks Voldemort’s life and mental balance, and causes him to trip over air and smack into the wall outside the door.
Luckily, he is only seen by Atticus Lestrange, who had chosen this day to bring himself out of seclusion and into the wider world.
“I foresaw a great injury befall you, Voldemort,” Atticus says cryptically. “My predictions are never wrong.”
Voldemort clicks his nose back into place and glares at his old classmate. “Any other predictions about me that you would like to share, now that we’re here?”
“Death circles Lord Voldemort,” Atticus breathed, his eyes glazing over, “and never will he rise again, his place taken by a gentler soul.”
Voldemort blinked, thinking of his many, many horcruxes. “I’m not going to die, Atticus. I think I’ve proved that.”
“Death will claim you, Voldemort,” Atticus hummed, vibrating with psychic energy, “and you will go willingly, finally embracing Death as an old friend.” With that, Atticus flopped over, having overextended himself. “M’tired.”
“So I gathered,” Voldemort said dryly, hefting Atticus onto his back, like a sack of beets. “Come on, then. We’re having a death eater meeting.”
“Are you? Have fun, then…”
“You are a death eater too, Atticus.”
“Am I? We’d better go then, or Voldemort can get a bit crabby, you know.”
***
Atticus falls asleep during the meeting, and Voldemort can’t even be mad at him.
He does have to stop Nagini from eating him, though.
***
Harry calls Voldemort some iteration of papa in his more absent minded moments. As he goes to sleep, there is a “night night, papa”, or a “bye papa” when Harry goes for his lessons with Narcissa.
Voldemort corrects him with less frequency each time.
***
Draco Malfoy is in the impossible situation of balancing a tiny Potter on his knee while the child asks him about Hogwarts. It is surreal, to speak about his favourite places, professors, and classes while threading tiny daisies through Potter’s hair. Something about those jewel green bug-eyes are irresistible.
Draco is in the middle of telling Harry about transfiguration when the dark lord walks in, dripping with somebody else’s blood. “Papa!” Harry cries, upset. “You’re hurt!”
There’s pindrop silence that follows, and one does not need to be a legilimens in order to figure out the meaning behind the popping, red, eyes Narcissa is using on him. “It’s not my blood,” Voldemort settles on saying, and vanishes it. “See? I’m fine.”
“I am sure, however, that the dark lord would like a bath,” Narcissa says pointedly, because the man is dripping on her carpet.
“I’ll draw one, I know how,” Harry says, jumping off of Draco’s lap and running over to Voldemort. “I’ll even use the jasmine bubbles that you like, and I’ll tell you all about Hogwarts - we can go together, papa!”
“I’ve already been to school. I did quite well,” Voldemort says, and is ushered into the bath to be regaled by Harry’s questions.
***
“Can I not have privacy?” is a constant refrain in Voldemort’s life. He is sat in the bath, with Harry sitting on the edge, asking him about Hogwarts.
“You have a childe,” Atticus Lestrange replies, floating in. “You have essentially forfeited your right to privacy. Hello small childe.”
Harry giggles at Atticus’ strange, ancient pronunciation of words. “Uncle Atty!”
“Whose blood was it, Voldemort?” Atticus asks, as Voldemort hurriedly rearranges the bubbles to cover his modesty. “I foresaw a great hunt.”
“A few werewolves,” Voldemort mutters. “I was looking for an artefact in Norway.”
“Did you find it? Validate me, please.”
“Yes,” Voldemort sniffed. “Can I please bathe in peace?”
“Certainly,” Atticus allowed. “Come, childe, I shall show you the ancient art of haruspicy-“
“No! You are not showing your entrails and gibblets to the six year old- stop!”
That was how Atticus was accosted by a nude, wet, and unnecessarily loud dark lord while Harry covered his eyes with his hands and giggled in the corner, because papa was yelling at Uncle Atty who had zoned out again.
***
It's not that Jonaquin Avery is entirely opposed to being engaged. No, he is simply opposed to being engaged to Lord Voldemort, his Lord, and wasn't that something HR would think very odd?
“An engagement party, my lord?”
“Thomas Gaunt’s - formerly Tom Riddle's - formal reintroduction to society,” Voldemort replies, “after spending decades doing research into the nature of runic defensive magic in South America.”
“You would need proof of said research, my lord.”
“I have published, Avery.”
When, Avery thinks hysterically, and eventually finds extremely nerdy papers on unspeakably boring topics penned and published by one Thomas Gaunt, né Riddle, who came into the Gaunt title when his unfortunate uncle kicked it in Azkaban.
Harry giggles when Avery whines, and Voldemort puts Narcissa in charge of planning the event.
***
The event is a midnight party, and Harry has bid everyone farewell, with a very sweet “have fun at your old person party, papa!” for Voldemort, who merely thanks him and then glares at everyone who may dare to mention the form of address.
Harry had lost interest in the party when he realized that there would be no balloons, and lots of The Alcohol instead. papa said The Alcohol was Bad, and therefore, Harry stayed far away from it.
Avery actively wants to die when the dark lord holds his hand, and is thinking whether poison or drowning would be less painful when he is steered onto the dance floor.
At some point, Voldemort raises an arch eyebrow at him, and Avery plucks up his courage to kiss the darkest lord of the age. In fairness, it’s not a bad kiss. It would have been better if Avery was not thinking of his own painful demise if he bollocksed it up.
***
Much of Voldemort’s time is spent trying to stop Atticus Lestrange from telling people about the various horrific fates about to befall them. Eventually, he sends Atticus back to look after Harry and play cards with Rodolphus and Rabastan, who are probably bored at home on account of being escaped convicts.
***
Minerva McGonagall is at the party, which is essentially a class reunion of sorts. She wastes no time in approaching Voldemort, casting a muffliato, and asking him where Harry is.
“Why Minnie, I am sure I have no idea-“
“Oh, drop it, ye slippery eel, I know ye have my bairn. If you’ve hurt him, I’ll throw ye into the loch for Nessie’s brunch!”
“He’s fine, good lord,” Voldemort replies, slightly taken aback at the Scottish threats. “Just yesterday, he read to me about the latest adventures of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle.”
Minerva’s expression turns disbelieving. “How did ye get your hands on those?”
“The Weasley boy sent them to me.”
“Ah. So that’s why Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley have been sending care packages out. They have seemed more at ease of late.”
“I wish they would send less,” Voldemort says. “I can take care of the boy, you know. He is six, they don’t have many needs.”
“Sirius Black will be very cross when he finds out.”
“Ooh, will you tell him that Harry calls me papa? I thought it a bit strange, but Narcissa keeps glaring at me when I try to correct the child, so I have resigned myself to it.”
“Thomas Gaunt, you are being deliberately cruel now!”
“Well, yes, that comes with the job, you know.”
“I shall be having words with Ms Granger and Mr Weasley for carrying on with an evil cad such as yourself! Good wishes to you and your betrothed!” Minerva cried, and swept away, leaving a rather confused pair behind.
***
Dear Voldemort,
This is Ron, Hermione is having a breakdown because McGonagall screamed her top off at us for communicating with you and not telling anyone.
Any road, we’re glad to hear that Harry’s recovered fully. In the mood for another date? We’ll spring for snacks.
Ron (and Hermione)
P.S. - Congrats on the engagement, I guess? Are you really engaged? Also, do we call you Thomas, or Lord Gaunt now?
***
Weasley,
If I had a breakdown every time Minerva screamed her top off (and I do not appreciate that imagery), I would be a permanent resident of the Janus Thickey ward.
Harry and I are amenable to a meeting (do not call it a date). I am not allowing children to pay my way, don’t be ridiculous. I am an independently wealthy adult.
I shall meet you and Granger at Piccadilly Circus on July 31st, in time for Harry’s birthday, at 3pm. Ask Granger how to get there, she will know. I will not risk Harry being seen in the wizarding world.
Regards,
Lord Voldemort
***
Harry had forgotten his birthday on account of the Dursleys never celebrating it. Voldemort broke his juice glass when he heard.
“Thank you papa!” Harry squealed when Voldemort wordlessly gave him a My First Potions Starter Kit.
“Happy birthday. This present will help improve your mind. Severus says that the next time around you enroll at Hogwarts, he hopes that you might be better at potions.”
Harry is delighted and spends the day leading up to their trip to see Ron and Hermione either on Voldemort’s lap, helping Nagini shed her skin, or helping Atticus with his divination by bringing him increasing amounts of tea and entrails.
At three ‘o clock, Voldemort apparates them into Piccadilly, where they are met by the teen terrors. There are many hugs and kissies (none initiated or received by Voldemort). Harry, ever thoughtful, gives Hermione hand picked flowers and Ron a small, squished sculpture of his own face made from magical clay. This prompts tears and more hugs, while Voldemort dashes around to avoid the niceness and moisture.
They play with Harry and allow him to buy them ice cream (with Voldemort’s money), and he is very proud of himself for managing a financial transaction.
The dark lord is mildly put out at having to eat ice cream and make nice with a mudblood and a blood traitor, even though he actually appreciates them loving Harry unconditionally. Such things are good for his future heir’s mental stability, or so he has read.
“Why is there an angry dog staring at us?” Harry asks suddenly, pointing at a hulking black dog absolutely wishing death upon Voldemort.
“Oh my god, Sirius!” Hermione squeaks in horror, and Voldemort groans into his hands.
“Mate, just… don’t start blasting, alright?” Ron tells Voldemort. “I’ll talk to him, get him around.” With that Ron gets up and approaches the dog, while Voldemort turns to Harry.
“Did he just call me ‘mate’? Not even Avery calls me that, and we’re supposed to be engaged.”
Harry giggles happily, and goes into transports of delight when Ron brings the dog over to their table. “Hi doggy!” Harry squeaks, and is rewarded as the dog bumps him affectionately with its snout, and transforms into a man, who practically crumbles in front of him.
“Oh, Harry!” Sirius gasps, and there is so much emotion in those words that everyone in a fifty mile radius feels it.
Except Voldemort.
“Do you rather mind?” Voldemort asks archly. “One does not snuggle another’s child thusly.”
This leads to a raging argument about whose child Harry is, with no input from Harry. Hermione and Ron lie to passers by that Sirius and Voldemort are splitting up and that they are having a very contentious time negotiating Harry’s custody, and that they were the other children, but were in boarding school.
Several old ladies commented on how sweet the three siblings were, and gave Harry the obligatory butterscotch that lived in their handbags.
After ten minutes of feuding, both men sat down to simmer, while Ron and Hermione explained to Harry about who Sirius was, and why he was yelling at Voldemort.
“Child, do you recall that I told you that you had been nabbed, and had a previous life?” Voldemort asked.
“Yes,” Harry nodded.
“Well, this belligerent fellow was your godfather.”
“Is! I am his godfather, in the present tense! Harry is the apple of my eye, my very heartbeat! You are a cad for stealing him away and brainwashing him-“
“I did not brainwash him, I literally told him not to call me ‘papa’, and he persisted,” Voldemort cut in. “If anything, he brainwashed me.”
“Oh Harry, I love you so much, I missed you terribly,” Sirius whispered, picking Harry up and snuggling him. “Will you come home?”
“To visit?” Harry asked innocently. “Papa, could we visit Uncle Siri and Ron and Hermione? I can make them the cookies that Aunt Cissa likes.”
Sirius bit down on his disbelief at ‘Aunt Cissa’ and settled for giving Harry another kissy. “Harry belongs with me, he always has!” Sirius hissed.
“Harry,” Voldemort said, “would be distraught at being parted from me and Nagini.”
Harry gasped. “I can’t go away! I have to take care of Nagini! She says that she has old bones that hurt when it rains, and that she needs to teach me how to find the juiciest rabbits. Besides, papa forgets to eat lunch, and I have to give him berries.”
“You’ve got to eat, mate, you’re pretty lean already,” Ron said sagely, pointing at Voldemort with ice cream on his spoon, making the dark lord want to cry.
“He’s doing it again, he’s calling me ‘mate’ again,” Voldemort whinged.
Hermione smacked Ron and stared at both men. “Sirius, you know that taking Harry back to Dumbledore is not tenable. He was just sitting on this whole prophecy nonsense for years, when we could have done something if he’d not assumed and thought he knew best! And Voldemort, Harry has other people who love him - would you stop choking, you love him, just admit it - and it’s not right to keep him from Sirius.”
“How dare you insinuate that I - I would lo- lov-“ Voldemort stuttered, only to be interrupted by Harry, smiling guilelessly at him.
“I love you too, papa,” he says innocently, and shattered the dark lord in one fell swoop. Was this truly the end of Voldemort? Sirius hoped it was.
It took Voldemort several minutes to recover, allowing Harry to fill the time by gossiping about Snape, or uncle Sev, to Sirius and Ron.
“-and then uncle Sev yelled at uncle Atty for stepping into the moongem flowers that he was collecting for the ana’s-the-asia potion-“
“Anesthesia, darling,” Hermione smiled.
“-yeah, the anesthesia! But uncle Atty just told him that he had gone a very strange colour, and went all dizzy, and told uncle Sev that he should watch out for a red haired man, and then uncle Sev threw a snail at him.”
Everyone looked at Ron, who looked offended. “If you’ll recall, I have a ginormous family, most of them who are red haired men! Snape might have to watch out for dad, or Charlie, or Percy for that matter! Hey, you alright, Voldemort?”
Everyone refocuses on Voldemort, who is still staring at Harry like he was the most beguiling thing in the known universe. “Harry.”
“Yes?”
“You realize that I am an objectively bad person.”
Harry stares for a bit before saying, “But you’re nice to me.”
“You know that I essentially nabbed you.”
“Yes, you told me, and then you yelled lots at Uncle Lu for talking about it.”
“I have killed many, many people. Your… your parents.”
Harry blinked at this, then nodded. “I thought about that,” he said, “and I think that I love them very much, because you said once that they were soldiers and very brave, and died to save me. Then later, you picked me up and saved me, and also love me. Uncle Atty says that we can hold a see-once to talk to them, and I can tell them that you take care of me and that I still love them.”
“A séance,” Voldemort said woodenly. “Atticus has been chatty of late, hasn’t he,” the dark lord grumbled, bowing to the logic of the newly seven year old.
“He says things weirdly. Like how he says ‘childe’ and ‘evile’.”
“He does have strange pronunciation.”
“Well!” Hermione says decisively, “Now that we have determined how Harry feels, we can get on with his custody. I propose joint custody between Sirius and Voldemort.”
“Black is a Dumbledore toady, and I for one, am strongly against any Dumbledore exposure,” Voldemort says.
“I’m not thrilled by him either, you know,” Sirius says loudly. “He let me languish in Azkaban without a trial, and he was one of the people that signed off on it! Then he left Harry with those dastardly muggles, who are even today living their lives-“
“Er.”
Sirius stops, and stares at his nemesis. “You killed them, didn’t you.”
“I have read that one mustn’t discuss such things near children,” Voldemort replies lightly.
“Oh give over, my papa used to talk about poisoning Honorius Smith at the dinner table,” Sirius snorts.
“Uncle Sev talks about poison too,” Harry tells Ron and Hermione. “He says that Longbutt may poison himself yet.”
“Longbottom?” Ron asks. “Did he say anything about an antidote?”
“No.”
“Merlin, but he’s a rank slimeball.”
“Ron!” Hermione hisses.
“What! He is!”
Meanwhile, Sirius is staring balefully at Voldemort. “You killed people, for Harry’s sake.”
“Well, it wasn’t a big ask. I was glad to do it.”
“Could you do me a solid and snuff Peter out too?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Voldemort smiles. “I’ll leave him, wandless, near the whomping willow. That way, people can see him, and you can do it in public. Clear your name, and whatnot.”
Sirius blinks. “That’s… kind of you.”
“It’s not for you,” Voldemort frowns, and gestures at Harry. “He clearly likes you. Attested to by the fact that he is even now sitting on your lap and feeding you ice cream.”
“Nmm hmm,” Sirius hums through a mouthful of cold ice cream. Then, using his cold lips to his advantage, he smacks a chilly kiss to Harry’s cheek, making the boy squeal.
“I’ll offer you weekends, supervised,” Voldemort says.
“Weekdays, and you can hang out with me.”
“Harry has lessons on weekdays. Weekends, and you come to Malfoy Manor.”
“Malfoy Manor! My gallbladder has spontaneously combusted! Jackdaw House, weekends.”
“Isn’t that Alphard’s old house?”
“That’s right. It’s nice, on the countryside and everything. There’s a lake with tiny frogs that Harry can catch.”
“Reasonable,” Voldemort acquiesces, and Hermione beams at them for putting aside their differences for Harry’s sake. “Weekends, starting at ten in the morning on Saturdays, and ending at midnight on Sundays.”
The men shake on it, and Sirius ruins the moment by remarking that Voldemort’s hands are warm. “I didn’t expect that.”
“And why not?”
“Thought you were part lizard or something.”
“Snake. Part snake. One is a noble crest bearer of my House and wielder of its own wild magics, and the other is a house pest.”
“My pup is no slimy snake, he’s a unicorn,” Sirius smiles down at Harry, even as the dark lord seethes.
“Can I be a bunny?” Harry asks.
“No,” both men say in unison, and then glare at each other for daring to agree with the other.
It’s not harmony, but it’s something.
***
Voldemort stuns Peter Pettigrew and drops him in front of The Hog’s Head, just as Sirius Black apparates in.
Several hundred people are witness to the resulting massacre, Pettigrew’s shrill confessions, and pleas for mercy.
Unfortunately for Peter, they fall on deaf ears.
***
Sirius is cleared, and is given an eye-watering amount of money and assets form the Ministry as recompense for his unlawful imprisonment.
Sirius wastes no time in vacating Grimmauld Place, telling Dumbledore to suck his enormous cock, you sanctimonious prick, and moving into Jackdaw House with Remus, who comes along just so that someone can cook balanced meals.
Kreacher comes too, but no one can figure out why.
***
Before leaving, Sirius asks his mum’s portrait to scream bloody murder at anyone and everyone, especially Dumbledore, whenever they come in.
Eventually, the Order just meets at the Burrow.
***
The first weekend visit happens, and Remus has kittens because no one told him anything.
He calms down when Harry sits on his lap and tells him about his maths lessons.
***
Watching Harry wade into the pond every Saturday afternoon to catch small frogs gives Voldemort a strange feeling that he chalks up to indigestion.
Ron calls this denial. Voldemort calls Ron a fool, and then goes inside to bother Remus into making him tea.
***
Sirius dies a little every time Harry calls Voldemort “Papa”.
Voldemort tells him that he is being ridiculous, and bothers Atticus until the man comes over to hold a séance.
Atticus comes over with the materials necessary for a bonfire, sacrificial elements for the dead, and also no clothes. Voldemort is used to this, but Sirius has a coughing fit while Harry hands Atticus a large leaf and some string to use as a mini loincloth.
The leaf is not big enough.
Avery, who has been requisitioned to carry the ritual materials, has developed an inferiority complex.
“I hope that my lord has no such great expectations of me,” Avery cringes.
Voldemort blinks. “It matters not. I can assure you that you will be more than fulfilled.”
Translation: Did you honestly think I would let you be on top?
Meanwhile, Atticus had set up the bonfire, and spelled his leaf to be fireproof, for good measure. “Gather around, I am commencing the séance,” he calls, as Sirius, Harry, Voldemort, Ron and Hermione, and for some reason, Avery all gather in a loose circle.
As though puppeted by an external force, Atticus' head is wrenched backwards, and his eyes roll back in his head. Avery tamps down on a horrified squeak as Atticus speaks in a booming voice, so unlike his own absent-minded hum. “I summon unto me the spirits of James Fleamont Potter, and Lily Rose Evans. You are summoned by your blood, your beloved, and your bane! Show us a sign, spirits!”
In response, the bonfire rages upwards, and the resulting smoke turns white. “I feel a male presence,” Atticus breathes. “He is centering on the childe. He is loving, and also screaming, for some reason.”
“James screamed a lot,” Sirius chokes. “He never had volume control. Oh, Jaime!”
“Papa?” Harry asks querulously, from where he is held by Voldemort.
“The spirit of James Potter is still screaming,” Atticus informs them. “If I have to guess, he is probably yelling at you, old thing,” he says to Voldemort.
“Clearly I am not harming the boy, why is he screaming,” Voldemort grumbles. “Oh for the love of Merlin,” he sighs, and kisses Harry’s cheek. “There. Proof that I mean no harm. Stop screaming, Potter.”
“The spirit of James Potter is silent,” Atticus relates to the group. “I sense another presence, female.”
“M- mama?” Harry whispers. “Hi mama.”
“The spirit of Lily Evans weeps,” Atticus growls, “she weeps for her son in the hands of her end!”
“Salazar save me,” Voldemort groans, and picks Harry up to kiss him again. “Hear me, James Potter and Lily Evans! I, taking accountability of my previous actions, do hereby take under my care your son. I pledge to raise him as well as I would a child of mine own blood, share with him my bread, my coffers, and my time for as long as I shall live, which is for a very long time indeed.”
“You have confused the spirits,” Atticus declares. “They are now discussing amongst themselves.”
“Even if they do not give me their blessing, I’m still keeping the child,” Voldemort grumbles, not letting go of Harry’s hand.
“I’m keeping you too, papa,” Harry sings, and hugs Voldemort’s leg, which makes him go an odd fuschia colour.
Atticus ruins the moment by having the wind dislodge his leaf, making Ron jump in front of Hermione to protect her sensibilities. “Hermione, noooo!”
“Ronald, it’s alright. It’s just a penis, nothing I’ve never seen before.”
Ron rounds on his friend. “Oh ho! And whose penis have you seen? Was it Krum’s? I bet it was, the slag, I knew he was no good-“
“It was Fred’s, actually-“
It was only acceptable at this point for Ron to dissolve into incoherent babbling, which he did with gusto. Hermione, a clever girl, is able to put together the words “how”, “when” and “freckled”, to which she replies, “Honestly, it was over the summer, I accidentally walked into the bathroom when the door was unlocked. And no, it was not freckled, Ron, good grief.”
Luckily, Ron’s subsequent screeching is drowned out by the raging fire. “The spirits are asking for who else would speak for their son's safety,” Atticus called.
“Jaime old bean, it's Sirius and Remus, mate,” Sirius yells into the bonfire. “We've got joint custody with the other bloke. Harry's a beautiful kid, he's just perfect.”
“The spirits are pleased,” Atticus confirms.
“We're Ron and Hermione,” Ron says into the fire. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Potter. We're Harry's friends, and pseudo-siblings, I guess.”
“The spirits are approving of you,” Atticus hums. They all turn then to look at Avery, who looks rather put out by everything.
“Go on then, introduce yourself,” Voldemort hisses.
“Oh, er. I'm Jonaquin Avery. I'm engaged to Lord Voldemort,” he flinches. “I guess I do odd jobs for him. Your kid is cute, good job with that,” he finishes weakly.
Just then, the bonfire roars, shooting upwards, before dying out. With it, Atticus collapses, right into Sirius’ arms. “Argh.”
“The spirits,” Atticus whispers shakily, “they approve. They bid their son well, and give him their love. Know that their eyes follow you still, young Harry, and that they are with you in every joy, every sorrow. Blessed are you, childe…” Petering off, Atticus faints gracelessly, the leaf doing little to hide his own blessing.
“Papa!” Harry cries, “Uncle Atty’s fallen over!”
Sighing heavily, Voldemort takes off his cloak to wrap around Atticus’ prone form, then levitates him indoors, where they all gather over tea and scones, because Kreacher will make them submit to manners.
“Does it give you peace of mind, child, to have heard from your parents?” Voldemort asks quietly, balancing Harry on his knee.
Harry nods. “I liked hearing that mama and papa love me still. But papa, we mustn’t do it again, I don’t like that Uncle Atty got hurt,” he says with worried eyes travelling to a still unconscious Atticus.
“It’s very kind of you to think about Atticus,” Sirius smiles. “You’ve got a good heart, Harry.”
Harry smiles, then turns to Voldemort. “Papa?”
“Hm?”
Harry hesitates. “What would you have done if mama and papa didn’t like you taking me?”
Voldemort blinks. “Life, child, is for the living, and I know that you would be happy with me. I would have taken you anyway, and done away with anyone who would have denied me.”
“Creep,” Sirius grouches, even as Harry unleashes a mega-watt smile at his evil papa, who would never, ever, give up on him.
In Harry’s mind, he knows that he is loved by his tetchy, evil, father.