Chapter 8
Harry’s return to normalcy is greeted with mixed reactions, from Draco’s shocked “PO-ttah!” to Sirius’ howl of joy and tacking Harry to the floor, transforming into a dog, and licking his face.
He licks Voldemort’s face too, after which the dark lord borrows Narcissa’s exfoliating scrub while complaining about her “nasty, slobbering cousin licking my whole face!”.
Ron and Hermione break into Dumbledore’s office to floo in, and have their own emotional reunion. Voldemort still has not got used to the sight of the three of them sitting on the couch under a shared blanket, looking like some horrific amalgamate.
Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Harry takes to being Voldemort’s son with ease. “I remember everything,” he explains one night, smiling at his dad. “Why would I be angry at you after all that?”
“Oh,” Voldemort says, because emotion, and watches Nagini coil around Harry in her own version of a hug.
Narcissa is taking the loss of her small, angel baby hard. That is, until she walks into the dining room and sees Harry arranging the flower vase. After that, she picks up where she left off - that is, embroidery. “It is essential if you are to make a good match,” Narcissa hums during one of their sessions. Harry is just happy to nod along, and revel in the gentle feminine presence in his life.
Atticus, somehow, has not noticed anything amiss. The first morning after the change, he waddled down to breakfast, sat down next to Harry, and hummed an absent “Good morning, childe,” and proceeded to drain the teapot to use the leaves to divine with.
Avery is just a tad stymied by his step-son becoming a teenager overnight, but takes it like a lad, and offers to play proper quidditch with Harry, now that he does not have to hold back. “I was the Slytherin captain,” he reveals, “and seeker in my day. I was scouted to play for Wimbourne, but went into law instead.”
“You’re a lawyer?” Harry asks, awed, because he has not considered that someone apart from Hermione can be smart.
“Just corporate law,” Avery winces. “I handle Thomas’ - that is, your father’s - business interests, among other things.”
Harry’s lips quirk up in a smile. “You call him by his name?”
“Well. Yes? I bought him an engagement ring and we hold hands when we go out in public. I think it’s expected.” Avery does not mention that Thomas Voldemort Gaunt also diddles him on a regular basis, because no child wants to know that.
The best reaction to Harry's return is from Snape, who walks in, sees him, closes his eyes, exhales, and just walks back out. This could be because Sirius was there as well, but Snape usually does worse when it has to do with Sirius.
***
“Dad, can I go back to Hogwarts?”
“No.”
“Um. Can I ask why?”
“Dumbledore.”
“So I’m just going to… stay here? Forever?”
Voldemort puts down his book and looks pensive. “You raise a good point,” he concedes. “To the world at large, Harry Potter has been abducted by the dark lord, and is being held prisoner. The only way you can safely re-emerge is to do so very visibly, so that no questions are raised.”
“With a splash,” Harry nods, understanding that they cannot risk their new life and Voldemort’s cover. “How do we make it convincing that a sixteen year old could escape from the dark lord?”
“When I encounter problems that require drastic measures, I tend to seek out people whose minds work in similarly chaotic and dysfunctional ways.”
Which is how they end up at Sirius' house. Sirius' madness is countered by Hermione, who has become a paying guest.
“She's actually not,” Remus whispers to them. “I put all her rent into a savings account for when she graduates,” he says, glowing like a mother hen.
While they are there, Sirius comes up with The Plan To End All Plans. , as only he called it.
“So we need to get Harry back into the world, right? And keep our old man’s shiny new identity squeaky clean?”
“I cannot believe that you just called me your ‘old man’.” Voldemort remarks, horrified.
“Right-o! I have just the idea, listen up!”
After Sirius’ dramatic recounting of his plan, Voldemort leaned back in his chair and frowned, deep in thought. “Your idea is not without merit, Black. Honestly, I should not be so surprised after all this time.”
Harry beams at everyone, delighted at his family joining forces in his name, and thus diffuses the angry spiel that Sirius is about to belt out in his ear-splitting soprano.
***
And so it came to pass that a raggedy looking Harry Potter ran into the middle of Diagon Alley, chased by the very ugly dark lord. He made a brave stand in the middle of the street, and said several noble things.
The papers would report that Harry was joined by none other than Sirius Black, and the sizzling new Lord Gaunt, who Sirius Black hired as an operative against the dark lord. They did battle, and felled the dark lord - who was simply Avery wearing a large robe and bad makeup - when Lord Gaunt tragically spilt his own blood to protect Harry, causing the Dark Lord’s final curse to rebound (off of Sirius’ wandless portego) and hit the faux-Voldemort instead. The dark lord’s body vanished with a shriek, and he was felled forevermore.
Coincidentally, Avery vowed never to travel by portkey ever again, it made his tummy all floppy.
During the subsequent Order of Merlin ceremony, Harry took great pains to explain that he was being held captive by the dark lord, and that it took Sirius’ and Lord Gaunt’s combined efforts to help free him. Lord Gaunt had infiltrated the death eaters and had grown close to Harry, and so it was no wonder that he thought of Harry as his own child.
“Harry is very lovable,” Lord Gaunt insists, as he shows off his shiny new son to the world. It is no small wonder that I came to regard him as my own.”
“My new dad is brilliant,” Harry tells everyone. “He can do cool magic and Sirius says that it’s unfair that in spite of being so old, he still looks slamming.”
This statement is printed in several newspapers, and Lord Thomas Gaunt earns a new title as Most Smouldering Lord of the Hereditary Wizengamot. This does not help Sirius’ blood pressure, but everyone else is in consensus, so they ignore him.
***
Albus Dumbledore has never expected to be sat across from Lord Voldemort, discussing Harry Potter’s course choices.
“Of course, he will be discontinuing divination with that absolute honking waste of matter that you call a teacher,” Voldemort - now Thomas Gaunt - sniffs. Beside him, Harry smiles sheepishly.
“Uncle Atticus has been teaching me loads, sir,” Harry says. “He has me doing advanced haruspicy now. I actually divined that someone would experience a major financial upheaval. Mr. Malfoy got really scared, but it turned out that Uncle Avery just lost his wallet. It turns out that Malfoy’s owl was using it to pad her nest.”
Dumbledore blinks at the wholesome image of Harry and his evil. father cut as they sit together. “Harry,” he says quietly, “my dear boy, what are you doing? This man-“
“I know, sir,” Harry preempts Dumbledore’s emotional speech. “Trust me, I know. Whatever you’re going to say, I lived it. I lived with him, and watched him destroy pieces of himself for me. I held his hand when we went berry-picking. I felt him hold me the whole night when I had headaches and fevers because of the soul-bit. I watched him become friends with Sirius and Remus, and a mentor to Hermione. He tells her that her skirts are scandalous and they’re knee-length.”
“In my day,” Voldemort says, “a girl’s knees were only to be displayed in private, to one’s special companion - not bandied about like the village broomstick.”
“Hermione’s going to be mad that you likened her knees to the village broomstick,” Harry tells his father. “She’s going to give you another book about the cyclical nature of fashion trends and women’s rights.”
“I wish she would stop giving me books,” Voldemort sighs. “Why can’t she be like Weasley and give me food instead?”
“Ron’s a better cook,” Harry smiles, before turning to Dumbledore. “Did I mention that dad thinks that Ron is funny? He’ll deny it, but I’ve heard him snicker at Ron’s stories.”
“Lies and slander,” Voldemort grumbles, but subsides when Harry smiles fondly at him. Ah! The passage of time has made him a soft, wholesome, family man! No one else must know, Voldemort thinks, not knowing that at this point, everyone and their grandma’s portrait knows.
Dumbledore looks troubled, but does his academic duty and looks through Harry’s course choices. “Harry, you’ve dropped divination and enrolled for runes and the NEWT level? This is a highly challenging course-“
“Yeah, dad said that he would tutor me, and that “no son of his would take a daft course like divination from a dubiously sane hack when I have abducted Atticus and keep him in the second bedroom”.”
“It was so easy to abduct him,” Voldemort smiles. “I just dangled some tarot cards in his face and he followed me home.”
“How did Uncle Avery take to living with Uncle Atticus?” Harry asks.
“Avery knows the value of having a tactical seer amongst one’s court,” Voldemort grins, and totally misses the fact that Avery actually thinks that his husband is just taking care of their hapless best friend, because Lord Voldemort does not have best friends, merely allies, what are you smiling at Avery!
Besides, it is endlessly amusing to see Snape try to kill Atticus, only to fail because Atticus always foresees his plots.
Still not convinced by this wholesome family man, Dumbledore asks, “Harry is in Gryffindor - traditionally your House’s nemesis. Do you foresee any issue with that?”
“You know that school houses don’t really matter, right?” Voldemort says wryly. “Besides, its not as though Gryffindor and Slytherin were not regularly whacking their wands together in their twenties.”
“Dad!” Harry goggles. “How do you even know that?”
“Salazar Slytherin left mounds of records about his life down in the Chamber,” Voldemort reveals. “Most of it reads like softcore pornography, honestly. People didn’t have much to entertain themselves back in the day, you know.”
Harry bursts into giggles while the medieval portrait of Slytherin on the wall looks mortified. His embarrassment is not helped when Gryffindor bursts into his frame and makes an enthusiastic gesture that can only be taken one way.
“Sir,” Harry addresses Dumbledore, “I'm really alright. Things have changed, and I love my dad. He's evil, and tetchy, and keeps denying that he has friends, but he's mine. And I'm going to keep him.”
Voldemort chokes on air at thus Succinct summation of his character, while Dumbledore looks dubiously at Harry. “My boy,” he says gently, “are you absolutely sure about this?”
“Positive, sir,” Harry affirms stoutly, and Voldemort has to pinch himself under his robes to feel anything other than a fountain of love and pride and other soft things generally equated with Hufflepuffs.
Unable to change Harry’s mind, Albus lets the pair leave, only for Voldemort to run directly into Ron and Hermione, who had been trying to eavesdrop and had drawn up a study plan, respectively.
“We overheard that Harry was taking Ancient Runes now,” Hermione says enthusiastically. “As such, I have revised his study schedule.”
“Jolly good,” Voldemort says, looking it over, as Harry and Ron hug each other sympathetically at the travails they will go through on Hermione’s new schedule. Still, it is a future to look forward to.
***
Narcissa is none too happy to hear that Voldemort, Avery, Harry, and Atticus are moving away to Gaunt Manor. “Does my lord have to take Atticus as well?” she asks emotionally.
“Why on earth do you want to keep Atticus?” Voldemort asks.
“I like a full house,” she admits softly. “It reminds me of better days of my childhood.”
“I thought you have a sister.”
Narcissa looks at Voldemort, surprised. “I… not Bellatrix, my lord. Andromeda.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Voldemort recalls. “The healer with the changeling child.”
Naricssa quivers delicately. “I have not spoken to my sister in a long time,” she whispers. “She left us.”
“I saw her just the other day when we went to get Harry’s immunizations done. Do you know that he has not been immunized for anything? Not even the most basic illnesses? I have to take him again in a month-“
“Dad, I can go by myself,” Harry smiles, amused at his doting papa. “They’re just some potions.”
Voldemort, or should we say, Worrywart, chafes at this idea, but knows that Harry is correct. “Well. Fine. For the love of Merlin, Narcissa, if you’re going to be sad and mopey about losing family, then you should come to Sunday lunch more often. Black would love to have you, and you can meet your sister and her awful child.”
“You only say that because Tonks changed her nose to look like yours,” Harry grins. “It’s really a compliment.”
“She paired it with Weasley’s red hair, it was awful.”
“And Sirius’ eyes,” Harry reminds him happily, as Voldemort shudders.
“Those would be her normal eyes,” Narcissa says softly. “The Black eyes,” she says, blinking her own silvery-blue ones.
“Your eyes are lovely, mother,” Draco says sweetly. “If going to Black’s house and fraternizing with the enemy makes you happy, then I will support you.” At Harry’s questioning look, he adds, “I am obligated to say that - as Heir Malfoy, I am beholden to my father’s blood feuds, until I can take over and dissolve them.”
“Dad, do you have any feuds?” Harry asks dutifully, turning to Voldemort.
“Several,” Voldemort grins. “Dumbledore - Albus, that is, I have no issue with Aberforth, he was always nice to me. Minerva McGonagall, she called me an eel last week. Walburga Black - but everyone had a feud with her, including her own son. Any surviving Riddles - they’re just salty that I legally claimed the Baronet-“
“Baronet?” Draco asks quickly. “Is that not a muggle title?”
Voldemort blinks. “Yes. It’s just some hereditary title, I am apparently related to some minor muggle prince from way back when, who gave land holdings in Little Hangleton to anyone who helped him in some war or the other.”
“The Gaunts had lands too,” Harry recalls, thinking about the now blooming berry farm.
Voldemort hums. “Yes, the Gaunts were olden mages who helped said prince, and so grateful was he, that he gave them the fen in Hangleton. It was all swell till they started inbreeding.”
“So… you’re descended from royalty?” Harry asks, while Draco combusts.
“Well, yes. It was a long time ago, child, when wizards and muggles actually coexisted and cooperated. Practically Arthurian. It all went south around the dark ages.”
“Wow,” Harry says, enthralled. “You should teach history, dad, it's much more interesting when you talk about it.” Then, “Why is Draco purple?”
“What a unique shade,” Voldemort observes keenly. “Is it due to the royalty bit, Draco, or the coexisting bit?”
“Co- coex- muggle-!”
“A pity that Binns is not more useful,” Voldemort hums, then indulges in a spot of mischief. “Draco.”
“Y- yes m’lord?”
“My gardener is a muggle.”
Harry giggles as Draco falls apart completely, even as Narcissa looks dubious. “Is that wise, my lord, to keep one of them so close at hand? You may be discovered.”
“I was, the first time, and I killed him. Joel Burnham is new, but just as old and crotchety,” Voldemort recalls.
“Mr. Burnham already knows, I think,” Harry muses. “He said to me that ‘yer da is an odd fella’ with them poisonous plants and robes an’ such, but he pays well enough, an’ that’s what’s important - treating a man’s labour right’.”
“Was that your country accent?” Voldemort asks Harry in horror, as his son smiles impishly at him. “Good grief, never do that again, you must enunciate properly at all times, or you may as well be a Weasley.”
At this, Draco comes back to life and sparkles at his Lord And Saviour Of Wizarding Tradition And Whatnot, because nothing was more posh than slandering a Weasley. Draco then drags the dark lord into discussion about class and royalty and such, because not only is the Dark Lord a paragon of dark magic and a descendant of Slytherin, but is also related to Arthurian Royalty, and Draco is going to sop up all of that air of refinement and power.
Voldemort glares at his son, giggling at his plight, and forces himself to endure yet another generation of Malfoys.
***
“Avery, what are you doing?”
Avery and Harry look up from where they were looking at colour swatches. “We’re looking at colours for the wedding robes.”
Ah, yes. Robes. Robes for the wedding. Robes for the wedding that he was a part of. “Yes, of course.”
Avery looks tiredly fond of his fiancé. “I’m going with a dark blue outer robe and pale blue inner. Harry is thinking of a pale purp-“
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“He’s my son, and therefore part of my House. He will wear my colours, being shades of green, and- Malfoy why are you breathing heavily at me?”
“The t- tra- tradition!” Draco heaved gustily, practically clawing to salivate on the dark lord.
“Egads, let go of me-“
Meanwhile Harry is feeling overwhelmed because he is part of a House, with a father, and colours, and rules born of love and not cruelty and control. He is jarred out of this when Avery prods him worriedly and says, “By Jove, but you two have so many repressed feelings. We should do something about that.”
Harry then bursts into tears, because Avery said ‘we’ and not ‘you’, and spends the rest of the evening sitting between his two dads choosing wedding colours.
***
“Since Harry is a part of my House as well, he should incorporate my colours as well!”
Voldemort glares at Sirius. “Your colours are unsuitable for a wedding.”
“Black and gold,” Sirius says, “are elegant and regal. Harry can wear gold with green, and it will make A Statement.”
***
Ron is less than helpful in these matters.
“Don’t look at me, mate, Weasley colours are red and yellow. You’re just lucky you don’t have to wear Uncle Ethelred’s dress robes from the eighties.”
“That’s not too long ago,” Harry remarks.
“No mate, the 1780’s.”
***
“Weasley, you are not wearing that to my wedding,” Voldemort remarks in horror when he sees Ron during the robe fittings. “You are in my employ, and as such, will be clothed properly. Malkin, look at this - stop screaming, woman - can you do something at it? Don’t worry about the cost, just make it stop!”
Ron comes away from the experience with a grudging new respect for Voldemort’s paternal streak, and some new robes.
***
“Oh, I’m wearing navy and gold,” Hermione says with an uncharacteristic blush. “Lupin and Black, don’t you know.”
Harry beams like a lighthouse, because new godsister, heck yeah.
***
Atticus messes things up by bursting into prophecy at tea. “And yea, the House of Black shall see children of fiery, living, hair, bringing much fortune and joy unto this once bereft Great House!”
Sirius stares daggers at a stuttering Ron, while Hermione and Harry have to hold up Atticus, who has, in typical fashion, passed out.
***
“Black, have you appointed Granger as your heir?” Voldemort asks over tea. “Draco has been weeping on my sofa about tradition the whole day.
“Yeah, Moony suggested it, and Helen and Bob - her parents - were a bit weird about it, but once we assured them that we weren’t stealing their daughter, they cooled down.”
“Black, you are making a muggleborn girl with sentient hair the Heir to House Black,” Voldemort says slowly. “She will be Lady Black.”
“Didn’t think you were still on that, Vold,” Sirius frowned.
“First of all, ‘Vold’ is not my name. Second, you phenomenal fool, you are painting a massive target on the girl’s back! She is a muggleborn, she knows nothing of our traditions or politics- eck!”
Voldemort has to choke off his words because Sirius is hugging him, why is he hugging him, his arms are strong and sinewy and he is standing close enough that their pelvises are touching-
“Harry, save me!” Voldemort calls to his son, who just smiles and joins in the hug. Voldemort relaxes a little bit then, because Harry is close at hand, and that means that life is still good.
***
As a result of not having caring parental figures for all of his life, Harry is thrilled to have a dad of his very own.
It is still a bit surreal, and he often has to reassure himself by touching Voldemort. He will sit close to his father on the sofa, and occasionally drop his head onto Voldemort’s unfairly toned shoulder. Voldemort also lets him fall asleep like that, which is, as Hermione coos, ‘adorable’.
Harry also likes to make sure that Voldemort has three solid meals a day, plus tea. Voldemort, whose early life had also seen deprivation, wants to murder everyone who denied Harry food in his life. Unfortunately, he has murdered them already.
***
Harry is new to the idea of extended family, and shows his great love for Sirius, Remus, Hermione, Atticus, Avery, and Narcissa by feeding them inordinate amounts of tea and cakes.
It comes to Voldemort’s attention that Harry is an excellent baker, and hires his own son to bake his wedding cake. “Vanilla buttercream with lemon cake,” Voldemort hums, when Harry asks him about flavours. “Can’t go wrong with Tradition.”
When Harry tells Avery, he smiles cryptically. “Thomas doesn’t like lemon,” he reveals. “He suggested it because I like it. Make him a chocolate cake with vanilla icing. He’ll have a nice surprise when it’s cut.”
Harry smiles, because his dads are being soft for each other, and they have the best relationship he’s seen since Sirius and Remus.
***
“Harry, I’m bringing Ron as my date for the wedding,” Hermione tells him, nodding to Ron.
“Because we’re dating for real, mate,” Ron adds proudly. “Thought we’d let you know.”
“Oh goody!” Harry smiles. “I beat Neville out in the pool! I knew Uncle Atticus’ divination lessons were useful!”
And that is how Harry ends up 30 galleons richer while Hermione is left to question her entire world-view.
***
Voldemort’s - or rather, Thomas Gaunt’s - wedding to his school sweetheart, is a surprisingly romantic affair.
Once again, Narcissa had taken control of decor and various aspects in Voldemort’s life, up to and including his clothes, the flowers, the centerpieces, Harry, and the banquet menu. She presides over the entire affair with aplomb, and several society ladies fawn over her.
Harry is Voldemort’s best man, of course. Atticus is the officiant, much to Voldemort’s horror. “Atticus, come down here, you’ll fall and get hurt,” Voldemort says, trying to guide Atticus away from the raised lectern.
“Ah, but Avery gave me these papers and told me to stand here,” Atticus says.
“I also told you to read the papers,” Avery frowns.
“I did.”
“I meant read them aloud, Atticus.”
“Oh, I see. Dearly beloved…” Atticus’ speech rambles through many sweet childhood reminisces that the three of them shared, the properties of moongem flowers, the superiority of chicken gibblets over rodent in haruspicy, and how he hoped that his childe would follow in his footsteps into divination.
By the end, Voldemort is resigned to having his life (barring the evil bits) be retold by Atticus. “I worry that Atticus thinks that we are in a triad relationship,” Voldemort whispers to Avery. “Notice how he calls Harry ‘his childe’.”
“Neither of us has slept with him though,” Avery whispers back.
“My god, why would you put that image in my mind, what did I ever do to deserve this,” Voldemort hissed back, before turning to his giggling son. “And why are you laughing, you are the childe - I mean, child - of my heart, my god, I am picking up his mannerisms, Avery, I am undone!”
“Do you, Thomas Marvolo Gaunt, take Jonaquin Theodosius Avery as your partner in marriage, to be bound in the eyes of Magic?”
“Yes,” Voldemort says, and good heavens, he needs eye-shades because Avery is beaming at him with the light of a thousand suns.
“Do you, Jonaquin Theodosius Avery-“
“Yes.”
“-take Thomas Marvolo-“
“Atticus we’ve said yes.”
“Oh,” Atticus says, and then puts the speech aside. “Then bring your hands together, so that I may bind them in the manner of our ancestors before us.” Atticus initiates the handfasting ritual, and uses a strip from one of Harry’s baby jammies to bind their hands, because Voldemort is the emotional sort, apparently.
“We now invoke the Magic to bless your union,” Atticus says, and shimmies out of his robes, even as people begin screaming in horror.
“Atticus!” Voldemort cries in dismay, as Harry casually picks a leaf from the bouquet and engorgios it, placing it over Atticus’ pendulous manhood with a sticking charm. He is quite used to Atticus’ nudity, as the man disrobes for every magical ritual.
As Atticus continues to remove his socks, Harry explains to the crowd. “The invocation of magic for any ritual is best done in the natural state,” he preaches. “Uncle Atty taught me while he was doing his divination rituals.”
“The childe has learned well from me,” Atticus smiles.
“Just… hurry it along then,” Voldemort grumbles, and strategically stands in front of him, so that Muriel Prewett is spared the sight of Atticus’ upper thighs.
Atticus performs the rest of the ritual in his usual sloth-like manner, and eventually concludes it by saying, “The handfasting is complete, and your union has been blessed by Magic itself! You may now seal your union to one another with the ceremonial consummation-“
“Not now, Atticus,” Voldemort growls, even as Atticus conjures a bucket of olive oil - extra virgin. “There is the wedding banquet yet.”
“Ah, yes, must get energy for proper consummation,” Atticus nods sagely. “Don’t eat too many carbs or beans though, they cause gas, and it could escape during the-“
“Do something!” Avery squeals, and Vodlemort obliges by putting a silencing charm on Atticus, upon which time there is peace once more.
***
Voldemort spends quite a great deal of time ensuring that no lecherous men dance with Harry - or Atticus - at the reception.
It therefore makes sense that Harry and Atticus are paired together. Harry doesn't mind, because he loves his vague Uncle Atty, and Atticus is always glad to spend time with his childe.
***
“Hallo Malfoy.”
“Evening, Pott-ah.”
“I think we're supposed to dance.”
“Can you? Dance, I mean. Only, I remember the Yule ball in fourth year, and Parvati Patil being very underwhelmed by you..”
“'Course I can, your mum taught me over the past month. She said that weddings are the best places to make good matches.”
Draco blinks. “I wonder if she realizes that you are, in fact, a bloke, and not the daughter she has always wanted.”
“Well don't tell her otherwise, it'll make her sad,” Harry says. Then, “Ooh, Weird Sisters, I like this song.”
“Well, come on then,” Draco sighs, and begins to dance with Harry out of Honour, but is secretly enjoying himself.
In the corner, Narcissa hides, smiling. She may just get her little angel child back after all. Next to her, Lucius dies a little bit, but he is soundly ignored.
***
“The wedding was a smashing success, good job everyone,” Voldemort beams, as the family and family-adjacents settle in his living room.
“It was good fun,” Sirius smiles. “When are you off for your honeymoon? I'll take Harry and Hermione back with me, and they can spend the night before I send them back to school.”
Voldemort blinks. “Honeymoon? We aren't having one,” he says, the same time as Avery says, “Ibiza.”
Voldemort looks at his spouse in confusion. “What? I thought we were going to Harry's parents evening at school tomorrow.”
“No we're not, I got someone to cover for us,” Avery smiles smugly. “We're going sunbathing in Ibiza.”
“I cannot believe that you set me up to have a good time,” Voldemort mutters. “The betrayal stings.”
“I booked the tickets!” Harry chimes in, glad to be part of the Get Dad To Unwind Initiative.
Voldemort looks resigned to having fun, and settles for putting a damper on the afterparty by making Harry and Hermione go to bed early.
***
“Avery.”
“Yes?”
Voldemort sits up from where he was lounging shirtless on his beach mat, on the sand shore of Ibiza. “Who exactly did you get to go to parents evening with Harry?”
Avery smiles, smug at his management skills. “Not to worry, dear. It's all taken care of.”
***
“What in Merlin’s name,” Minerva McGonagall breathes in horror. In front of her stands Harry Potter - not altogether unusual - flanked by the horrors that are Atticus Lestrange and Sirius Black. “Potter, you cannot be serious!”
“He isn’t, for I am Sirius!” Minerva is distinctly unamused by her one-time student’s god-awful puns, and instead focuses her ire on Atticus Lestrange, who stands for everything she reviles - that being a death eater and worse yet, a divination enthusiast.
“Potter, you cannot think that Atticus Lestrange, Lord of House Lestrange, can act as your parents’ proxy!”
Harry is surprised, and turns to Atticus, who has thus far been amusing himself by trying to read the tea leaves in Minerva’s discarded teacup on her desk. “Uncle Atticus, I didn’t know that you were Lord Lestrange. Why did you let dad kidnap you then?”
“Your father frets when I'm not around,” Atticus hums absently, as though he were not the object of Voldemort’s Fret Fests. “He does not do well without my calm and stabilizing presence.”
“You're incredible, Atticus,” Sirius beams. “Never stop being yourself. It brings me such joy.”
“Lord Lestrange need not be here,” Minerva insists, as she prys her teacup out of the man's hands. “He has his own family to attend to-”
“No I don't.”
“Then go and get one!”
“I have one right there,” Atticus insists, pointing at Harry. “I don't need another childe. They younger ones do naught but wee and poo and weep, I like this one.”
Harry sparkles joyously at being claimed as family by yet another person, and shines like gold, good and pure. Minerva throws up her hands and huffs. “Fine! Potter, sit! We will go over your courses and future aspirations.”
Harry perches between Atticus and Sirius, and proceeds to wreck Minerva’s remaining sanity by saying, “I think I want to be a teacher.”
The resulting shockwave floors Minerva to the point that she reaches for a ginger newt to revitalize herself. On the upper levels, Dumbledore’s arthritis flares up, and below in the dungeons, Snape trips over a first year and ends up face planting into a stray toad.
Meanwhile, Harry continues to sit, oblivious and sweet. Atticus also sits, but is simply oblivious.
***
“Dad, you’re back!” Harry beams, looking up from where he has been cutting fruits.
Voldemort smiles evilly as he is enveloped in a hug, content as a frog in a fly café. “Hello. How was your career consultation?”
“Swell, Professor McGongall cried. How was your honeymoon?”
“Equally swell. Behold, I have achieved a tan,” Voldemort said, showing off his bronzed skin. “Avery got sunburnt. Good thing that I anticipated his potato-like affinity to crisp up, and took some skin soothing potion.”
“Aw, you look so pink, pop,” Harry said gently to a wincing Avery.
“Worth it,” Avery mumbled. “I’d like a soak, actually.”
“Shall I run you a cold bath, then?” Harry asked. “I’ll do that, Uncle Atticus is in the kitchen making tea, why don’t you go in and I’ll call you when it’s set up.”
“Atticus! In the kitchen!” Both men startle and rush inside, only to see Atticus mixing some milk into his tea. Seeing the kitchen intact, both men heave a sigh of relief. “What ho, Atticus. How was parents night at Hogwarts?”
“It gave me much joy and merriment,” Atticus hums. “Harry wants to be a teacher.”
“Does he?” Voldemort murmurs. “Well, he has the right temperament for it. I wonder what he'd teach.”
“Defense, surely,” Avery says.
“Divination is always an option,” Atticus hums.
“I always thought that we do not have enough Dark Arts experts,” Voldemort ponders happily.
“He wants to teach kindergarten,” Hermione pipes up, scaring all three men. “Hello, mum sent me over with some sugar-free pudding. Honeymoon went well?”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Voldemort replies. “What did you mean, Harry wants to teach kindergarten?”
Hermione plunks herself down beside Atticus, who immediately plucks some of her hair for a summoning ritual and smiles at his keratinaceous treasure. “Ouch!” Hermione squeaks, and glares at an unrepentant Atticus.
“Apologies. Hair from a maiden head is in short supply, and is integral in scrying rituals,” Atticus defends himself, then asks, “May I please have some pudding?”
“Well, alright,” Hermione grumbles, passing the dish over, “but only because mum thinks that you are cute and vague.”
“I am, that,” Atticus says happily, ladling some into his favourite pink bowl.
To save his own sanity, Voldemort turns to Hermione. “So. Kindergarten teacher?” he asks weakly.
“Oh, yes,” Hermione says through a mouthful of her own pudding, pilfered from Atticus’ bowl. “It’s when magic manifests in children, isn’t it? And, well,” she coughs delicately, “it didn’t go so well for Harry.”
The conversation comes to an abrupt end when Voldemort looks murderous and causes all of the glassware in the kitchen to explode.
***
“Sorry,” Voldemort mutters insincerely, as he clears away the glassware later, once he has calmed down.
Hermione looks unimpressed as Atticus combs through her hair to comb out the shards of glass embedded in it, no doubt harvesting some more hair for his obscure rituals. Really, she should have realized when he had danced toward her with the comb in hand. “Well. It’s not as though Ron and I haven’t entertained the same thoughts from time to time.”
“The nerve of those dead people,” Voldemort muttered sourly, putting the dishes back in the cabinet, “harassing my son.” At Hermione’s dubious glance, he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I am aware of the irony of me saying that.”
“Fred and George tried to rig a Filibuster’s Firework to the Dursley’s fireplace,” Hermione reveals. “Only, their mum confiscated their stash the day before.”
“Hm, arson,” Voldemort muses. “I wonder if they’d like to be death eaters.”
“I doubt it,” Hermione sniffs. “Although, you’d probably get on like, well, a house on fire.”
They spend some time guffawing, at which point Harry comes down and stares. “It’s always a bit disturbing when you two are laughing at the same thing,” he says, and turns to Avery. “Bath’s ready, pop.”
As Avery wiggles upstairs to the cool tub, Voldemort clears his throat. “So. Harry. Your friend tells me that you wish to be a teacher of kindergarteners.”
“Oh, yes,” Harry replies, surprised. “I just- I thought that it would really make a difference, you know,” he says, with a noticeable effort at glibness before giving up and turning to face Voldemort. “It’s just that - sometimes, I think, what if someone have told me about magic before Hogwarts. What if someone had come to tell you? We might have had such different lives.”
Better lives, went unsaid.
But what was unsaid would never be said, because Voldemort explodes the silverware this time witht he sheer force of his anger and rage on his child’s behalf.
***
Later, when Harry is visiting Draco to ostensibly do their career planning sheet together, but in reality to hold hands and smooch, he voices his thoughts again. He neglects to observe Snape in the far armchair, keenly listening to Harry’s observations about children being introduced to magic.
***
“It makes a difference,” Snape says quietly, when Harry goes to the kitchen. Wordlessly, he hands Harry a vial of silvery, glowing memories and disappears back into the shadows.
***
Later that evening, Voldemort finds Harry crying in front of a pensieve, with Ron and Hermione hugging him, as he relives the memory of his once young mother, so full of love, and life, and hope.
Voldemort can never look at Severus the same way, but it is with more respect, if only for how he gave up a bit of himself for his son.
***
He does blow through a wall later, though, because Petunia was in a memory, being horrid.
***