-January 5 1984-
The Dark Lord’s Castle
Voldemort wished he’d never agreed to this. Narcissa Malfoy was a monster, and if Voldemort had to sit and listen to her talk about the different stores and places to go to buy all of the baby materials Voldemort needed, he was quite literally going to explode. It had been exactly two days since Voldemort had brought Little One to the castle and he was still adjusting to the fact that he was now an Inferius, which made it the perfect time to stock up on the few things that Voldemort didn’t already have.
Voldemort had prepared the castle for his child ahead of time, so the castle was already child-proofed (as child-proofed as the Dark Lord’s Castle could be, anyway) and Voldemort had made a room for his child in his personal wing. (Voldemort was quite proud of that room, actually. It was designed with a Fairy Garden in mind because Voldemort knew that his child felt most at ease in nature.) The only things that Voldemort did not have for his child were baby clothes.
Voldemort planned to take his child shopping after he took him from the dastardly muggles, however his plans were changed when he killed the muggles in a fit of rage after they’d murdered his child and Voldemort was forced to bring him back. Because of this, Voldemort had no clothes, toys, nor books suitable for his son.
Voldemort had been forced to transfigure an old robe of his into clothes for Little One to wear in place of the bloodied clothes he’d been murdered in. This was not a sustainable solution, however, which led to Voldemort’s current predicament.
He’d been forced to talk to Narcissa Malfoy and ask for her advice. With Little One’s new status as an Inferius, he could not take the toddler into a muggle store as he’d intended. (Muggle so that his child could be eased into his life of luxury slowly) Thus, Voldemort needed to figure out which magical stores would have the things he needed, and the only person Voldemort felt remotely comfortable talking about this with was none other than Narcissa Malfoy.
And he was currently regretting this decision with a passion.
“---I would not suggest, of course, going to Miss Berkle’s Baby Shop, My Lord. She has been disgraced by her family for being caught with a mudblood!” Narcissa spoke, and Voldemort had not heard the first part of her rant. “I can only imagine how horrified her family was! Yes, Miss Berkle is not a suitable place to buy clothes for young ones.”
Voldemort forcibly reminded himself that he needed to do this for his child. Remaining polite and courteous with Narcissa would mean getting the best and most helpful tidbits of advice on how to raise his child, and if she got along with Little One, then he’d also have a good babysitter on hand. Knowing, however, was very different from doing, as sitting and listening to gossip was almost as difficult as becoming a Dark Lord.
“So where would you have me go?” Voldemort asked, subtly reminding the Malfoy matriarch of her task.
Narcissa hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “I would suggest my personal tailor.” Narcissa finally replied. “She can work with discretion as well as create fantastic clothing.”
Voldemort nodded. “Please, send her in right away.” Voldemort said, standing up from his chair. He was grateful this nightmare was over! Voldemort vowed to never do this again, lest he lose what sanity he had left.
“Of course, My Lord.” Narcissa bowed. She then paused. “If I may, My Lord? Why are you in need of children’s clothes. Have you found an heir?”
Voldemort smirked. “I assure you, Lady Malfoy, that is none of your concern.”
Narcissa nodded respectfully, and with another bow, she left the drawing room. Voldemort could not withhold his smile. Finally, things were starting to go right! He made the trek across his large Castle to his personal wing. He walked swiftly to Little One’s door and smiled gently as he opened it.
Little One was sitting in a huddled ball on the bed swing, a hand lazily tugging at the stitches in his neck. Voldemort frowned at the sight and walked over to where his child sat. He gently pulled the hand away from the stitches, ignoring the light flinch he received in response.
“Dear heart,” he scolded. “You cannot pull those out. They are keeping you safe.”
Voldemort knew that Little One was still adjusting to being an Inferius, and he knew that he was also adjusting to his change in guardianship. Changing from murderous, abusive muggles to caring father-figure was quite drastic, and adding the change from living to not-quite-dead and Little One was overwhelmed.
Little One whimpered softly and Voldemort could see him lean over towards him subtly. Voldemort wrapped his arm around Little One and pulled him gently into his lap where Voldemort began to gently card his fingers through his hair. Little One leaned into his hand and his eyes fluttered shut.
Voldemort was struck by the domestic scene and the simplicity of it. Voldemort had never thought that he’d enjoy a domestic life, never imagined that being a father would hold any appeal to him. Yet, in this very moment, holding his child close and sitting in the peaceful silence, Voldemort had never felt more content. He found himself wishing he’d found Little One sooner. A small part of him grieved the moments Voldemort would never have with his child---the first bout of accidental magic, the Hogwarts letter arriving on his eleventh, the first crush, the first date, graduation---but another part of him was secretly grateful that Little One was eternally young. Now his precious would never leave him, and he could have these simple, domestic moments for the rest of his immortal life.
The moment was broken, sadly, by the pop of a House Elf. The elf squeaked at the intrusion and began twisting her ears anxiously. “Madam Liftle be arriving for Dark Lord,” the elf said nervously. “She be bringing cloths for Dark Lord’s Inferi-Baby.”
Voldemort waved the elf away and stood, carefully setting Little One down on the mess of cushions and blankets on his bed swing. “I will be right back precious, don’t fret.” he cooed. He cast a quick spell that would take all the necessary measurements and walked swiftly to the Greeting Hall where the tailor was.
Madam Liftle was a stout woman, in her mid to late fifties. She stood with an air of stobbiness that was usually reserved for his most stuffy Inner Circle members. When she saw him, she lowered into a deep curtsy, the bags of cloths and materials floating conspicuously behind her.
“It is an honor to be of service to you, My Lord.” the woman said with a haughty tone.
Voldemort nodded. “I have the measurements,” he said stiffly, waving his hand so that a sheet of parchment floated to her with all the measurement of Little One already written down on it. “I require fifty sets of clothes for a child of that size. I require them to be comfortable yet elegant. Something that the child can both play and eat in and still remain dignified. Will that be a problem?”
“No, My Lord,” Madam Liftle said sharply. “I shall have them ready for you momentarily.”
Voldemort nodded briskly. “When you have finished, call a House Elf. The elf shall take the clothes to me and give you your payment.”
He then turned around, not giving the witch the chance to refuse. Voldemort had better things to do then sit around and watch a witch do her job. Namely, spending time with his child. When he entered Little One’s room, the child was once again picking at his stitches. Voldemort withheld a sigh.
“Darling,” he said softly. “What have I said about those stitches?”
Little One flinched slightly at Voldemort’s words, and Voldemort was once again filled with rage at what those monsters had done to his child. He sat down next to Little One on the bed swing and cupped his child’s cheek with his hand, forcing the Inferius to look at him.
“If you pick at them, you will get hurt,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Do you understand?”
Little One shifted ever so slightly before he whispered softly, “Sorry Papa.”
Voldemort felt his insides warm at the title and he could not stop the fond smile from spreading across his face. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead before he pulled away, thumbing his cheek gently. He opened his arms once more and Little One eyed them for a moment before he crawled into Voldemort’s embrace.
Voldemort sighed contently, a feeling of peace like none other washing over him as he held his child in his protective grasp. While Little One was here, in his arms, nothing could hurt him. He found himself thinking about his own parents again. This time, however, there was no hatred towards them, only pity. Voldemort pitied his parents for missing out on this. The love for a child was a love like no other, and Voldemort could not fathom how his parents could give up on it. Voldemort knew deep down that he would do anything to protect Little One.
They sat together for a long time, Little One slowly dozing off into a peaceful sleep in his arms, while Voldemort remained vigilant, never taking his eyes off his sleeping child. Here in this moment, nothing mattered except his son.
(Later, Voldemort would awake to the sight of several folded clothes sitting on the grass by the door. He would help his son try them on, only to find that all of the collars were too high and rubbed against Little One’s stitches, which caused the newly-turned Inferius to scratch at them relentlessly. Voldemort would end up resizing all of them rather than deal with Narcissa Malfoy’s gossip and Madam Liftle’s holier-than-thou attitude.)
(Much, much later, Voldemort would realize that Little One only wore one set of clothes, only taking them off so that they might be washed. A pair of beige dress shorts with a white dress shirt and suspenders became the common ensemble that Little One wore, often paired with knee high socks and children’s dress shoes. All of the clothes were flashy enough for someone of Little One’s status, but comfortable enough for the child to play in.)
But for now, Voldemort would simply sit with his child in a garden full of flowers rustling in the artificial breeze.