A Graveyard Reunion

-June 25 1995-
Riddle Manor

Harry wakes up and panics for a solid minute before the memories of yesterday hit him. “What the actual fuck happened yesterday…?” Harry mumbles to himself as he looks around the room he finds himself in. It’s fairly modest, but still ten times more luxurious than anything the Dursley’s may have owned. Harry lays in a queen sized bed, his bare feet brushing against the satin sheets gently, and his glasses rest on an otherwise empty bedside table. The room is large, and to the right of him, pressed against the emerald painted walls, sits a giant dresser. A Hogwarts banner hangs from the wall above the bed, and a broom rests against the wall in the corner. Harry leans back to take it all in and jumps when his hands brush something soft. He turns around to see a plush teddy bear sitting next to his pillow.

A knock startles him out of his shock. Harry turns his head just in time to see Lord-fucking-Voldemort peek his head in. His eyebrows draw up in surprise and a fond expression flits across his face. “Good morning, precious! I was just coming to wake you up!” Lord-fucking-Voldemort says pleasantly. “Breakfast is ready. Or, rather, brunch, I suppose.”

“Er…” Harry says, because honestly, he has no idea how he’s supposed to respond to the situation he’s found himself in. What does one say when their parent’s murderer offers you breakfast? “Thank… you?”

That seems to be the correct answer, because Lord-fucking-Voldemort honest-to-God beams at him, and Harry is at a loss. Sure, what happened yesterday would possibly explain the strange behavior, but Harry was still half convinced he dreamed the whole thing up, and any second now he was going to wake up to Ron’s insistent shaking and demands to hurry up so he can eat.

“Hurry up and get dressed, I want you to meet someone!” Lord-fucking-Voldemort says. (Harry should probably stop calling him ‘Lord-Fucking-Voldemort’, because Harry’s pretty sure said megalomaniac knows how to read minds)

“Um, I don’t have any… clothes?” Harry says awkwardly, his hand coming up to fiddle with his hair nervously. Lord-fucking-Vol---Voldemort eyes hims curiously, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asks, opening the door further to enter. Harry’s eyes widen even more at the sight of the most infamous Dark Wizard in all of Britain history walks into the room wearing a pink, frilly apron. He walks over to the dresser and opens the doors to display a full wardrobe. “All of your clothes are in here.”

“Those are mine?” Harry asks, his mouth dropping in shock.

Voldemort’s face crinkles with fondness as he walks closer to ruffle Harry’s hair. (Harry is relieved to see Voldemort didn’t comment on his slight flinch.) “Of course they are,” Voldemort says. “I bought them for you. For your homecoming.”

And just like that, the easy atmosphere disappears. Ice floods his veins as Harry freezes. Homecoming…? Does that mean… does that mean Voldemort had planned this? To take Harry? To claim him as a… a what? An heir? A son? Harry was so confused and incredibly wary. He had no idea what this wizard wanted from him, but he knew he needed to tread carefully. Voldemort had no problem murdering his parents and hundreds of other people. Unless Harry wanted the same fate, he needed to be very cautious.

“Thank you…” Harry mumbled softly, unsure of how exactly he should proceed. He looked up and managed to see a slight frown on Voldemort’s face as he looked at him. Harry tensed, afraid he’d done something wrong.

“Precious? What’s wrong?” Voldemort asked, looking him over with concern. “Are you alright? Does your head hurt? You did hit it pretty hard yesterday…”

“Yes,” Harry said before he shook his head when Voldemort’s eyes widened considerably. “I mean no! I mean… I’m just… confused.”

Voldemort slumped with noticeable relief. “Oh, I see,” he said. “What are you confused about? Tell me, I can help.”

“Why… why are you being so nice?” Harry asked, almost instantly regretting the question, however, when Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “I mean! Everyone says that you’re really dangerous and that you want to kill me! I’m just really confused and trying to understand…”

“I thought we went over this yesterday, little one,” Voldemort said, a forced grin on his face. Harry winced when the arm wrapped around his shoulders tightened slightly. “I am your father, you are my son. I am merely doing what any good father would do. Nothing more to it.”

Harry wanted to press more, but one look at the tense figure of Voldemort convinced Harry not to. Instead he nodded and forced himself to relax. “Oh… thank you, then.” Harry said, hoping to calm the homicidal Dark Lord before he took his anger out on him.

It seemed to work.

Voldemort loosened his rigid form and a genuine smile flashed across his face as he bent down to press a kiss to Harry’s temple. Harry stifled a gasp at the tender gesture. Harry had seen Aunt Petunia give Dudley forehead kisses all the time, but he had never had one. Not once in his life. Not even Molly gave him forehead kisses. Harry felt overwhelmed by the sudden influx of emotions rising in his chest.

Voldemort’s previously relaxed figure tensed once again when he caught sight of the tears pooling in Harry’s eyes. “Harry? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“N-No! No, it’s just… I’ve never… no one’s ever…” Harry stuttered, unsure of how to say, ‘no one’s ever cared about me enough to give me forehead kisses before’ without sounding like a sad, abused orphan.

Voldemort’s eyes softened, and understanding flashed in his crimson gaze. “Don’t worry, dear one,” Voldemort said, ruffling Harry’s inky black hair once again. “I will shower you with all the affection you deserve.”

Harry had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, so he just nodded silently. Voldemort seemed to take pity of Harry’s shell-shocked state, as he gave Harry’s shoulder a brief squeeze before he stood up and brushed the invisible dirt off his frilly apron.

“Get dressed, little one,” Voldemort said. “Then come downstairs for brunch. I made waffles.”

And with that, Voldemort---known murderer, sociopath and megalomaniac---walked out of the (Harry’s?) bedroom, his apron billowing as he walked. Harry was still staring at the door when he realized that minutes had passed since Voldemort left.

Harry quickly jumped up out of the ridiculously comfortable bed and walked over to the dresser. Harry’s mouth dropped at the sight of the dresser full of fully tailored robes. Harry’s hand trembled as it reached out to touch one of the robes. The material was soft and comfortable, and clearly more expensive than anything Harry had ever owned. Swallowing dryly, Harry slowly put the robes on.

They were a perfect fit.

(Harry tried his best not to be creeped out, but he was having trouble with it.)

After Harry was fully dressed, he opened the door to walk out of his room. His door opened to reveal a hallway that ended on his right and opened out to a grand staircase on his left. Harry walked towards the staircase and felt his body freeze in shock as he took in the house.

It was huge! The staircase was split down the middle and it curled around an archway to connect on the ground. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling directly over the bottom half of the staircase. Harry forcibly reminded himself to close his mouth as he walked down the stairs, his hands trailing the railing as he walked.

Harry followed the sound of voices down the right hall to see the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold to take in the surprising view before him. Standing by the open window was a man Harry had never seen before, a large muggle pipe resting between his fingers as he stared at it in confusion. Voldemort leaned against the marble countertop having a conversation with a snake the size of a large dog.

“Hatchling isss finally here?” the snake hissed, the feeling of excitement bleeding into it’s tone.

“Yesss,” Voldemort hissed, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “He can ssspeak to you, asss well my pet.”

“Hatchling ssspeaksss?” the snake asked, mystified.

“Who isss the hatchling?” Harry asked, tilting his head in confusion. “Did your sssnake have babiesss?”

Voldemort looked up in shock at Harry’s voice before he let out a sharp chuckle at his question. “Hello little one,” he said with a smile. “And no, Nagini did not have babies. The hatchling in question is you.”

“Me?” Harry asked in shock. “But I’m not a snake.”

“No, you’re not,” Voldemort said with an amused shake of his head. “But that is the easiest way to explain to Nagini who you are to me.”

“Masster’sss hatchling hasss come home!” the snake, Nagini, hissed, rearing her large head up with joy. “Come hatchling! Ssspeak to Nagini!”

Harry looked at Voldemort for help, but the wizard merely chuckled and gestured towards his snake. “Um… okay…” Harry said softly. “Hello Nagini.”

“Massster’sss hatchling isss preciousss!”

Harry felt his face flush red at the strange compliment as Voldemort let out another amused chuckle. “Come now, Harry, I have someone else I want you to meet,” Voldemort said, reaching out to grab Harry’s wrist and tug him forward. Voldemort gestured towards the other man that was currently holding the muggle pipe. “Harry, this is Barty Crouch Jr. He is a close follower of mine.”

Barty smiled at him, and Harry shivered at the mildly crazed look in his eyes. “Hiya Harry, pleasure to meet ya!”

“Um, hello.” Harry said, giving a short wave. Barty smiled wider.

“Now that you’ve met Barty, it’s time for breakfast!” Voldemort said, not giving Harry a chance to argue.

Harry stumbled as he was dragged through the kitchen to the room connected to it. When he was pulled into the dining room, Harry was assaulted by the fantastic smells of breakfast. Chocolate pancakes and belgian waffles stacked on plates rested in the center of the table. Circling the two plates sat a bowl of scrambled eggs, a bowl of assorted fruits, a plate of bacon and a plate of sausage links. A pitcher of milk rested on the left side of the table, and a pitcher of orange juice sat on the right.

There were three plates sat on the right half of the table. The plates were placed at the head, the right and left side of the table respectively. Behind the head of the table, a giant, full length window proudly displayed the gardens out back.

“Come, sit.” Voldemort said, ushering Harry into the chair on the right. Voldemort sat down at the head of the table, and to his left sat Barty. “Please, dig in. You must be hungry. Why, I don’t think you had dinner yesterday, and it’s nearly noon!”

Now that he thought about it, Harry really was hungry. And the smells of breakfast only fuelled his hunger. Harry served himself a plate of pancakes, waffles, eggs and bacon. He happily began to eat, stopping only to watch as Voldemort placed a spoonful of fruit onto his plate and handed him a glass of orange juice.

The meal was surprisingly silent, save for the sounds of eating coming from the trio. When Harry had finally cleared his plate, his stomach almost uncomfortably full, Voldemort cleared the dishes and food away with a wandless wave of his hand.

“Now,” Voldemort said, looking at Harry with a fond---almost possessive---smile. “As much as I’d love to spend the day with you dear heart, I’m afraid I have some… loose ends I need to tie up. Barty here will keep an eye on you while I’m away.”

“Wait what? You’re leaving?” Harry asked in shock.

Voldemort’s gaze softened at the mildly panicked look on Harry’s face. “It will only be for a few hours, precious,” Voldemort said softly, leaning forward to squeeze Harry’s hand. “Don’t worry. Barty will keep you safe. Isn’t that right, Barty?”

“Of course My Lord,” Barty said, his expression serious. “I would never let any harm befall the Little Lord.”

“Little… Lord?”

“See? There.” Voldemort said smugly. “You’ll be perfectly safe. Why don’t you explore the manor while I’m gone? When I get back, we can do something together, I promise.”

“Um… okay.” Harry said, his head spinning from everything that had transpired in the last few hours.

Voldemort smiled at him brightly. “Perfect! Then I will take my leave. The sooner I get started, the sooner I can come home. Right, precious?” Voldemort asked. Harry just nodded silently. Voldemort beamed at him and pressed another gentle kiss to his temple---and what was with all these weird feelings? Did forehead kisses always make people feel this way?!---before he stood and walked out of the dining room.

Harry sat in awkward silence, his eyes darting around the room, suddenly unsure of where he should be looking. When Harry realized what he was doing, he cursed himself. Was he a Gryffindor or not? Suitably encouraged, Harry looked at Barty.

“So… where are we, exactly?” Harry asked, finally asking the question that had been bothering him since he woke up this morning.

“Little Hangleton.” Barty answered. “My Lord owns a manor here. Right in the center of a muggle town, perfect for laying low.”

“We’re near muggles?” Harry cried in shock.

Barty chuckled. “Yes, we are,” he said. “But don’t worry, Little Lord. I’ll protect you from the filthy animals.”

Harry paused, his eyebrow raising. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know? Muggles are barbaric. Hardly even evolved.” Barty said confidently.

“Where did you get this information from?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Bellatrix Black.” Barty said plainly. Harry’s mind flashed back to the horror stories Sirius had told him of his cousin and suddenly everything made sense.

“Barty have you ever even met a muggle?” Harry asked.

“Well… no. But! I wouldn’t want to meet one ever! I hear they don’t even wear clothes!” Barty whispered scandalously.

Harry just scoffed. “That’s not even remotely true.”

“What do you mean?” Barty asked.

“Let’s go into town,” Harry suggested. “You said we’re near muggles, right? That means they have a town nearby. Let’s go. I can show you what muggles are really like.”

“Absolutely not!” Barty cried. “My Lord tasked me with keeping you safe! There’s no way I’d expose you to muggles!”

“They’re not dangerous!”

“My answer is no. No way.” Barty said firmly. “Why don;t you explore the manor, like My Lord said? The gardens are rather lovely.”

“If you don’t take me to see the muggles I’ll… I’ll… I’ll tell Voldemort you startled me and I hit my head.” Harry said, struggling to come up with a good threat.

That one seemed to work just fine, though, as Barty’s eyes widened considerably and genuine fear flashed through them for a second before it was gone, covered by a blank mask. Harry was anxiously as Barty stared at him for a long time before the blank mask cracked and a smirk bled onto his face.

Oh shit.

“You’re quite manipulative,” Barty drawled. “And I thought My Lord adopted some Gryffindor idiot. I think I’m going to like you. Come on Little Lord! Let’s go into the muggle’s town!”

Suddenly, Harry had an ominous feeling this wasn’t going to end well.