A Graveyard Reunion

-June 25, 1995-
Riddle Manor

Voldemort, although he had to, was reluctant to leave his son. Voldemort knew that he needed to tie up loose ends, knew that he needed to kill Pettigrew before he could go to the Aurors like the spineless fool he was. He knew that he needed to make it look like Harry was killed in that graveyard so that the Order would not assemble and come after him so quickly. Voldemort knew that there was no proof of his resurrection, but that wouldn’t stop Dumbledore from coming to that conclusion.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the Aurors tracked the portkey to that graveyard, so he needed to act quickly. With luck, it would take the Aurors another week to trace the portkey---giving Voldemort enough time to get rid of any evidence of his presence there, as well as set up a Fidelius around Riddle Manor so that Dumbledore couldn't lead the Aurors to his son’s new home.

Yes, he needed to leave, there was no doubt about it. Yet… Seeing his son’s panicked face when he said he was leaving only made Voldemort more reluctant. Putting on a brave face, Voldemort said his goodbyes to his dear child (Yes! Voldemort finally had his son back home with him where he belonged. Forever.) and quickly apparated to the graveyard where he’d rescued his son the night prior.

The giant cauldron where he’d emerged still sat, meters away from his father’s grave. He vanished the cauldron with a wave of his hand and began the painstaking process of stripping his magical signature from the area. Doing so required him to draw his magic out and tether to the magical signature in the area and yank it back into his body. It was difficult and used up quite a bit of his strength. When he’d finally ensured the area was free of his signature, he apparated away and followed the tether of the Dark Mark to where Pettigrew was hiding.

The rat was hiding in an abandoned shed a few miles away. He was still whimpering with pain as he held his stub of an arm. When Voldemort appeared, the rat let out a soft cry and held up his sluggishly bleeding arm towards him. “Oh, Master!” he cried. “Oh, Master, please… please…”

Voldemort felt disgust rise up inside him at the sight of the sniveling coward. “Hush, now,” he cooed, bending down to hold the stub. “I will make it better.”

“Oh thank you! Thank you, Master, thank you!” Wormtail sobbed.

Voldemort sneered at him and the shed flashed bright green as the curse ripped out of his wand. Voldemort let the body hit the floor with a satisfying thud, and Voldemort wiped his hand against his robes. With a final glance around the small room, Voldemort apparated home, excited to return to his son.

When he entered the manor, his good mood vanished instantly.

He couldn’t feel his son’s magical presence anywhere.

Voldemort couldn’t describe the panic he felt even if he was offered a billion galleons. The sheer, overwhelming feeling of the world ending. The crushing feeling of wrongness that rose up in his chest and choked him. It was wrong. So wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

His son was supposed to be here! (Never let him leave.) Voldemort would tear whoever stole his son away limb from limb! (A pile of heads a pile of arms a pile of legs a pile of bodies---) Voldemort needed his precious child like he needed to breathe, he could not go back to that empty house with no sunshine and no air.

How had he become so dependent on his child when he’d had him for such a short time? Voldemort couldn’t imagine a life without his son. Not anymore. Harry made things better; that’s what he always did.

Now that Voldemort had his son, he was never letting him leave his grasp. (NeVeR lEt HiM lEaVe)

And now his son wasn’t here.

His magic ripped through the manor, leaving nothing but rubble in its place. The beautiful furniture and elegant decor were burned to ash and it took all of his self-control to keep the manor standing.

He would need a home to come back to once he had his son back. A place that he could keep his son protected, somewhere that was sturdy and he could build a magical prison that would keep his son safe and never able to leave because his son wasn’t allowed to leave him ever safe for his son to grow up in.

But first, he needed to find his son.

And bring him home.

(Where he could never ever leave)

“Little Lord… I changed my mind… your father would eviscerate me if the muggles hurt you… we should just return to the manor.” Barty whispered, flinching when a muggle woman passed him on the sidewalk. His eyes were wide as he stared at her, and Harry suppressed a sigh when the lady began walking faster, glancing at Barty with subtle suspicion.

“Honestly, Barty,” Harry rolled his eyes. “They’re not going to attack you.”

“How would you know?!” Barty demanded, pointing a finger at a random passerby who scoffed at the pair. “They’re animals! They’re mentally impaired, you know, can barely tell left from right.”

“First of all, you really shouldn’t listen to Bellatrix because she seems to lie as if her life depended on it,” Harry said, with a scowl. “And second of all, I know because I was raised with muggles.”

It took Harry a few seconds to realize that Barty had stopped, no longer walking side by side with him. He turned to see Barty standing frozen a few paces behind him, eyes wide with horror. Harry raised an eyebrow at the man’s rigid form before Barty sputtered.

“You? You were raised with muggles?!” Barty cried, his hands coming up to wave above his head with agitation. “You, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, precious golden boy of Wizarding Britain, was raised with muggles!?”

“Yes,” Harry said, crossing his arms defensively. “Why? Everyone has that reaction when I tell them, why is that so surprising?”

“Because you’re the golden boy!” Barty says. “People were filing for custody of you the minute people heard what happened. How you ended up with muggles of all people is insane.”

Harry stopped, his eyes widening slightly as he processed what Barty said. “I… I could’ve been raised by wizards?” The very thought filled Harry with such bittersweet emotions. The thought of growing up with a loving family, three meals a day---it boggled his mind.

“Did you like living with vermin, Little Lord?”

Harry snapped out of his silence at Barty’s words, and Harry looked at the Death Eater to see the man eyeing him curiously. Harry stiffened and fought back the instinctive reaction of snapping at him, choosing instead to shrug casually and continue walking. Barty picked up on the obvious dismissal and quickly caught up to Harry’s strides.

Their walk was silent for the most part, only really being interrupted by Harry scolding Barty about looking so horrified at everything the muggles did. At this point, it was a miracle the police hadn’t been called yet. Barty truly had no idea that he was attracting so much attention, but Harry was seconds away from pulling his hair out.

“Okay, Barty?” Harry said finally, forcing the man to stop and look at him, dragging him into a nearby alleyway to avoid the not-so-subtle stares.

“Little Lord?”

“You’re too conspicuous.” Harry said firmly. “You’re sticking out like a sore thumb, and if you don’t stop it, we’re going to get caught.”

“What will they do if they catch us?” Barty asked, his eyes wide. “Burn us at the stake? I will protect you Little Lord, don’t worry. I know several cooling charms, and I can apparate us as well---I won’t splinch you, I promise.”

“You, what? Wait, what’s splinching? Actually, nevermind, I don’t want to know,” Harry said before breathing in deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t want… Voldemort to know that I was in the muggle world, do you? If we get caught, he’ll find out.”

Barty was silent for a moment as he considered this before letting out another one of his creepy grins. “You are so clever, Little Lord,” Barty said with a scary glint in his eyes. “I love it when you get all manipulative! You’re a real Slytherin, you know that? You’ll be a fantastic Dark lord someday.”

Harry froze. “What?”

“I imagine you’ll take over once your dad retires,” Barty continued, oblivious to the panic that Harry felt. “Wow, how strange. I never thought the Dark Lord would retire yet…”

“He’s not retiring! I’m not taking over! I’m not a Dark Lord!” Harry cried, frantically shaking his head. “I think you’re misunderstanding what’s happening here! I was kidnapped! I’m not actually his son!”

“Aren’t you, though?” Barty asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, you willingly went with the Dark Lord from the graveyard, didn’t you?”

“Well… yes, but---”

“And you willingly agreed to stay here, didn’t you?”

“I guess, but you’ve got it all wrong---”

“And the Dark Lord isn’t holding you prisoner here, is he?”

“Er, no, I guess not. But I---”

“Then, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the Dark Lord’s son.” Barty said. Harry stared at him for a long time, his mind frantically going over the details. The Dark Lord claimed to be Harry’s father (Harry wasn’t sure if he meant biologically or spiritually, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to know) and Harry did go with the Dark Lord willingly. Voldemort had even stated clearly that Harry wasn’t a prisoner. He could leave anytime he wanted.

So why didn’t he?

(Because Harry wanted a family. Harry didn’t want to be freakboy anymore.)

“Congratulations it’s a boy.” Harry deadpanned.

“What?” Barty asked, looking at Harry like he was crazy. Harry just sighed and pulled Barty out of the alleyway and back into the street.

“I want to make lunch.” Harry said, mostly to himself, but Barty decided to comment on his words anyway.

“You can’t!” he cried, aghast. “That’s servant’s work!”

“Barty. I’m making lunch because I have nothing better to do.” Harry growled. “So shut up, and come to the supermarket with me. Got it?”

Barty pursed his lips but nodded regardless. Harry took the win and began walking in the direction of the square. It was a small town---village, more accurately---and Harry had no trouble navigating the area, despite never having been here before. The only downside was that it was a small town, and that meant everyone knew everyone.

And no one knew them.

“Excuse me, sir,” a snobby voice called out from behind him. Barty visibly stiffened at the interruption and Harry turned around to greet the woman who had called him while Barty tightened his grip on Harry’s wrist. “Are you new here?”

“Yes!” Harry said, a polite smile resting on his face. “My older brother and I are visiting my father for a few months.”

The woman who had been eyeing them suspiciously moments earlier grinned at them. “Oh! You’re brothers? How sweet! You know, I see the resemblance.”

“Thank you, we get that a lot.” Harry said with a tight smile. The grip Barty had on his wrist was starting to hurt, and Harry knew that if he didn’t get rid of this woman soon, Barty was either going to break his arm or curse her into oblivion. “We were just on our way to the supermarket to get things for lunch. Our father is ill, you see, so we really must be on our way.”

“Oh you poor dears,” the woman cooed. “Would you like me to show you how to get there? It’s really no problem!”

Harry fought back a wince when Barty’s death-like-grip got even tighter. Harry could’ve sworn he heard his bones creak in response to Barty’s fear. “We’ll be alright. Thank you though, we really appreciate it!”

The woman smiled. “No problem, dear!” she said. “Oh! Who is your father? Do I know him?”

Shit. Harry’s smile tightened. “I don’t think so! He hasn’t lived here in a while. Tom Riddle Jr. is his name.” Harry said, watching with dread as the woman’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Does he live in Riddle Manor?” she asked.

“That’s the one! He’s a bit of a recluse, though, so I doubt you’ve met him.” Harry said, praying to any God or entity out there that this lady would hurry up and go away before Barty decided she was too much of a threat and kills her in broad daylight.

“I see… well, it was nice meeting you boys,” the lady seemed hesitant as she waved goodbye. Harry waited until she was out of view before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Holy shit… that was intense!” Harry said, blowing out a harsh breath of air. Harry took the opportunity to rip his wrist out of Barty’s grip, wincing at the feeling of blood rushing back into his hand. “Damn Barty, are you trying to break my wrist?”

Barty’s eyes widened as he was shocked out of his stupor. “Did I hurt you, Little Lord?” he asked, gently taking Harry’s wrist in his grip and holding it up to his eyes to examine it. “I sincerely apologize. I was so concerned. That barbarian could’ve attacked you!”

Harry rolled his eyes and took his arm back once again. “Honestly, Barty, muggles don’t just attack people randomly!” he said, shaking his head. “They have their own lives and are content to go about it. There is a small percentage of muggles that actually go out of their way to attack random strangers.”

“Regardless, I will do better to protect you next time, I swear.” Barty vowed.

“Let’s just… get to the supermarket already.” Harry said with a sigh.

Thankfully, there were no other incidents on the way to the supermarket. Harry spent the rest of the walk there gently rubbing his wrist where an ugly purple bruise was beginning to form. (Harry cringed at the thought of Voldemort finding out about it.) When they finally arrived, the place was crawling with muggles going about their shopping. Harry frowned at the sight, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barty subtly reach for his wand.

Harry raced to grab Barty’s arm, slipping his hand into the curse-happy Death Eater’s. Barty looked at their conjoined hands incredulously before he began to pull away. Harry tightened his grip and raised his eyebrow at the man.

“If you can’t act like an adult, then you don’t get to be treated like one,” Harry said firmly. “I’m holding your hand while we go in to make sure you don’t start firing off curses at the first person who talks to you.”

“I am thirty-three years old! I don’t need a bloody nanny!” Barty cried.

“Don’t you?” Harry asked, parroting his words from earlier. Barty looked miffed but didn’t say anything after that. Harry took the win and began walking towards the entrance. “Can I trust you to grab the cart for me, or do I need to do it?”

“The… cart…?”

“Yes. The cart.” Harry pointed to the line of carts sitting by the entrance. Barty stared at it before he turned to look at Harry. “What’s that look for?”

“What in Merlin’s name do we need that contraption for?” Barty exclaimed, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

“Oh, for the love of---fine! I’ll get it!” Harry cried. “Honestly, Barty, for someone who claims to be thirty-three, you sure do act like a toddler.”

“You’re mean.” Barty pouted. Harry just huffed out a laugh and grabbed the cart. It took some maneuvering, but Harry was able to find a way to both hold Barty’s hand and steer the cart with both hands. Plus, Barty’s face when he realized he was touching the muggle cart was priceless.

“Now then, what should I make for lunch?” Harry asked, content to just browse through the aisles.

“Little Lord, really, you shouldn’t be cooking. It’s not proper for someone of your station---”

“I’m not a bloody prince,” Harry muttered. “What about chicken and mashed potatoes? We can have green beans and cranberry sauce as well!”

“Little Lord…” Barty whined, but Harry refused to look at him.

Harry dragged Barty through the aisles, placing things in the cart whenever he found something he liked or wanted. Every time he laced something in the cart, Barty would look at it like it personally offended him before he huffed. Then, after a few minutes of being properly indifferent, Barty would cave and ask what the item was.

“What is it?”

“It’s canned cranberry sauce. I prefer it when it’s cuttable rather than when it’s mashed berries.”

Or, sometimes it was more like, “What in Merlin’s name is that thing?! It looks like something you’d find in Bellatrix’s room!”

To which Harry would respond with, “It’s a chicken Barty. Surely you’ve seen a chicken before.”

No matter how Barty asked the question, Barty seemed to be genuinely interested in the muggles. Harry could see that everything he’d shown him had completely disrupted everything Barty believed about muggles.

Not to mention, the way Barty had jumped and let out a hoarse yelp when the manager came on over the intercom to announce the sales they were having made Harry laugh so hard that tears came out of his eyes.

It wasn’t until Harry was getting ready to check out that he realized he was missing one key ingredient.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Harry cursed, ignoring Barty’s amused snort from behind him.

“Does your father know you curse so much?” Barty asked with a grin.

“Barty how are we going to pay for all this?” Harry cried, his eyes wide. “We don’t have any money!”

“Sure we do! Your father is the Dark Lord, and you live in a manor. You have money, kid.” Barty said with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, wizarding money!” Harry snapped. “I didn’t bring any muggle money with me!”

“Oh, is that all?” Barty asked. “Honestly, Harry! You’re a wizard! Just confound them or something.”

“Wait you mean… you mean, like, steal?” Harry asked, his eyes wide.

Barty let out an amused chuckle. “Harry, your father is a Dark Lord, who cares if you steal some food from muggles. Bet they won’t even notice! They’re stupid little things.”

“I can’t just steal---”

“Sure you can! It’s really easy!”

“What? Wait, Barty no---”

Harry watched with horror as Barty pushed their cart up into check out and pointed his wand at the cashier and confounded her. Harry looked around frantically to see if anyone saw that, but by the grace of pure luck, it seemed that no one was around to see it.

Harry waited until they were out of the supermarket before he turned around and glared at Barty. “I can’t believe you! That was so irresponsible! What if someone saw you? What were you thinking?!”

“I want lunch and this is the stuff you wanted?” Barty said, looking at Harry in confusion. “You said you didn’t have the money. I don’t see what’s wrong.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath before letting out a weary sigh. “Just… Let’s just get back to the manor.”

The walk back to Riddle Manor was silent, and Harry prayed that everything would go back to normal once he returned. He would spend the next hour and a half making lunch, and doing what he usually did whenever he was uncomfortable with his situation---cook.

All of those plans were dashed, however, when they returned to see a destroyed manor. Standing in the wreckage of what used to be the beautiful entryway was a furious Voldemort. They froze when Voldemort whipped his head around to see the pair standing there, and Harry took an instinctive step back at the crazed, manic look in those crimson eyes.

“Um… hey…?” Harry said slowly looking at him with wide eyes.

One second Harry was standing in the destroyed entrance next to Barty, and the next he was locked in an impossibly tight grip, crushed against the murderous Dark Lord’s chest.

Oh crap.