A Father's Love
-October 1 1991-
Albus had always loved Stonehenge. The place was full of so much magical energy, even the muggles flocked to it with their cameras and tourism. He remembered back when he was much younger, back before his family was shattered by his mistakes and politics, he and his family would visit Stonehenge every summer. Seeing the towering rocks always brought forth a rush of nostalgia and joy.
But not this time.
As Albus apparated to the center of Stonehenge, he felt nothing but weariness. The rocks were in the same place as they’d been for hundreds of years, the erosion and plant life still fighting the age-old struggle to bring the giants down. It was quiet there, the stars twinkling overhead in the coming dusk. The peaceful atmosphere wouldn’t last, though.
His presence was announced by the loud pop of apparition. Albus didn't turn around to greet his former student, and chose instead to look up at the sky. The husky blues, purples and pinks cast a warm glow on the ground.
In his arms, however, the child squirmed. It was clear that Harry had seen Tom and was now reaching towards him, his eyes wide with impatient glee. Albus tightened his grip on the toddler to keep him from falling. Tom hissed behind him.
“Dumbledore.” he said, his voice tight with rage. Albus turned around then, a polite smile resting on his face.
“Hello Tom,” he said with a nod. Tom’s crimson eyes narrowed. “A fine spot.”
“Give. Him. Back.”
“Manners, Tom,” Albus tutted. “I know you know them.”
Tom hissed nonverbally. In his arms, Harry responded with a hiss. Albus felt his insides freeze at the noise. He looked down at the Inferius with surprise. The child spoke parseltongue? That should be impossible! Lily and James did not have such a trait…
“Where were your manners when you kidnapped him?” Tom asked sharply, his hands tightening into fists at his side.
“A simple misunderstanding, I assure you.” Albus said with a tight smile.
Tom’s eyebrow raised delicately. “A misunderstanding?” he asked through grit teeth.
“I was under the assumption that the child was in need of rescuing.” Albus answered semi-honestly. In truth, he did think the child needed to be rescued. It was just an added bonus that the Inferius would weaken Tom.
Tom scoffed. “Of course,” he said, shaking his head with an angry mirth. “Your close mindedness will be your downfall old man.”
“It was a fair assumption, Tom.” Dumbledore said. “I wouldn’t put such a feat above you.”
“That is not my name.” Tom hissed, anger replacing whatever amusement that was left. “Give me my child back. Now.”
“How did you meet Harry?” Albus asked. Tom twitched at the name, a sneer pulling his features.
“That’s not his name.” Tom replied. “Seems you’re forgetting much in your old age. Don’t worry, I hear going senile isn’t as bad as it sounds.”
“That is the name his parents gave him,” Albus said firmly. “Thus, his name is Harry.”
Albus tensed when Tom’s magic flared with rage. His red eyes were practically glowing with rage as he snarled. “I am his parent. I am. Not them.”
“You’ve taken this too far, Tom.” Albus said, his grip on Harry tightening even further. “You took Harry from a happy home---”
Tom let out a humorless cackle. “Happy? Happy home, you say?” he snarls. “Those muggles murdered my son! How dare you!”
“He is not yours, Tom.” Albus said. “He has a godfather, as well. One who, I assure you, misses Harry dearly.”
“Enough of this.” Tom hissed, practically spitting mad. “Give me my son and I won’t kill you where you stand.”
“You would do such a thing in front of a child?” Albus asked in mock surprise. “One you claim to care about.”
“Don’t high road me, Dumbledore,” Tom scoffed. “You kidnapped my son! I have never done such a thing to your side!”
“No, you just kill them.”
“Would you like to join them?” Tom spat. “Give me Little One. Now!”
“Why do you want him so badly?” Albus asked, shifting Harry’s weight. The Inferius let out an almost silent whimper and stretched his arms out even further in Tom’s direction. Tom audibly grit his teeth at the sight. “You don’t love him.”
“And how could you possibly know that?” Tom demanded, rolling his eyes.
“Because you can’t love, Tom.” Albus said. Instantly, Tom’s rage returned tenfold. The temperature dropped to almost icy and Albus narrowed his eyes at the enraged man. “Children of love potions are unable to feel love.”
It was silent for a long time, the only noise coming from the light breeze rustling the grass. Tom’s crimson eyes glared daggers at Albus, his fists were white knuckled, and Albus fought back a shiver at the pure murderous intent in the man’s gaze.
“You. Don’t. Know anything.” Tom said finally, his speech bordering on parseltongue. “Give me my son.”
This time, Albus knew not to test him. He did not want to fight with his nemesis in his childhood place. He did not want to risk the destruction of such a sacred place. Albus sighed and slowly bent down. He set the Inferius on the ground who raced across the clearing into Tom’s awaiting arms.
Albus watched as Tom lifted the child into his arms and hugged him tightly, his eyes closing and for a brief second---so brief, Albus wondered if it were even there at all---a look of unadulterated joy passed over his face. Harry buried his face in Tom’s chest and gripped his robes tightly. Tom whispered something in parseltongue before he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.
The tenderness of the moment surprised Albus.
After a minute, Tom lifted his head and glared at Albus, so strongly that Albus fought back the desire to step away from him. Harry was resting his head in the juncture of Tom’s neck, his eyes slipped close.
“I swear to you, Albus Dumbledore,” Tom said, snapping Albus’s attention to his face. “I am sparing you because you brought him back. Do not mistake my kindness as weakness.”
Albus opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced by a murderous glare as Tom continued.
“Should anything happen to my son,” he continued, his face taking on the most terrifying expression Albus had ever seen. The pure homicidal rage sent shivers down his spine. “I swear to you, nothing will survive my carnage.”
“Tom---”
“I will tear this world apart bit by bit until nothing stands.” Tom (No, Voldemort. This was Voldemort.) said. “And I will start... with you.”
And with that, Voldemort apparated out of the clearing, leaving Albus in the echo of his childhood happiness and the most weary, unsettling feeling in his gut.
Perhaps… Perhaps he was wrong about him…?
Voldemort felt more calm than he had in days. Finally, after countless hours and sleepless nights, his son was back in his arms. Finally, after ten exhausting days without Little One’s bright smiles and hushed laughter and flowers, his child was safe with him once more.
The comforting weight of Little One asleep in his arms grounded him, and it was only because Little One was in that clearing with him that Dumbledore was still alive. Had he not been… Dumbledore’s remains would’ve decorated the Stonehenge for centuries as a message not to mess with him and what was his.
When Voldemort appears in the apparition zone, a sleeping Little One in his arms, he feels nothing short of triumph (and relief). He brought his son back home.
As Voldemort walks through his castle, he sees his Death Eaters stop what they’re doing and stare at Little One as though he was the sun. Their eyes were full of hope and relief that he was home and Voldemort found he shared their sentiments perfectly.
“My Lord.”
Voldemort turned to see Narcissa and Lucius staring at the sleeping toddler in his arms. Narcissa stepped forward ever so slightly, her eyes wide with hope. “He’s returned?” she said.
Voldemort nodded. “Dumbledore returned him to me.”
“Dumbledore!” Narcissa hissed, her mask slipping momentarily as disgust filled her eyes. “How dare…!”
“Is he okay?” Lucius asked, his face betraying no emotion. Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Lucius wasn’t one to show emotion, so the fact that he was even asking showed just how worried he was over Little One’s safety. Voldemort was quite pleased to know that his Inner Circle would protect Little One with everything they had.
“He is exhausted.” Voldemort found himself answering. “It’s clear he did not sleep well wherever he was being held. He missed me a great deal.”
“The poor child,” Narcissa bemoaned. “He must’ve been so scared!”
Voldemort felt his anger spike at the thought of Little One curled up in a ball in the dark somewhere, scared out of his mind without Voldemort there to protect him. “I’m sure he was,” he said in a tight voice. “The important thing is that he’s safe now.”
“And Dumbledore?” Narcissa asked. Voldemort’s eyebrow twitched.
“Alive still, unfortunately.” Voldemort said with a regretful sigh. “I needed him to play messenger. But should he try this again…”
Voldemort let his threat rest, and he smirked at the murderous glares on both Lord and Lady Malfoy at the thought. Voldemort knew that Narcissa was remarkably close with his son, and Lucius---Voldemort had assumed---tolerated him for his wife and son’s sake. It appeared though, based on Lucius’s anger, that he was wrong.
“What is our next move, My Lord?” Lucius asked. Voldemort tightened his grip on his sleeping child, Little One letting out a soft sniffle and rubbed his nose unconsciously. Narcissa cooed at the sleeping toddler.
“Walk with me.” Voldemort said, turning briskly as he walked to his personal wing. As he walked into his personal wing, his eyes landed on the door to Little One’s room. He thought of placing Little One in his bed and allowing him to sleep in his own bed and wake up in a familiar place, but instantly dismissed the idea.
Voldemort did not want to let go of his son nor did he want Little One’s form to leave his sight.
He chose, instead, to open the grand door on the right that led to his personal study. The door on the left leading to his bedroom. He entered the room and walked briskly to his chair. By her spot at the fireplace, Nagini lifted her head.
“Hatchling is home?” Nagini hissed, excitement bleeding into her tone.
“He is home, dear one.” Voldemort answered, and Nagini hissed happily and slithered over to where he sat. To their credit, the Malfoy’s did not flinch at Voldemort’s use of parseltongue however they shifted uncomfortably as his giant familiar slithered closer to them.
With Nagini resting at his feet, her tongue lazily scenting the air, Voldemort brought his attention to the task at hand. He held his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
“There is a traitor in our midst.”
Instantly the duo stiffened, their eyes widening with horror. “Is that… Is that how Little One was taken?” Narcissa asked, horrified. Voldemort gave a curt nod.
“As it is common knowledge of Little One’s existence,” Voldemort said. “But only a select few know the exact relationship of Little One and I, the traitor could be anyone. The motive for taking him, according to Dumbldeore anyway, was rescuing him from me, I’d say the traitor could be a lower level Death Eater.”
Lucius frowned. “How are we to flush the traitor out?”
Voldemort leaned back in his chair. “Take it slow. Be subtle. I don’t want to scare him away.” Voldemort said. “Where there’s one traitor, more always follow.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Lucius nodded. “I will operate with the utmost discretion.”
“Good.” Voldemort nodded. “Find the rat that stole my child.”
“And what will we do with him when we catch him?”
A dangerous smirk bled across Voldemort’s face. “I believe the more appropriate question would be, what won’t we do to him?”