A Complication
-October 18 1991-
Sirius shifts awkwardly in his place, and he starts when a hand comes to squeeze his own gently. With a strained smile, he turns to look at his lover who is equally anxious. Remus smiles at him and nods encouragingly. Sirius wishes that he could be as bold as Remus.
It had been two days since the couple had confronted the Dark Lord, and during those two days, the pair had done nothing except worry and pace inside their home. Sirius was on edge, his fear of losing everything keeping him up all night. What if the Dark Lord rejected their offer? What if he told someone about what they’d done? They’d lose not only the chance to be with Harry, they’d also lose their friends' trust.
(Not that they would have that for much longer, anyway.)
“Calm down, Padfoot,” Remus whispered, his comforting hold on his hand tightening as he pulled Sirius to the sofa. Sirius, broken out of his nervous pacing---well, almost pacing, as he didn’t really move from his frozen place by the fireplace---looked at Remus with a nervous grimace. “It’ll be okay.”
“Why hasn’t he called for us yet?” Sirius asked, a hand coming up to drag through his black locks.
“I don’t know,” Remus answered honestly. “But I’m sure he will. After all, you said it yourself, who doesn’t want more spies?”
“I bet he decided we’re too much of a threat,” Sirius said bitterly. “After all, he knows Harry likes us better.”
Remus whacked him lightly on the arm and Sirius hissed. “That’s not funny,” he said with a glare. “If he does accept us, we have to be subservient. You know that! You can’t just say something like that!”
“We’re in the privacy of our own home!” Sirius cried, throwing his hands up in the air with exasperation. “Who cares what we say?!”
“He probably has, I don’t know, spies or something!” Remus responded with a heavy eye roll. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching us right now!”
“That’s just creepy.” Sirius pouted, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. “And if he were, I would appreciate it if he would give us a bloody response already!” he shouted.
“Sirius!” Remus hissed. “Don’t do that! Are you trying to get us killed?”
“We’re already dying of anticipation,” Sirius deadpanned. Remus only glared harder. Sirius sighed and slumped into the sofa dramatically. “I can’t just keep waiting for a response! I’m going insane!”
“You are not going insane,” Remus said with a fond smile. “You’re already insane.”
Sirius let out a mock gasp of offense. “Betrayed---”
The loud pop of a house elf entering their house startled them out of their childish bickering. The house elf squeaked at their startled faces and bowed deeply. “I be calling yous to see the Dark Lord.” the house elf chirped. “He’s be expecting yous.”
It was silent in the house for a while as Sirius and Remus stared at the house elf. Remus suddenly moved and let out a weary sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “How do we get there?”
The house elf toed the ground. “I be taking yous.” he said, holding out his hands. Sirius sent Remus another look to which Remus responded with another smile and stepped forward to take the house elf’s wrinkly hand.
Sirius sighed and took the hand that was held out for him and blinked at the disorienting feeling of being transported via elf magic. Sirius felt his body being squeezed tightly before he popped into the meeting hall that they’d been in the last time they went to see the Dark Lord.
Just as last time, the Dark Lord sits in his stone throne with poise, his crimson eyes appraising them with barely concealed disdain. Sirius bows low to the ground, gritting his teeth as his pride threatens to shine through. As much as it pains him to bow, if he wants the chance to be with his godson and do what James and Lily asked of him, he needs to do this.
“I have considered your offer.” the Dark Lord says, breaking the tense silence.
Sirius raises his head, his eyes coming up to meet the Dark Lord at the statement. The Dark Lord’s gaze darkens and his handsome face contorts into a snarl as he raises his wand. Sirius screams and thrashes on the floor as the cruciatus washes over him. Sirius doesn’t know how long he lays there, twitching with agony, before the curse is lifted. Sirius pants as his muscles spasms from overexposure.
“Do not presume to look me in the eye,” the Dark Lord hisses. “I am your Lord and you will respect me.”
Sirius struggles to fill his aching lungs, beside him, Remus is stiff in his bow. Remus was right, of course, Sirius was far too confrontational to be a good follower of the Dark Lord. Their personalities would crash quite often, and Sirius had a feeling that kneeling on the ground with agony would soon be the new normal.
The Dark Lord was in a position of power over him, as he was the Dark Lord in charge of the entirety of Magical Britain. However, he was also the… father-figure in Harry’s life and therefore in control of who was permitted to see him. Being overly possessive of the child meant that anytime Sirius wanted to see the child, the Dark Lord would no doubt have a say in it.
And judging from the harsh cruciatus, the Dark Lord’s say didn’t exactly line up with Sirius’s.
“Your offer to spy for me on the Order,” the Dark Lord spoke, and Sirius forced himself to regain control of his aching body and return to the bow he was in before. “Has been accepted. I will allow you to join my ranks.”
The couple was silent, unsure if they could speak. This seemed to be the right choice as the Dark Lord chuckled. The sound grated on Sirius’s ears and he forced himself to remain indifferent lest he attack the man sitting before them.
“You are learning quickly,” the Dark Lord mocked. “That’s good. I would hate to punish you more.”
Sirius somehow doubted that very much.
“This generous offer---” Generous. Right. Sirius bit back a scoff. “---comes with several stipulations, of course,” the Dark Lord continued. “Conditions that must be followed by the both of you lest you face my wrath.”
Sirius’s gaze was frozen to the stone ground beneath him, but he heard the Dark Lord shuffling in front of him. Sirius started when a hand came forward to grip his jaw and force him to look up. Sirius met the Dark Lord’s crimson gaze and he could see the amusement and sadistic glee in the man’s eyes as he forced Sirius to look up at him.
“You will remain at the lowest standing in my ranks,” the Dark Lord spoke, smirking dangerously at Sirius’s indifferent mask. “You will not be able to climb higher than a low tier Death Eater which makes you little better than a house elf.”
Sirius could tell that this amused the Dark Lord greatly, as if the man got some sort of pleasure watching powerful men be forced below their station. Sirius bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking. The Dark Lord raised a delicate eyebrow as though he could tell Sirius was holding himself back.
“You will spend a year on probation with my other recruits before I induct you officially into my ranks,” the Dark Lord said. “During this time you will be watched by my Inner Circle at all times to ensure your loyalty. Perhaps Bellatrix…?”
Sirius felt himself twitch at the mention of his psychotic cousin. Spending an entire year under Bellatrix’s thumb was worse than hell in Sirius’s opinion. The Dark Lord must have sensed Sirius’s falling mood as the grip on his jaw tightened. Sirius bit back a wince as the Dark Lord’s nails punctured his cheek and a small dribble of blood streaked down his cheek.
“Any visits you have with my precious will be supervised,” the Dark Lord continued, his grip on Sirius’s jaw dropping as he stepped back from the kneeling couple. “Either myself of Nagini will watch you while you around Little One and any attempt to avoid our gaze will result in a punishment and the loss of visiting privileges indefinitely.”
Sirius wanted to rage at this, but a single glare from the powerful man in front of him stopped him before he could open his mouth. Sirius wanted to get closer to his godson without the crazy, possessive, homicidal Dark Lord watching over his shoulder, but if this was the only way then Sirius really didn’t have a choice. He would have to grit his teeth and bear it if it meant seeing Harry.
“Your arms.” the Dark Lord demanded, holding out his hand. Sirius clenched his fists, a brief lapse in his mask showing his fury.
The Dark Lord was going to mark them.
A cruel smirk decorated the Dark Lord's face, as though he could see how much this was killing them on the inside. Sirius forced his arm to remain still as he lifted it to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord gripped his arm tightly, and with another gleeful smirk, he pressed his thumb deep into his forearm and hissed.
The overwhelming flash of pain caused Sirius to stumble. The only thing that kept Sirius from falling to his knees was the painful grip the Dark Lord had on his arm. Sirius allowed himself a brief moment to grieve what he’d just done as the dark mark made its home on his arm.
Sirius watched with a depressed gaze as his lover received the same treatment. The dark mark stood out harshly against their skin, and Sirius found that he loathed the very sight of it. He forcibly reminded himself of who it was for and only then did the self-loathing begin to dissipate.
“Have you anything you wish to say to your new Lord?” the Dark Lord asked, not even bothering to hide his smug glee.
Sirius wished for nothing more than to punch it off his face.
“May we… May we see Har---Little One?” Sirius asked, forcing himself to look at the ground in a respectful manner as he asked.
If he wanted to see Harry, he needed to swallow his pride and do what the Dark Lord asked.
He only hoped it was worth it.
Voldemort could feel his glee drip away at the request. Voldemort had never felt more smug, watching the proud Black submit before him and allow himself to be marked by the very thing he loathed. It brought him great pleasure to see the pride shine through in his eyes as he bowed before him.
Yet, when Black made his request, all the smug glee melted away and in its place was the usual possessiveness he felt whenever he thought of someone getting close to his precious. Voldemort would love nothing more than to deny them this, would love to send them on their way and force them to prove their worth before granting such a boon.
But Voldemort knew that they needed an incentive to be of any use to him. Reluctant recruits such as these always needed proof of their rewards before they could truly become useful.
“Very well,” Voldemort said through gritted teeth. He watched as relief coursed through the couple in front of him, and for a brief second, Voldemort entertained the thought of breaking them. It would be so easy to just curse them until they bled from their ears and nose. It would be so easy to tell them no and rip away their hope right from under their feet and watch them fall.
But alas, Voldemort could not.
So with heavy reluctance, Voldemort called for a house elf and demanded that Little One be brought to the meeting hall. He could see the excitement in their gazes as they looked at each other, could see the hope shining through their eyes at the thought of seeing his child.
(Because Little One was his and no one else’s. Voldemort raised him. Voldemort saved him. Voldemort was his father. Not James bloody Potter.)
As the door opened to reveal his most cherished, Voldemort resigned himself to the happy smile that would grace Little One’s face as he caught sight of the two worms in front of him. Resigned himself to the silent giggles and flowers that were reserved only for Voldemort Little One would give them. Resigned himself to gentle hugs and bashful body language as the attention was put onto him. Resigned himself to being overshadowed by a pair of worthless, plebeian, dead-beat men that dared call themselves godfathers---
Voldemort was brought out of his head by the sound of choked whimpers. He whipped his head around to see Little One clutching the door like a lifeline as tears streamed down his face. Voldemort shot up in his chair at the sight because they were not tears of joy.
Voldemort walked briskly to where his precious stood, his chest tightening at the sight of sobs wracking his body hard enough to make Little One tremble. Voldemort frowns, unsure of what could cause such a reaction before he turned his head to the couple behind him.
Black and Lupin stood back, indecision resting on their face as they fought with the idea of coming over to Little One. Black bit his lip before he took a step forward, his hand coming out to reach towards Little One’s sobbing figure. “Harry…?” Black spoke, his voice soft.
Little One sobbed harder, and Voldemort could see him flinch away from the pain and scootch closer to Voldemort. Voldemort felt his rage wash over him as he lifted his child’s trembling body into his arms and spun around to face the pair.
“Leave!” he hissed, his grip on Little One tightening.
The couple flinched back at the rage-filled voice before the hastily shuffled out of the room. The second the door clicked shut, Voldemort was hugging Little One’s form tightly. “Calm yourself, dear heart,” he whispered softly, gently rocking Little One in his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong. What’s happened?”
Little One choked on another whimper and Voldemort rubbed his hand down Little One’s back in a soothing manner. “Breathe, Little One, you must breathe.”
Little One sucked in a shocked breath, and Voldemort winced when he heard it hitch in the back of Little One’s throat, only to be forced out in another harsh sob. If this continued, Little One would cry himself sick.
“Stop,” Voldemort commanded, sitting down on his throne and maneuvering Little One so that he might sit in his lap comfortably. Little One whimpered silently and brought his hand up to grip the front of Voldemort’s robes tightly. “You need to calm down. Tell me what’s happened and I will fix it.”
Little One began to cry harder at this and Voldemort was at a loss. He felt completely out of his depth, unsure of what could cause such a dramatic reaction from his usually docile child. Little One sucked in a harsh breath before he wailed in between gasps, “Papa… Papa send… me ‘way?”
Voldemort felt his heart clench inside his chest and cursed himself. Of course! No wonder Little One was so upset! It all made sense now! Seeing Voldemort with the two men Little One correlated with his kidnapping must have made it look like Voldemort was giving Little One away. That’s why Little One was so clingy when Voldemort mentioned the pair.
Voldemort tightened his grip on Little One and drew him in for a tight hug. Little One buried his face in Voldemort’s chest, and Voldemort paid no mind to the snot and tears that were currently staining his clothes. Voldemort pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Little One’s head before he began to card his fingers through Little One’s messy hair in a soothing motion.
“Never, dearest, never,” Voldemort promised. “I will never send you away. I promised you, remember? Always going to be here forever. I promised you.”
Voldemort didn’t know how long he sat on his throne, Little One in his arms. Slowly, Little One’s sobs turned to crying to gentle whimpers until it completely subsided. Voldemort sat there, enjoying the contact for as long as he dared before he scooped his son’s sleeping body into his arms.
Even in sleep, Little One clutched at Voldemort like a lifeline, whimpering at every jostle that threatened to separate the pair. It took quite a bit of coaxing from Voldemort to get Little One to release his death-like grip on his robes and snuggle into Voldemort’s sheets.
Voldemort stood back then, a fond smile resting on his face as he looked at his sleeping angel. Little One was tangled up in Voldemort’s bed, soft blankets wrapped around his body in a protective embrace. Voldemort gently thumbed the remaining tears off Little One’s face before he kissed his forehead.
Voldemort then sent Nagini to sleep next to Little One, that way, should Little One wake up, he wouldn’t wake up alone. As he closed the door, he sent one last glance at his bed and smiled at the sight of Nagini coiling around the sleeping Inferius.
Voldemort then sat down gracelessly on his chair and allowed himself to rest his head on his desk.
What a mess.