The Dark Lord and ??
-November 20 1991-
“Thank you precious.” Voldemort said softly, a fond smile resting on his face as Little One beamed at him brightly, watching with glee as Voldemort bent down and accepted the bouquet of flowers. Voldemort set them in a vase by his bed and then lifted the happy toddler into his arms. Little One sat comfortably on his hip, his head resting in the crook of Voldemort’s shoulder.
Voldemort walked with Little One down the stairs and through his castle, a disinterested mask resting calmly on his face. When he arrived in the kitchens, he placed a squirming Little One on a chair---tweaking the Inferius’s nose when he pouted at the distance---and called a House Elf to prepare their meals. Though he didn’t need to eat, Little One enjoyed having meals with Voldemort, and Voldemort, ever weak to spending time with the bright and cheery Infeirus, couldn’t refuse.
Eating a morning meal with his son was calming, and it helped Voldemort mentally prepare himself for the nightmare that the day would surely bring. As Voldemort watched his son splatter himself with oatmeal, he pointedly refused to think about the speeches he’d be forced to listen to later this afternoon.
Today was the day in which the two candidates for Minister of Magic were to give their speeches to the public, defending their position and explaining why they were the best option for the Republic. Voldemort didn’t want to suffer through Dumbledore’s speech, but as the Lord Supreme, he knew he was expected to be there.
After the meal was over---Little One undoubtedly having more food on himself than inside his stomach---Voldemort was forced to get ready for the speeches. He set Little One in the bath and cleaned the oatmeal chunks out of his hair before he left him to play, Nagini watching guard while Voldemort got ready.
Voldemort dressed in elegant robes, and he carefully combed his hair before he deemed himself acceptable. As Voldemort walked back into the bathroom, he fought back a groan at the sight of his soaked floor. Little One looked up from the rubber ducky that was currently fighting a war against the floating boat and waved at him, a silent giggle escaping his lips. Voldemort felt his face soften at his adorable son. Little One’s eyes narrowed, however, when he took in the sight of Voldemort’s state of dress.
“Papa go ‘way?” he asked, his whisper echoing against the silent bathroom.
“Papa has to go to the New Ministry today,” Voldemort answered, a wandless drying spell fixing the water soaked bathroom. “Nagini will be watching you today.” Said snake was currently resting her head against the edge of the bathtub, the rest of her body submerged in the warm, bubbly water. She flicked out her tongue before nodding in agreement.
“I protect the hatchling.” the hissed before resting her head on the rim of the tub once more.
Little One’s emerald eyes glanced back and forth between Voldemort and Nagini, his eyebrows scrunched together as he debated whether he should throw a tantrum and insist Voldemort stay or if spending the day with Nagini was acceptable. Finally, Little One nodded and went back to attacking the floating boat with his rubber duck.
Voldemort ducked his head gratefully, as he wasn’t in the particular mood to deal with his son’s tantrum today. (Although, he wouldn’t mind the excuse to stay home. Dealing with the eternal four-year-old sounded far better than dealing with the idiots at the New Ministry.)
Voldemort sighed and checked the time with a scowl. It was time to go. He pressed a kiss to his son’s damp hair before he exited, leaving Nagini with specific instructions to protect Little One. She hisses at him, grumbling about how she is perfectly capable of protecting the child, but Voldemort is too far away to hear her complaints.
When Voldemort apparates into the open square outside the front entrance to the New Ministry, it already bustling with people, and Voldemort fights back a sneer at the sheer number of people. Everyone is anxious to hear the speeches from the two candidates, and because of this, the people fill the small square and spill out into the streets around it.
Voldemort appears in the box set aside for him and his Inner Circle. He nods at his favored followers, who bow in return, and he sits down in his throne. When he sees Dumbledore step up to the podium, he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, forcing his occlumency shields to strengthen and calm him down.
“Good morning, my fellow witches and wizards,” he speaks, his irritating voice grating on Voldemort’s ears. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am here to run for your new Minister of Magic.”
Several people in the crowd cheer, and Voldemort bites back a sneer. To his left he hears Bellatrix scoff. “What an old coot.”
Voldemort smirks. “Quite so, my dear.” he says.
“Our people have gone through so many drastic changes in the last few years,” Dumbledore continues. “And they need someone who they can trust to lead them into a better future. A future where we don’t have to live in fear for our blood status. A future where there is strong equality. A future where dangerous magic is regulated to protect our people.”
“Dangerous magic? Please.” Rabastian scoffs.
“For several decades, I have been the Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore says. “I have ensured the wellbeing and education of our children. I wish to expand on the education levels of our children, because, as you know, the children are our future. A strong country relies on a strong youth.” Dumbledore pauses before his gaze begins to trail through the crowd. Voldemort bristles internally when the old man stops on him, his blue eyes staring directly into Voldemort’s.
“I aim to protect all children from the dangers of Dark Magic and it’s allures.” he says, his gaze not leaving Voldemort’s.
Voldemort easily picks up on the double meaning of his statement, and Voldemort clenches his hands into fists. How dare he… Voldemort grits his teeth while his crimson eyes flash dangerously. Dumbledore continues his speech, his eyes flickering away from the seething Dark Lord.
“I also wish to teach our youth about all branches of magic, so that they might better protect themselves from the dangerous kinds,” Dumbledore says. “If you elect me, you are ensuring the safety and education of our children, and in doing so, strengthening our country.”
He then pauses once more and smiles at the crowd. Voldemort imagines killing the old coot where he stands.
“So please, vote for me and together, we will raise the Magical Republic of the British Isles above all other countries.”
The crowd was silent for a moment as his words sunk in before applause filled the square. His Inner Circle all made sarcastic remarks while Voldemort found himself glaring daggers at the old man.
Dumbledore waved cordially at the crowd, offering them his signature grandfatherly smile before he turned his head to once again meet Voldemort’s eyes. He held his gaze at Voldemort for a long time, and Voldemort found himself once again imagining his death.
The moment was broken when the announcer stepped up to the podium and announced that Lucius would be giving his speech next. Dumbledore sent one last glance at Voldemort before he looked at the door to the New Ministry and then walked inside.
Voldemort sat still for a moment before his curiosity won and he found himself apparating out of his booth and into the New Ministry in front of Dumbledore. As Lucius’s voice began to speak over the microphone, Voldemort crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the old man.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
“I don’t know what you mean, dear boy,” Dumbledore says, his gaze even and full of his kind facade. Voldemort grit his teeth. “I am merely running for Minister.”
“I don’t buy it.” Voldemort hisses. “What are you playing at?”
Dumbledore is silent for a moment, and Voldemort watches as indecision flashes briefly on his face before he speaks. “Tell me, Tom, what do you know about the prophecy?”
Voldemort sneers at the mention of his muggle name. “Watch yourself, old man,” he snarls. “You will address me with respect or you will not address me at all.”
“I apologize, Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore says, and Voldemort’s hand twitches with the overwhelming urge to strangle the old coot because he does not sound sorry in the slightest. Somehow the title sounds mocking from his lips. “I meant no disrespect. I remember you as my student, you see, and you know how memory is with old age.”
“Indeed,” Voldemort drawls, not amused in the slightest. He then frowns as he considers the words the old man had spoken moments earlier. “Prophecy?”
Dumbledore smiles and nods.“Yes, the prophecy made about you and little Harry Potter in the summer of 1980.”
Voldemort freezes at the mention of his child and his eyes narrow dangerously at the man standing in front of him. “What are you talking about?” Voldemort hisses.
“There is a prophecy about you and the child you call your son.” Dumbledore says simply, oblivious to the tense atmosphere surrounding him. “I was under the impression you were aware of it.”
Voldemort seethes. “Don’t play games with me, Dumbledore. Not when he’s involved.” he snarled. He wasn’t willing to fool around when his son was involved, and if Dumbledore didn’t start speaking soon, Voldemort was liable to start throwing curses. “Speak clearly for once in your life or you won’t be alive for much longer!”
Dumbledore merely sighs, as though he were disappointed in Voldemort’s answer. It made Voldemort want to curse him even more. “In the Hall of Prophecies you will see what I speak of,” he said. “A prophecy of you and Harry Potter.”
Voldemort didn’t know what Dumbledore could possibly have to gain from telling him about it, but Voldemort wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to walk into the Hall of Prophecies alone, not if it was a trap. However Voldemort couldn’t just stay away, either. Not is Little One was involved. He refused to put his child at risk. He straightened his posture, adjusted his robes before he smiled at him.
“Show me, then.” he said. This seemed to take Dumbledore by surprise, and Voldemort relished in it.
“Very well.” he said before he turned around and began to walk in the direction of the Hall of Prophecies.
Voldemort walked behind Dumbledore briskly, his hand holding his wand tightly. His eyes darted around him, scanning the halls for any sign of an ambush. He refused to be taken down by the old coot and his cronies. They entered the Hall of Prophecies easily and Voldemort followed Dumbledore through the dusty shelves. Countless orbs sat on the shelves, and they lined the walls as far as the eyes could see. How anyone could find anything in here was a mystery.
“Here it is, my boy.” Dumbledore said, pointing at a dusty orb. Voldemort narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he saw that the tag read The Dark Lord and ??.
“How do you know this prophecy is about my son?” he asked skeptically.
“Because I’ve heard it.” he said. “And I knew from the moment I saw Harry that it was referring to him.”
Voldemort frowned but lifted the prophecy from the shelf. He looked at Dumbledore one last time before he rubbed the glass orb. Instantly a dreamy voice began to speak. “The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches …”
Voldemort’s eyes were wide as he took in the prophecy. He ran the math in his head quickly. The timeline fit---Little One was born on the 31 of July, just a few minutes before midnight. Voldemort wasn’t sure about the other parts of the prophecy, specifically the parts where Little One couldn’t live while Voldemort was alive. Nor did he like the part where his son was apparently his prophesied downfall.
Suddenly, the orb grew hot. Voldemort flinched at the sudden heat and frowned as the prophecy suddenly began to repeat itself over and over, each repeat faster than the last. “This isn’t supposed to happen…” Voldemort said.
“No, it’s not.” Dumbledore agreed.
Suddenly the orb began to shake, vibrating violently against Voldemort’s hands. Without warning, the orb violently shattered. Voldemort watched as a white mist escaped the shattered remains and floated in the air before the mist suddenly disappeared.
Voldemort frowned. “I suppose there is no prophecy.” he said, dusting the shards of glass off his robes. “Thanks for wasting my time yet again, Dumbledore.”
He then turned around and walked calmly out of the Hall of Prophecies.
Dumbledore just stood there, his eyes wide. “Or the prophecy has already been fulfilled…”
Thanks for the lovely fan art, AJ!! :)))