And So it Begins...
-November 31, 1991-
When Voldemort woke up the next morning, he felt strangely well-rested. He could hear Little One’s soft snores next to him, and he turned his head to smile at his slumbering child. Little One looked peaceful in his sleep, his inky black hair sprawled out on the pillow in tangles, a small bit of drool lining his cheek as his mouth opened and closed with each breath. Voldemort’s eyes crinkled fondly at the sight, and he lightly carded his fingers through his son’s hair. He paused, however, when his fingers hit something fluffy. With a sigh, Voldemort removed Larry from his perch and set the duckling on the ground. Larry quacked at him, obviously unhappy with the change of scenery, but Voldemort merely sneered at him.
Unfortunately, the noise awoke his precious, and Little One rubbed his eyes with his fist, smearing the drool all over his cheeks, and opened his eyes. Still lethargic from sleep, Little One held out his arms in an adorable fashion and Voldemort obliged, lifting the sleepy toddler into his lap.
“Good morning, dear heart,” Voldemort whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s temple. “How did you sleep?”
Little One didn’t speak, choosing instead to rub his face into Voldemort’s collarbones and let out a tiny whine. Voldemort chuckled and gently rubbed his hand over Little One’s back, soothing the sleepy child back to sleep. Voldemort set Little One back on the bed for a moment to get changed into his clothes before he lifted Little One back into his arms, rousing the child from his short-lived nap.
“Come now, dear,” Voldemort said, walking towards the kitchens. “It’s time to wake up. Narcissa will be here to watch you, as I have a number of meetings today.”
Little One perked up at the mention of Narcissa, his emerald eyes widening with childish glee as he began to absentmindedly chew on his fingers. Voldemort sighed and removed his son’s unwashed hand from his mouth, cringing at the number of germs his child no doubt ingested.
It wasn’t until Voldemort had placed Little One in his chair and placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of him, did Little One speak. “Larry?” he asked in a hushed whisper, his hand reaching forward to grab a spoon.
“Hmm? Did you say something dear?” Voldemort asked, feigning ignorance. Perhaps, if he was careful, he could play off the missing duck and make it seem like the thing had wandered off in the night time, never to be seen again. “I’m afraid I didn’t see him when we woke up this morning.”
Little One’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly as he looked back at his breakfast despondently. “Oh.”
While the sadness his child emitted was concerning, Voldemort knew, in the long run, it would be better. After all, Little One had a nasty habit of adopting animals that never stayed long, and he always got over it after a while. Sooner or later Voldemort would finally be rid of the duckling that had wormed its way into his precious’ heart.
“I’m sorry darling,” Voldemort responded, lightly patting Little One’s head. “I’m sure wherever he went, he’s happy now. You know wild ducks aren’t meant to be domesticated---”
Quack quack.
Voldemort’s face twitched while his child let out an excited gasp at the noise. While Voldemort had been celebrating his victory, Larry had somehow managed to waddle his way from Voldemort’s bedroom to the kitchen. An impressive feat for a handicapped duckling, he could admit, but frustrating nonetheless. He had been so close…
“Larry home, Papa!” Little One exclaimed happily, squirming in his chair as he attempted to get close enough to the floor to lift Larry up. Voldemort let out a resigned sigh.
“Wonderful.” he said dryly. He bent down and tried to hide the grimace on his face as he lifted the mangy thing and placed him on the chair next to him. “Larry will have to wait patiently until breakfast is over, I’m afraid. No ducks on the table.”
Little One pouted but complied, quickly shoving in mouthfuls of oatmeal at a time. He somehow managed to eat a good third of the bowl, the rest of it landing on the table, floor, and Little One’s clothes. When the bowl was empty Little One smiled widely and held it out, as if to say ‘See? All done’.
“There, wasn’t that delicious? Hmm, you’re all messy now. Perhaps Narcissa can give you a bath while Larry plays… outside? After all, you wouldn’t want to get him messy.” Voldemort suggested, smiling at his child and taking every chance to glare at the duckling when his son wasn’t looking.
“Silly Papa,” Little One said, shaking his head. “Larry likes water. We take bath together.”
Voldemort sighed, and relented, knowing that he lost this round. He let Little One out of the highchair, and the second his little feet hit the ground, he was running over to Larry to pick him up and place him in his hair. Larry, as if sensing Voldemort’s displeasure, turned his head to quack at him.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the sight of what looked like a smirk on Larry’s face. You may have won the battle, Larry, Voldemort thought venomously, but I will win this war!
A house-elf popped into the kitchen then, bowing in front of Voldemort. “Mistress Narcissa be here My Lord.” the elf said, bowing low enough that the disproportionately large ears dragged against the floor.
“Please show her into the kitchen.” Voldemort said, waving his hand to dismiss the elf. “Little One, Narcissa is here. You’ll be good for her, yes?”
Little One nodded, and Voldemort watched with smug satisfaction as the motion caused Larry to bounce on his head. A few seconds later, Narcissa walked into the kitchen, her face masked with cool indifference. She wore a beautiful, but functional dress and her heels clicked against the stone tiles. She bowed respectfully at Voldemort before she turned to face Little One, her mask breaking to display a bright smile.
“Hello Little One,” Narcissa cooed. “I’ve missed you. It’s been so long since we played together. I see you’ve made a new friend?”
Little One nodded, his hand reaching up to nervously pet the duckling on his head. “Yes, my precious has decided to adopt a duckling. Larry is his name.” Voldemort said, not bothering to hide his disdain for the animal, knowing full well that Little One wouldn’t be able to pick up on it.
Narcissa, however, easily picked up on Voldemort’s true feelings. She didn’t say anything about it, but Voldemort could see the faintest shine of amusement in her silver eyes. “Hello Larry,” she said, kneeling to look at the duckling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her efforts were rewarded with a shy smile from Little One. The smile set Voldemort at ease, any remaining hesitance at letting someone else watch the inferius disappearing. This would be the first time someone other than Voldemort or Nagini would watch Little One since the kidnapping. Sure, the two new recruits watched him, but in reality, Nagini was supervising their playdate.
While Nagini would be hanging around the castle today, Narcissa was in charge of keeping Little One safe, and Voldemort knew his familiar intended to hunt today. With Little One so at ease around Narcissa, Voldemort was convinced that this was a good idea.
“Alright then,” Voldemort said, drawing attention back to himself. “I’ll be off now.” He walked over to Little One and pressed a kiss to his son’s cheek, embracing him tightly for a quick second, before addressing Narcissa. “I know there won’t be any problems.” The subtle threat was received, and Narcissa merely nodded her head and bowed.
“Of course, My Lord.” she said.
“Good.” Voldemort said curtly, before his voice softened. “Goodbye, dearest. Be good. I will see you soon.”
Little One gave him a shy little wave before Narcissa ushered the toddler out the door, off to take a bath and clean the drying oatmeal off his clothes and face. When his child and Narcissa were out of sight, Voldemort summoned an elf and informed him to fetch someone for his first meeting.
He made his way to the meeting hall, getting himself situated before he heard a knock. “Enter.” Voldemort said curtly, leaning against his stone throne. He watched as the grand doors were pushed open to reveal Severus.
The dour potion’s master bowed deeply in front of Voldemort before he stood. “My Lord,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “You’ve called for me?”
“I am aware,” Voldemort drawled, smirking at the slight tightening of Severus’ face. “I’ve called you here to discuss the new recruits. The ones you’ve been training…”
Voldemort could see a flash of an emotion flit across Severus’ face at the mention of the two recruits, but it was gone too quickly for him to decipher. However, using his deduction, he could infer that it was most likely disgust. Severus held a deep loathing for the couple, and that is why Voldemort deemed it to be the perfect punishment.
“Yes My Lord,” Severus said. “The recruits have been coming along nicely. They’ve gone through rigorous physical training---”
“And tell me, how good are they at acting?” Voldemort asked, cutting off Severus’ response.
“Acting, My Lord?”
“Yes, acting,” Voldemort drawled. “After all, they’re learning from a traitor, I assume you’ve taught them how to hide their loyalties?”
Severus showed no outward sign of a flinch at the barb, but the darkening of his eyes betrayed his emotions. “They are… adequate, My Lord. I assumed you intended to have them go undercover at the Order, so I have taught them the basics.”
“Do you think they are ready?” Voldemort asked, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hand. “Do you believe that they can return to the Order and begin gathering intel?”
“My Lord?”
“Dumbledore has been… quiet lately,” Voldemort said, a sneer spreading across his face at the mention of the damnable headmaster. “It is disconcerting. I believe he is planning something. I want to know what.”
“I believe they are ready,” Severus answered, a frown marring his emotionless mask. “However, I am also able to gather information---”
“Denied.” Voldemort said with an icy tone. “I have no desire to allow you back into the Order anytime soon. You are still under probation, and as you are still under oath, it is too risky.”
“Of course, My Lord.” Severus said, nodding his head.
“Good. You are to inform Black and Lupin of their assignment and get them prepared to leave as soon as possible. I want them back with the Order by December, no later than the third. I don’t know what he is planning, but something tells me we don’t have much time.” Voldemort said. “Dismissed.”
The second Severus leaves, Voldemort feels the familiar chill that he’d been hoping and dreading to feel. Even though it had only been three days, Voldemort felt like he hadn’t seen the being in years. He turned his head to see Death standing in the corner, his green eyes practically glowing as they met Voldemort’s crimson gaze.
He was a man again, a tall man with dark brown hair that fell to his chin in curls. Death’s cheekbones were as crisp and sharp as ever, something that seemed to be a pattern in all his forms, (not that Voldemort was looking, or anything.) and Voldemort could see a light, five o’clock shadow covering his face. Voldemort swallowed dryly, and he could practically feel the tension rise.
“Death.” he said, finally.
“Hello, my Dear,” Death said, pushing off the wall to walk over to him in strong strides. “How have you been?”
“Where were you?” Voldemort blurted out, before cursing himself for his impulsive tongue. To save face, he turned his head and crossed his arms. “Not that I care, or anything. I simply mean that you leaving was strange.”
Voldemort didn’t need to be looking at the entity to know that he was wearing a fond grin. “I gave you space, my Dear. You needed time to process, I believe. Was I wrong?”
Voldemort frowned. “No. You weren’t.”
“And? Have you processed everything?” Death asked, moving so that he could meet Voldemort’s face.
“I have,” Voldemort said, refusing to meet the being’s gaze. “There were quite a few things I needed to process, you know. You sure do know how to drop a bomb.”
“I apologize for any distress, my Dear,” Death said, tilting his head in a fashion so similar to Little One, he couldn’t help but smile. “It was not my intention.”
“I am aware,” Voldemort said stiffly, regaining his composure at the reminder. “Which is why I am not cursing you into oblivion right now.”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t do any damage, but I would allow it if it helps you.” Death said with a grin. Voldemort scoffed. “Are you ready to discuss things now, my Dear?”
“I suppose,” Voldemort said, shifting slightly. He sighed and waved his hand, wandlessly summoning a chair from the ten that lined the walls. “Sit. I can’t speak to you when you’re hovering over me like this.”
Death smiled again, as if Voldemort’s request was a funny joke, but obliged. The sight of Death sitting in a simple chair made a small smirk spread across his face. “What shall we discuss first, my Dear?”
“You said Little One was your master,” Voldemort said, choosing to address the matter of his son first, rather than opening the can of worms that was their relationship. “You said you didn’t come here to take him from me.”
“Yes.”
“Is he still your master?” Voldemort asked, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. “I recall a story that I read once, something that I’m sure I’ve read to Little One. The Tale of the Three Brothers. I assume you’ve heard of it?”
“Ah yes, the Peverell brothers,” Death said, a smile stretching across his face, drawing Voldemort’s gaze to Death’s sharp jawline. “I have not thought of them in many years. I assume you are referring to the Hallows, then?”
“How can Little One be your master if he never gathered the Deathly Hallows?” Voldemort demanded. “He was just a baby when he was killed. After I brought him back, he stayed with me. He’s never had the chance to master your Hallows.”
“The Hallows were made to ease my loneliness,” Death said with a hum. “They would grant the holder powers, yes. It would allow them to see and commune with me, and it could grant immortality as well, however it would never be permanent. The second the Hallows were lost, they would return to being a regular mortal. They served as a source of company for me as I awaited my True Master. My True Master would be able to see me and commune with me with or without the Hallows. He would be a true immortal the second he reached maturity.”
Voldemort frowned, his eyebrows furrowed in his confusion. “You said his soul was created with the sole intention of being your master. He never needed the Hallows, did he?”
“No,” Death said, shaking his head. “He was created to be mine, just as you were. The Hallows would only give him more power, but they are not necessary.”
“And what of me?” Voldemort asked, finally asking the question that had been running around rampant in his head for days. “You said that I was… created to be yours. What… what does that mean?”
Death smiled, and his gaze was so impossibly fond that Voldemort forced himself to look away, unable to stomach such a look. “My Master was made to give me company. Friendship. But you, my Dear, were created to be my companion. You were made to be mine.”
“You already said that---”
“You were made to be my partner for eternity. You are destined to be my one true love for the rest of time.” Death said bluntly. Voldemort froze in place, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at Death.
While Voldemort had already realized this, it was a shock to hear it put so bluntly. Death, seeming to understand Voldemort’s hesitance, smiled and stood, walking towards him. Voldemort could feel the anticipation building in his gut as the being walked closer to him. Death knelt in front of him, and Voldemort’s breath hitched in the back of his throat. He could feel the entity’s hand cupping his cheek, and Voldemort couldn’t tear his gaze from Death’s.
“I have had centuries to adjust to the idea,” he said softly, and Voldemort could feel Death’s breath tickling his cheeks. “But this is new to you. I understand, my Dear, if you need more time. I am willing to wait for you. After all, what is a few centuries to a timeless being like me? We can take this at your pace.”
Voldemort thought that was oddly considerate of a being that held no knowledge of human culture. Voldemort sucked in a sharp breath, realizing that he’d been staring at Death for far too long now. He knew that the being was expecting an answer, so Voldemort opened his mouth to respond.
“I…” he trailed off, a mortified blush spreading across his face. “It’s not like I can stop you,” he said, surprising himself with how harsh it sounded. “So… I mean… I guess you can stay around. It’s not like I find your presence annoying.”
Wow.
That was the most embarrassing thing Voldemort had said since he introduced himself to the Slytherins in first year. Had he seriously just fumbled his way through that sentence? He was Lord Voldemort, and yet he was incapable of speaking his mind.
Somehow, though, his message came across, as Death’s smile brightened considerably. He thumbed Voldemort’s cheek a few times before he stood. “I am quite happy.” he said, a soft smile resting on his face.
Yet somehow, Voldemort doubted that. There was something… off about the being. “What is it?” he demanded, taking smug satisfaction at the sight of Death’s surprised expression. Death had clearly not expected Voldemort to pick up on it.
“Whatever do you mean, my Dear?” Death asked. Voldemort shook his head.
“Something is up with you,” Voldemort said, pushing himself out of his chair so that he could level the being with a glare. “I just told you you could stay and court me or whatever. You should be jumping for joy.”
“Was my reaction not satisfactory? I can jump up and down for you if you’d like.” Death said with a grin. Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
“You’re deflecting.” he accused. “What is it? What are you hiding?”
Death sighed and deflated, and without the posturing, Voldemort could see the clear tenseness radiating off the being. Something was wrong. “It’s nothing Dear,” Death said softly, running his hand through his hair in a surprisingly human gesture. “Just… something is coming, I fear.”
“What does that mean?” Voldemort demanded.
Death shook his head. “Hold close to your child, Dear Immortal Lord, I fear the reckoning on the horizon grows closer.”
“There isn’t much time left,” Albus said softly, his blue eyes dull, and missing the signature twinkle as he paced back and forth. “Something must be done. Before it’s too late.”
A sigh could be heard in front of him, and Albus paused in his pacing to look at the person in front of him. “Albus…” he said, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “This can’t continue. Look at yourself. You’re obsessed!”
“I am doing what needs to be done,” Albus said firmly, ignoring the man’s scoff. “With Malfoy as minister, it is only a matter of time before the dark takes over and infects the children.”
“And what do you intend to do about it? Start another war?” the man asked derisively. “Because that worked so well last time.”
“No, a war would be too messy,” Albus said, shaking his head. “I fear we would not win, either. Too many have been corrupted. We are far outnumbered.”
“Then there is nothing you can do but adapt,” the man stated. “Time’s are changing, Albus. Perhaps it is time you change with them.”
“I will not allow myself to be corrupted into the Dark’s evil ways,” Albus said, his voice rising slightly. “Voldemort must be defeated before it is too late! We must knock him off his game somehow.”
“And how do you suppose you’ll do that?” the man asked.
“He was frantic when Harry Potter was taken from him,” Albus said with a small hum. “It took only a week for the man to become manic. Perhaps…”
“You intend to kidnap the man’s son? You really have changed.”
“Harry Potter is James Potter’s son, not Voldemort’s.” Albus snapped. “This delusion has gone too far. Tom was always obsessed with the idea of family, when he was corrupted, his desire for a family was corrupted along with him. He’s perverted the idea of family to the point that he kidnapped Harry from his family and brought him back from the dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Voldemort’s fault Harry died in the first place.”
“Albus, please, listen to yourself!” the man cried. “Kidnapping a child? You’ve gone mad!”
“No. I am the same as I always was,” Albus said firmly. “I have a plan to take Harry away from Voldemort. Once Voldemort is defeated, I will be able to save the toddler and free him of Voldemort’s control.”
“This is crazy.” the man muttered.
“It is for the Greater Good,” Albus countered. “Something you once believed in.”
“Not like this. Never like this.”
Albus ignored the man in favor of the door. “It’s almost time. Soon, Voldemort will be defeated. I’m afraid I must take my leave now. Thank you for all your help, old friend.”
The man watched with sad eyes as Albus walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing against the barren stone. The man shivered against the cold breeze that blew through his cell, and his movement caused the magic-suppressing shackles to clank loudly. He sighed, and as the moon shone through an open window above him, lighting his gaunt fingers and thread-bare clothes and blanket, the man let out a mournful whine.
“Oh Albus, what happened to you? You’ve changed so much…” Gellert whispered to the empty cell. “I fear what comes next.”