In The Eye of a Hurricane...
-December 2, 1991-
Voldemort awoke slowly. That, in itself, was an odd occurrence, as Voldemort was used to snapping into consciousness within a split second, but perhaps the most odd occurrence was the fact that Voldemort was not alone in his bed. It was a large figure, so it definitely wasn’t Little One, and a heavy arm was wrapped around his bare torso, holding him tightly against an equally bare chest. Voldemort fought through the comforting lethargic haze in his mind to wake up, and when the activities of last night finally hit him, Voldemort snapped his eyes open.
He slowly turned around, his crimson gaze finding the still sleeping Being in his bed. Death did not seem bothered by Voldemort’s movements as he didn’t wake, he did, however, grumble in his sleep and pull Voldemort closer to him, nuzzling his face into Voldemort’s neck.
Voldemort flushed as Death’s breath tickles his sensitive neck, and he shifts slightly, trying to subtly pull away from the being. He is bare under the silk bed sheets, and he could feel Death’s similar state against him. It was… odd, for lack of a better term, to wake up after a night of amorous activities to see his partner still there.
Voldemort did not often take lovers, as he was too busy running a country and raising an immortal toddler, not to mention, he had no interest in romantic relationships, and sex often came with emotional attachments. Voldemort could not remember the last time he had slept with another person, but he knew he had never let the person stay the night with him.
The only person Voldemort cuddled was his son---and he was never the one being cuddled.
Voldemort frowned, unsure of how to proceed with the recent development in he and Death’s relationship. The experiment was a success, and Voldemort enjoyed it greatly, but he wasn’t sure how this would affect their friendship. Would Death expect more from him now that they’ve become physical?
Voldemort wasn’t sure about it, simply because he had no experience with such a thing. Wanting to be in a relationship was a new idea to him, and he didn’t want to risk messing things up and pushing Death away.
As soon as that thought crossed Voldemort’s mind he instantly rejected it. Voldemort was a powerful Dark Lord! He was always in control of a situation, and if he wanted to be in a relationship with Death, then he would! Lord Voldemort had no room for something as pathetic as insecurities, and sitting here, post bliss, worrying about such things was something only pathetic children did.
Speaking of children---what is he going to tell Little One?
Little One was just a child, far too young to understand complicated relationships between adults, and the last thing Voldemort wanted was to stress out his son. What if Little One didn’t want Voldemort in a relationship? He could recall several horror stories in which one of his followers attempted to get remarried, only to alienate their child in the process.
Little One was the most important thing in his life, and if he decided he didn’t want Voldemort in a relationship, Voldemort would respect that. Death would too, because Voldemort wouldn’t allow otherwise.
“What are you thinking about?” Death asked, apparently awake as he dragged Voldemort even closer to him.
“Us.” Voldemort answered in a moment of embarrassing honesty. Voldemort clenched his teeth at the accidental confession, but stuck to it, knowing it was too late to take it back. “What we did. It changes things, doesn’t it?”
Death hummed, and Voldemort could feel the vibrations against his neck. “If you want it to,” he said. “Things can stay the same too, of course. We take this at your pace.”
Voldemort’s hand moved from the cool bedspread to clasp Death’s hand, shifting slightly so that he could hold it while still resting his head on Death’s arm. “I don’t know what I want,” he spoke. Well, in for a penny in for a pound, he supposed. “I liked this, though.”
“Then we can take things slowly,” Death said softly. “Until you discover what you want.”
It was so horribly simple, it made Voldemort smile. This morning was beginning to feel more and more surreal. Voldemort would never have a ‘heart-to-heart’, it was far too plebeian. And yet, here he was, cuddling with Death and discussing their feelings. It was all so strange, Voldemort wasn’t sure how he felt about it at all.
“I like this…” Voldemort whispers softly, in a tone so out of character for him it made him cringe, but he soldiered on. “I like us… What does that make us?”
Death was silent for a moment as he played with Voldemort’s hair. “Companions,” he said finally. “It makes us companions. Two lonely souls seeking solace in each other.”
Voldemort smiled. “Companions, huh?” he whispered. In response, Death pressed closer and kissed his cheek in a gentle display of affection.
Voldemort allowed himself to rest in Death’s arms for as long as possible before he got up. Death had grumbled his complaints as Voldemort dragged himself away from Death’s grip, but Voldemort reminded the Being that there was a toddler next door who was bound to be freaking out because he couldn’t get into Voldemort’s room.
Sure enough, as soon as Voldemort and Death were both decent, Voldemort opened the door to be greeted with a hyperventilating Little One, one hand anxiously tugging at his hair and the other shoved into his mouth and he sucked on his fingers. His eyes widened when he saw Voldemort standing in front of him and he let out a distressed whine before extending his hands towards him.
“Oh dear, did I scare you?” Voldemort cooed, bending down to lift Little One into his arms. Little One said nothing, merely shoving his face into Voldemort’s collar and whined again. Voldemort smiled at the adorable toddler in his arms, lightly running his hand down his back in a comforting gesture.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Death leaning against the wall and watching them with a fond grin, his eyes alight with a gentle sweetness that Voldemort had never seen before. Voldemort continued to rock Little One in his arms, consoling the distressed child. After a few minutes of sweet whispers and cuddling, Little One pulled away to look at Voldemort.
“Papa go ‘way?” he asked, bringing up his hand to pat at Voldemort’s cheek in question.
“No sweetheart,” Voldemort said with a shake of his head. “Papa was just… busy, is all. I didn’t mean to scare you, dearest.”
Little One seemed to consider this for a few seconds before he nodded, and in doing so, caught sight of Death standing against the wall. “Papa,” Little One said, tugging on Voldemort’s nose to get his attention. “Papa, look!”
Death’s grin was blinding as Little One pointed at him, and Voldemort fought back a snort at the ridiculously domestic scene. “Yes, dear, I see him,” Voldemort said. “Do you remember him?”
“Death.” Little One said, opening and closing his hand at Death, a toddler wave. “Hi Hi.”
Death chuckled. “Hi Hi.”
“Papa play?” Little One asked, looking back and forth between Death and Voldemort. Voldemort frowned for a moment, watching his son’s emerald eyes lighten with excitement at the prospect of a new playmate.
“Oh, I don’t know…” Voldemort trailed off. Just because he and Death were now… companions did not mean that he was ready for them to start hanging out. He still held on to some reservations about the whole thing.
“I’ll be good,” Death said, and Voldemort froze for a second, wondering if the being could read his mind. “I won’t do anything bad, my Dear.”
“Papa p’wease?” Little One asked, pouting. Voldemort sighed.
“Fine,” he said, adjusting his hold on Little One so that he was sitting on his hip. “He can play. But you have to bundle up, it’s cold outside.”
Little One let out an excited squeal that had the volume of a whisper and began squirming in Voldemort’s hold, eager to play. Voldemort set him down on the ground and Little One shot off towards his room, no doubt about to dress himself up. Voldemort watched him go with a soft smile and Death trailed over to him, wrapping his arms around Voldemort’s waist.
“You’re different with him,” Death whispered, resting his chin on Voldemort’s shoulder. “Lighter. Happier.”
“It’s easy with him,” Voldemort responded, leaning back into Death’s weight ever so slightly. “I just have to be ‘Papa’, not ‘Great Lord Voldemort’.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
“What? Becoming a Dark Lord?” Death nodded against his shoulder. Voldemort hummed, “No, I don’t think so. It was my life’s goal, you know? I know it doesn’t seem so, but I did a lot of good with what I accomplished.”
“What about Little One? Do you regret taking him in?”
“Merlin no,” Voldemort denied quickly. He didn’t even need to think about that one. “Little One is… He’s… He started off as just an heir but he became my life. He changed me for the better… I fear what I might have become without him.”
Little One burst into the room then, and Voldemort stifled a chuckle at the sight of him. Little One was wearing a giant coat on top of several thinner jackets, he looked like a giant marshmallow. He was wearing Voldemort’s old scarf with green and blue panels, and peaking out from underneath the scarf, Larry sat nestled in between the bulbous winter coat and a red sweater. His eyes sparkled as he rocked back and forth in his blue snow boots.
“Papa, we play?” he asked, waving his arms up and down, making squeaky noises where the coat rubbed against each other.
Voldemort nodded, bending down to lift the toddler into his arms. “Of course dear,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Let’s go!”
The trio walked outside to the grounds in content silence, the only noise coming from the overexcited toddler who bounced his arms up and down, making the coat squeak once more. Voldemort set Little One down on the ground, his boots sinking under the thin layer of snow. Voldemort cast a minor heating charm on Little One’s clothes to keep him comfortable as he grabbed Death’s hand and began to drag him towards one of the flower beds.
Voldemort followed behind the pair, a fond grin resting on his face. The scene, much like the bedroom, was unbearably domestic, and it filled Voldemort with a strange warm feeling in his gut.
He never expected to have something like this: a partner and a son, happily playing outside in the snow. It made him think back to poor orphan Tom Riddle whose secret desire was to have a family. Some emptiness that Voldemort never knew he had was filled at the sight.
“Papa crown?” Little One called, bringing Voldemort’s attention to the pair who were now crouching in the snow. Larry, having somehow managed to escape Little One’s coat, was struggling to waddle through the tiny snow, his uneven leg dragging through the cold.
“You want to make flower crowns?” Voldemort asked, stepping forward, ignoring the soft quacking from behind him. If he was lucky, maybe the infernal duck would wander off in the cold. One could only hope…
Little One nodded, his hair flopping into his face with his enthusiasm. “Crown!”
“Alright then,” Voldemort said, clearing off some of the snow from the flowers with a wave of his hand. “They’re a little cold, though. Do be careful.”
Little One paid no heed to Voldemort’s warning, merely stripping off his dark green mittens and placing them carelessly in the snow as he began to pick out flowers for crowns. Voldemort grimaced at the sight, and though, technically, Little One couldn’t hypothermia, he cast an extra heating charm just to be safe.
“Flower crowns?” Death asked him, looking up from his seated position on the ground to where Voldemort stood.
“He gives flower crowns to new friends,” Voldemort said in lieu of explanation. “Congratulations.”
Death beamed, clearly excited at the notion of being Little One’s friend. He leaned forward when Little One held out two flowers, a rose and a daisy, and Death pointed at the white flower. Little One began to make his crown digiliantly when Voldemort felt something push against his foot. He looked down to see Larry looking at him with wide eyes.
Voldemort glared at the duckling for a moment before he sighed. He lifted the duckling out of the snow and placed him on top of Little One’s forgotten mittens. The duck quacked at him before he nuzzled the fuzzy warmth. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” Voldemort said to the duckling. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
The duck only looked at Voldemort for a second longer before he nuzzled closer into the mittens. Voldemort sniffed at the ungrateful beast and turned to look at Little One. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Death chuckling at him.
Suddenly a hand was thrust into his face, and Voldemort reared back on instinct, only to relax when he saw it was Little One holding a flower crown. Little One was beaming at him, his scarf having slipped down enough to see the bottom half of his face. Voldemort smiled at him and bowed his head so Little One could place the crown on his head.
Little One giggled when he was done, and Voldemort smiled at the happy sound. It had been too long since Voldemort had simply played with his son. Little One was wearing his own flower crown consisting of daffodils and daisies, and in his hands was a flower crown of daisies for Death.
Little One handed the flower crown to Death only for the entire thing to wilt into dust the second it touched his hands. Death watched it happen sadly while Little One stared at it with horrified shock. He lightly touched the wilted remains of the flowers before he looked up at Death questioningly.
“Plantlife wilts in my presence,” Death said mournfully, looking at the two of them in their matching flower crowns sadly. “I’m so sorry, Little One, the flower crown was lovely.”
“Death sad?” Little One asked, patting the being’s arm in a comforting gesture.
“I wanted to match.” Death said truthfully. “But I forgot…”
Voldemort took one look at the matching sadness on Little One and Death before he sighed. “Don’t worry dear heart,” Voldemort said cheerfully, transfiguring the wilted remains of Little One’s first flower crown into a metal version. “Here, now we all match.”
Death picked up the metal crown and held it in his hands reverently for a second before he placed it on his head. The metal was colored lifelike, and it looked like real flowers. Little One clapped happily when the crown sat on Death’s head and nothing happened. Death had a broad grin on his face as he looked at Voldemort, and Voldemort could not fight back the smile that stretched across his face.
“Thank you…” he whispered, holding out his hand to lightly caress Voldemort’s cheek, red from the cold.
“It was nothing,” Voldemort said, staring at Death’s eyes for a second more before tearing his gaze away to look at Little One. “What shall we do next, my dear?”
Little One hummed for a second before he grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at Voldemort’s face. Voldemort let out a surprised gasp at the cold before he heard Little One and Death break out into chuckles. “I’m gonna get you for that!” Voldemort cried, grabbing at some snow.
Little One let out an excited squeal and wobbled to his feet before he started to run away. Voldemort laughed and started chasing his son, throwing snowball after snowball, intentionally missing. It got interesting when Death got involved, as the being had a knack for knowing when the snowball was about to hit him.
The trio stayed outside in the cold for another hour before they finally went in, dripping from the cold. It was, however, the most fun Voldemort had had in a while, and when they curled up by the fire to read Beedle the Bard while drinking hot chocolate, Voldemort could feel all the stress he’d been carrying melt away.
He rested his head on Little One’s and held Death’s hand with his free one while they read story after story by the fire, and Voldemort felt like they were a family.
It was wonderful.
“Are you ready to go?” Remus asks, patting Sirius’ shoulders as he checks him over. “We have to go undercover now until the Dark Lord calls us back.”
“I know,” Sirius said, reaching out to straighten out the lapels of Remus’ coat. “This will be easy, a total piece of cake!”
“Don’t be obvious.” Remus said, looking at Sirius firmly. Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Please Remmy, don’t insult me,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Serious is my middle name!”
“Sirius Serious?” Remus deadpanned. Sirius just grinned.
“Don’t wear it out.”
“Merlin you’re an idiot,” Remus said with a shake of his head. “Come on. We have to go soon.”
“Getting ready to infiltrate the Order, then?” a voice called out from behind them. Sirius turned around to see Snape---Severus standing at the door, and Sirius swallowed dryly at the sight of him. He was wearing a tight pair of black pants and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, proudly displaying the dark mark. In his right arm was a black coat, and Sirius could see tiny specks of white in his hair where the snow was beginning to melt.
“Were you outside?” Sirius blurted out before he snapped his mouth shut, an embarrassed flush spreading across his face. Beside him, Remus snorted.
Severus raised an eyebrow. “I was. It’s snowing.”
“Cool. Right. Nice. That’s, ah, nice,” Sirius cleared his throat and brought his hand to scratch at the back of his neck nervously. “Is it cold?”
“It’s snowing, Black, what do you think?” Severus said cooly. Sirius bit his lip and nodded. “Right. Well, good luck, I suppose. Don’t blow it.”
“Thank you, Severus---”
“Fuck it.”
“Excuse me?” Severus sputtered, his eyes widening as he looked at Sirius in shock, and he knew that Remus was looking at him with confusion, used to hearing that kind of language in private, but not in a public setting. “You have something to share, Black?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.” Sirius said, stepping forward, ignoring the calming hand placed on his shoulder, courtesy of Remus. “I have something to say to you, Severus.”
“What are you doing, Siri?” Remus whispered, but Sirius didn’t respond, his gaze planted firmly on the potions master in front of him.
Severus, clearly caught off guard by the use of his first name, merely stared at him. “I don’t want to hear any insults, Black,” he said. “Hurry up and leave, already.”
Sirius fell to his knees, and placed his head on the ground, “I’m so sorry Severus,” he whispered, but in the silence of the room, it sounded like a shout. “I have wronged you and I can never stop apologizing for that. Truly, I am so sorry.”
“W---Stand up, Black! You look ridiculous! What are you doing?!” Severus sputtered.
“I am offering my deepest apologies for what I’ve done.” Sirius said, and Severus let out a harsh scoff.
“You’ve already apologized, Merlin Black, get up!” Severus cried. “This is too much, even for you!”
Sirius raised his chest but did not stand, sitting on the back of his heels. From this position, he could see Severus’ stunned expression and the amused grin of Remus behind him. “I’ve hurt you,” Sirius said, his eyes meeting Severus’ firmly. “I was a stupid kid who didn’t know how to deal with his feelings back then, but that isn’t an excuse. I will do what I have to to make it up to you.”
“You---... Your feelings?!” Severus said, his face screwed up with confusion. “What’s the matter with you? Lupin! Control your boyfriend! I think he’s been hit with a spell or something!”
“I haven’t,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to make you understand, so I’m just going to come out and say it.”
“Say what?!”
Sirius stood then, using his full height to box Severus against the wall. “I’m attracted to you,” he said, smiling when Severus’ breath hitched in the back of his throat as he stared at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know when it happened but it did. I took it out on you instead of asking you on a date like I should have, and I will always regret that.”
“You… You… Lupin…” Severus stuttered, his gaze flitting from Sirius to Remus with pleading eyes.
“Remus feels the same way,” Sirius said. “And we’re going to win you over, Severus Snape. We are going to do everything we can to make it up to you. And once we’ve earned your forgiveness, we are going to take you out.”
“What---”
“He’s right, you know,” Remus cut in, making Severus draw his gaze away from Sirius’ heated stare to look at the werewolf. “We are going to do right by you.”
“So get ready,” Sirius said in a deep voice, watching with satisfaction as Severus’ face grew red. “To be wooed, Severus.”
With that, Sirius pulled away from Severus and offered his hand out to Remus who took it and began to walk away, throwing one last grin over his shoulder at the potions master who was standing frozen against the wall.
They stepped into the apparition zone and apparated out of the Dark Lord’s castle. It wasn’t until Sirius was in the comfort of his old home that he allowed himself to panic. He turned his head to look at Remus with wide eyes.
“Remus,” he said with a strained voice. “What the hell did we just do?”
“I think we just propositioned Severus Snape.” Remus said with a smile.
Sirius just let out a harsh gasp and covered his face with his hands. “I was afraid you’d say that.”