...There is Quiet
-December 3, 1991-
“Change it.” He snarled, slamming his hands down onto the table. Fate said nothing, merely looking up at Death with a raised eyebrow.
“You messed up my game,” She said, gesturing to the scattered chess pieces on the ground. “Is something the matter, Brother?”
“I know you planned something,” Death said, looming over Her. “I am asking you to change it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear Brother,” Fate said softly, waving Her hand so that the chess pieces were righted again. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t change things because you cannot interfere with my plans.”
“I know something is about to happen!” Death shouted. “I feel it. Something is about to change. The universe is about to shift drastically, and I fear that my Master and my Companion will suffer for it.”
“You are the one who wanted a Master,” Fate reminded Him, moving her pawn forward. “Calm down and play a round with me.”
“I don’t have the time to play chess, Sister! Leave the game for a moment and listen to me---”
“Brother, I assure you, you have the time to play,” Fate said. “Sit. Play with me as we speak.”
Blowing out a harsh breath of air, Death sat down on his chair and moved forward a black pawn, ignoring His Dear Sister’s smug smile. As Fate moved Her next piece, Death waited patiently for Her to continue. “Well?” he asked, tapping His finger against the board.
“This plan is necessary,” Fate spoke, and Death moved his pawn again. “You wanted your Master. I have devised a way to give him to you.”
Death froze. “What do you mean?”
“You will see soon,” Fate answered, moving Her knight. “Why do you fret? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“I am content with how things are now,” Death said carefully. “Why do things need to change?”
“All things change, Brother,” Fate said with a dismissive wave of Her hands. “Why fight it when it’s much easier to accept it and go with the flow?”
“What is coming?”
Fate smiled. “You cannot fight it,” She said. “It is inevitable. Let it happen, Dear Brother, to fight it would cause more pain.”
Her knight captured His rook.
He was awoken by the sound of apparition, and Gellert slowly cracked open his eyes to see Albus standing in his cell. It was rather odd for him to visit Gellert again so soon, and Gellert pushed himself up on one elbow to look at the man. “Why are you here, Albus?” Gellert asked, watching with wariness as his ex-lover paced the cold ground. “This is unlike you.”
“It’s time, Gellert,” Albus said, raising his head to meet Gellert’s gaze. Gellert’s eyes widened when he saw his eyes. Albus’ usually twinkling eyes were wide with mania, the sight only convincing Gellert that the Albus he once knew and loved was long gone. “It’s time to save the world again.”
“When is the last time you slept?” he asked, leaning against the cold stone walls.
“I’ve been busy planning,” Albus said, ignoring the concern. “Soon the world will go back to the way it was meant to be. The Dark Magic will be gone, and our kind will be free from it’s corrupting presence.”
“Honestly, Albus,” Gellert said, shaking his head. “You must know that’s false. Dark magic isn’t evil.”
“You were corrupted,” Albus countered. “You are still under its influence.”
“How?!” Gellert cried, lifting his hands to shake the manacles on his wrists. “These magic-canceling cuffs have been on me for decades! How could I be ‘corrupted’?”
Albus didn’t respond, and Gellert could nothing but watch as Albus continued to pace, his steps echoing against the cold walls. Albus looked more mad in this moment than he ever had before, and Gellert feared what he was about to do.
“I must go soon,” Albus said, breaking the tense silence. “I have to carry out my plan to save the world.”
“Albus, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.” Gellert cried. “Please, look at yourself! You’ve gone mad!”
“No, what’s mad is the way the people can’t see!” Albus cried. “They don’t see how damaging Dark Magic is! They’re losing themselves! I won’t stand by and watch as people succumb to its corrupting influence like I did you.”
“Albus---”
“I’m sorry for cutting out time short, old friend,” Albus said, cutting him off. “But I really must be off.”
With the final words of parting, Albus apparated, the loud crack bouncing off the walls. Gellert stared at the place Albus was standing in with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open with shock. Albus had truly lost his mind!
“I don’t know what he’s about to do,” he whispered. “But I pray for those souls.”
There was no reply save for the whistling of the wind.
“Papa story?” Voldemort looked down with a grin, Little One standing in front of him holding up Beedle the Bard, the huge book covering most of the toddler as he struggled to hold it. At his feet, Larry quacked at him, as though he were agreeing with Little One.
“You want me to read you a story?” he asked, taking the book from Little One’s outstretched arms. Little One nodded with excitement, his hair flopping up and down from the movement. “Which one?”
Little One frowned with thought for a moment before he proudly exclaimed, “All of ‘dem!”
Voldemort smiled at Little One before he stood, ignoring the paperwork he was supposed to be doing right now in favor of reading his son a story. With the book in one arm, Voldemort bent down to lift Little One into his free hand, shifting him so that he sat on Voldemort’s hip. With Little One secure in his arms, Voldemort was free to walk to Little One’s bedroom. Behind him, Larry let out an indignant quack as he struggled to keep up with Voldemort’s pace due to his feet. Voldemort smirked.
After yesterday, Little One had asked Voldemort to change his bedroom so that it had snow in it. Voldemort made the adjustments so that there was a light flurry in Little One’s bedroom, while maintaining the comfortable temperature. Little One loved it, and Voldemort had smiled as he watched his son race around his room with his head tilted back to feel the snow. Death had stayed the night with him again yesterday, and Voldemort could freely admit that he enjoyed waking up next to Death in the morning.
Yesterday was wonderful, and he’d secretly been looking forward to spending time with Death and Little One again today, but Death was nowhere to be found. It was a little out of character for the clingy being, but Voldemort didn’t dwell on it too much.
When he arrived in Little One’s room, Little One began squirming in his hold, his face lit up with excitement as he felt the snow on his face. Voldemort gently set the toddler on the ground, smiling as Little One giggled.
Voldemort walked slowly to the bed swing, the leaves now decorated with a thin layer of snow, as Little One jumped into tiny snow piles. As Voldemort got comfortable on the bed, Little One began making tiny snowballs, the reason for coming into the room long forgotten. Voldemort didn’t mind though, raising a toddler for eternity meant he was no stranger to short attention spans. As long as Little One was happy, Voldemort was content.
As Little One began making tiny snowmen out of his snowballs, Larry finally made it to the room, his waddling lopsided as he struggled to clear the snow with his short foot. Watching the mangy duck move never failed to entertain Voldemort, as the thing was forced to bob from side to side as he waddled.
After a few seconds of waddling, Larry had only managed to get a few inches through the snow. He let out a loud quack then, alerting Little One to his presence. Little One let out a soft gasp and rushed over to the duckling, lifting him up and carrying him into the room. Voldemort scoffed. What a lazy duckling.
Larry met Voldemort’s gaze and he seemed to glare at him accusingly, and Voldemort smirked in response. Clearly the duck didn’t appreciate being left behind. In response to Voldemort’s smirk, the duck rubbed his face into Little One’s, and Little One giggled before pressing several kisses to the top of the duckling’s head. Voldemort’s smirk dropped instantly at the sight as he glared at the duck.
“Little One!” Voldemort called, interrupting Little One’s continued attempts to smother the beast with affection. “I thought you wanted me to read you a story?”
“Story!” Little One gasped, abandoning his half-made snowman in favor of rushing over to Voldemort’s side. To Voldemort’s dismay, Little One carried Larry with him as he climbed up into the bed.
“I don’t think Larry will be able to see the book from there,” Voldemort said, gesturing towards the beast that was currently sitting in Little One’s lap. “Do you want me to move him so he can see the pictures?”
Little One nodded, the horror of not being able to see the pictures clearly displayed on his face. From his place in Little One’s lap, Voldemort could see Larry glaring at him, and Voldemort fought back a smirk as he picked the thing up and placed him on a nearby branch, far away from his precious Little One. Larry quacked in disagreement, but Voldemort quickly distracted Little One by lifting the toddler into his lap.
“There we go,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “Now everyone can see.” Everyone except Larry, of course, who was sitting on a branch above Voldemort’s head, unable to do anything but quack and glare.
“Story!” Little One whispered, tapping on the book cover.
“Of course precious,” Voldemort agreed, opening the book cover. “Now let’s see, which story shall we read first---”
Voldemort’s question died in the back of his throat when he felt a weight land on top of his head. Little One looked up questioningly when Voldemort paused, only to let out a giggled as he pointed to Voldemort’s head. “Larry!” he said.
Pure rage flowed through him as he carefully lifted his hand to pat his head. Sure enough, the infernal beast had jumped from his position on the branch and was now nuzzling his way into Voldemort’s hair.
How dare---
“Good Papa!” Little One said, patting Voldemort’s cheek. “Larry happy!”
“Actually, I think Larry is very uncomfortable and would like to move---”
“Larry happy, Papa,” Little One protested, stopping Voldemort from moving the damned duck off his head. “Larry stay?”
Voldemort watched with resignation as Little One’s eyes filled with tears. Damn. Voldemort let out a sigh and gently carded his fingers through Little One’s hair in a comforting gesture. “Of course he can stay, dear heart,” he said. “Larry can see the pictures even better now.”
Little One beamed and Voldemort couldn’t stop the feeling that he’d just been tricked into making a deal with the devil.
“Will they be in pain?” He asked, moving His bishop across the board. Several of His pieces sat on the outside of the board, and it was obvious who was winning---like always---as He only had a handful of pieces left.
“You cannot stop it from happening,” Fate said, moving another one of Her knights. “Why do you keep asking? You’ve never done this before.”
“It’s different now, and you know it.” Death countered, moving his queen a few spaces to the left.
“Why? Because you’ve grown attached?”
“You’re the one who made me attached!” Death cried, shooting His Sister a glare.
“No, I merely set you in their direction,” Fate said with a shake of Her head. “You grew attached on your own.”
“Why would you send me to them if you intend to take them from me later?” Death asked, moving his only pawn. “That’s cruel, even for you.”
“It needs to happen, Dear Brother,” Fate said. “You will understand in due time.”
“Just tell me now!” Death cried, scoffing as Fate took His final pawn with Her knight.
“How impatient,” Fate murmured, resting Her head on Her hand. “You are really upset about this, aren’t you?”
“How could I not be?” Death cried. “Something is going to happen and I can’t stop it! I could lose everything!” In His anger, He slammed his rook down on the board in the perfect position to capture Her king. “Check.”
Fate merely hummed. “Sometimes, Dear Brother,” She said, moving Her king out of the way. “One must lose something to gain everything.” Her king was now in the perfect position to take Death’s king. “Check.”
“What does that mean?” Death growled, boxing Fate’s king in with his rook and Queen. “Check.”
“It means that you cannot stop what’s about to happen, Dear Brother, as I’ve said. You are about to lose a lot of things,” Fate said with a smirk. “But you’ve never been very good at looking at the bigger picture, have you? Checkmate.”
In Death’s distraction, he’d only noticed Fate’s king, completely missing the knight that She had been steadily moving over in the proper place to take His king. Fate picked up Her knight and knocked over Death’s king.
“Don’t forget the bigger picture,” Fate said, staring into Death’s eyes. “Not everything is as it seems.”
The king fell to the ground with a loud clatter.
Half-way through the second story, Voldemort felt the familiar chill of Death’s presence. Voldemort lifted his head to see Death standing on the threshold of the doorway, a strange expression on his face. Little One let out a gasp when he saw Death, scooting his way off Voldemort’s lap so that he could run over to the being.
“Death!” Little One exclaimed happily. “Hi!”
It was strange watching the pair interact with each other. Little One was open with Death in a way Voldemort had never seen before. He’d actually brought it up with Death yesterday, and Death theorized that he was comfortable around Death because Little One was his Master.
“Hello, Little One,” Death whispered, patting Little One on the head. “What are you doing?”
“Storytime!” Little One explained. He reached up to grab Death’s hand before he began to drag Death towards Voldemort. Death smiled, but Voldemort could see something was wrong. As Little One climbed back into Voldemort’s lap, Voldemort sent Death a questioning look.
“Nice hat.” Death said, ignoring the look. Voldemort frowned at the reminder of the mangy beast on his head and scowled at Death.
“Silly Death,” Little One giggled. “Not a hat! It’s Larry!”
“Ah, I see.” Death said, sitting down on the bed next to Voldemort. “Apologies Larry.”
“We were just reading a story,” Voldemort said, offering Death one half of the book. Death took it with a smile, and with his free hand, he held Voldemort’s. “Care to join us?”
“I would love nothing more.” Death said.
The trio continued to read the stories, and Voldemort watched as Little One stared at the book with wide eyes, laughing whenever Death used funny voices. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He caught Death’s eye for a moment, and he could’ve sworn that the being looked pained. The look was gone in an instant, of course, leaving Voldemort to wonder if he’d seen it at all.
However, even as Death acted like nothing was wrong, Voldemort couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.
Albus approached the building with a smile, waving at some of the workers as he entered. He could see their confusion as he walked through the New Ministry, but no one said anything. He was about to walk towards the department of mysteries when Lord Malfoy blocked his path.
“Hello Albus,” he said, an indifferent mask firmly in place. “What brings you to the New Ministry today?”
“Why I came to see you, of course,” Albus said with a smile. Lord Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “How have you been, my boy? How’s Minister life treating you?”
“I doubt you came here just to ask me that,” Lord Malfoy said, crossing his arms. “Why are you really here?”
“You’re right,” Albus said with a sigh. “I’m actually here to see Mr. Weasely. Just thought I’d be polite and ask how you’re doing, my boy.”
“Percy Weasely?” Lord Malfoy asked, and Albus shook his head.
“Oh no, his father,” he explained. “Why, I’d forgotten young Percy works here now. How is he doing, by the way?”
“He’s fine,” Lord Malfoy said with a grimace. “I’ll take you to Arthur Weasley now. We can’t have unauthorized personnel just waltzing around here, now can we?”
“Oh no, I suspect not.” Albus agreed.
“Right this way,” Lord Malfoy said, pointing towards a hallway. Albus followed Lord Malfoy through the halls before he whipped out his wand, freezing the man in place. “Well this is unexpected,” the man says as he glares at Albus. “What are you doing?”
“What must be done,” Albus says. “Legilimens!”
Albus dug through Lord Malfoy’s mind, tearing apart the man’s mental blocks like paper, searching for the information he sought. When he found it, he pulled out of the Minister’s mind. Lord Malfoy was breathing heavily as he glared at Albus, a single trail of blood running down his nose. “I don’t know what you want that information for, but it won’t end well for you,” he snarled. “Some Light Lord you are.”
“You will understand soon,” Albus said gently. “Soon, Dark Magic will be gone, and no one will be corrupted anymore.”
Lord Malfoy paused. “Have… Have you gone mad?”
“No,” Albus said, pointing his wand at the immobilized Minister. “I am doing what needs to be done for the Greater Good. Obliviate.”
As Lord Malfoy slumped into unconsciousness, Albus turned around and walked out of the New Ministry. He had the information he needed to save the world, and soon everything would return to the way it was meant to be.
He apparates away just as the bomb goes off, blowing up the New Ministry building.