Dec 31 } for me :)

Voldemort sighed, contented, as he sank down into his overstuffed armchair. Say what you will about the Malfoys, Voldemort thought, they knew how to apply a good cushioning charm. Much better than the Lestranges and the Dolohovs did, at any rate.

Horvitz, Voldemort’s personal house-elf and therefore trustworthy, popped in with the tea tray. Voldemort’s favorite teacup—a gaudy gold chalice, to be exact—was perched on a silver platter. The comforting scent of over-brewed builders tea wafted up from the cup as Horvitz poured the water in. He followed it with two squeezes of lemon—extra bitter—just as Voldemort preferred.

“Thank you, Horvitz,” said Voldemort, taking the cup. 

He inhaled deeply, his thin lips stretching into a relaxed smile. It was so nice to have a little break from the rigors of daily life—just a little moment to oneself to enjoy a good cuppa with his favorite house-elf in a well-charmed and -cushioned chair. Not a care in the world.

“May I get Milord anything else?” asked Horvitz.

Voldemort looked down at the tea tray, frowning in thought. He tapped a scaled finger to his lip area. “You know, I know we’ve been talking about eating healthier to keep this body fit and trim, but it ismy birthday after all. I think I will have a few Jaffa Cakes.”

Horvitz beamed. “Milord should celebrate!” 

Horvitz popped away and then a second later, returned with a plate full of Jaffa Cakes. Voldemort took one and bit into it, his eyes closing in bliss as the chocolate and orange sponge flavor hit his forked tongue. He hissed in pleasure. 

Voldemort chewed, swallowed, took another sip of his tea. Horvitz was still standing there, eagerly watching him eat the cake. Voldemort lifted what had once been his eyebrow.

“What is it? Do I have a crumb?”

“No, Milord,” Horvitz said. “It’s just… that day, Milord.”

Voldemort pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “And you want to do the thing.”

Horvitz nodded. “Horvitz wants to do the thing.”

Voldemort sighed, set his tea aside on the table by the chair. “Very well, then.”

Horvitz cleared his throat. He hummed a few notes. Then he opened his green mouth and sang in a lovely baritone: 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Milorrrrrrd—”

He cut off abruptly as a knock came at the door. Voldemort’s eyes went wide, and he made a desperate slashing motion at his neck to get Horvitz to shut up. Horvitz’s eyes widened and he popped away, disappearing without another word.

Voldemort cleared his throat. “Come in.”

Lucius strode in, imperious, and Voldemort rolled his eyes. Could a man not get a single mo’ of peace without some peacocking servant coming to ruin it?

“Good evening, Milord,” said Lucius. “It is nearly midnight and a new year—another wonderful, exciting new chance to raise our voices and be heard! Another year to champion our cause! To stamp Muggles from the earth! To grow rich!”

“Lucius,” Voldemort prompted. “Do get to the point.”

“I came to wish you a happy birthday, Milord.” Lucius pulled out his pocket watch and consulted it. “It is just five til midnight.”

“Yes, and?”

Lucius bowed low and then rose, a smile playing at his lips. “You have heard, Milord, that they say the person you are with at midnight on the New Year is the person you will be with for the next year?”

“Christ,” Voldemort muttered, too low for Lucius to hear. A desperate feeling was rising in Voldemort’s chest. He knew that kind of magic, and he certainly didn’t want to spend the entire next year with Lucius sodding Malfoy. 

“Good point, Lucius. Give me your arm. Our collective should spend the time together. All of us. A happy family.”

Lucius’s expression fell, but he dutifully held out his forearm for Voldemort. Voldemort pressed his fingers to the Mark, calling his Death Eaters. They began to pop in one-by-one, and Voldemort was grateful that by the time midnight struck, there were plenty others magic could tie him to than Lucius. He just hoped it was on his side this year.

It wasn’t until he was halfway through his Welcoming the New Year speech that he caught Severus’s gaze glued to the half-eaten Jaffa Cakes on the side table. Voldemort caught his eye, slipped inside his mind, and sent him a picture of Severus being hung, drawn, and quartered should he ever mention this to a soul. Severus smiled back at him. Now that was the kind of man Voldemort wouldn’t mind being stuck with all year.