Chapter Twenty-Five: Mother-Son Mondays
Voldemort wasn't much of a singer but thankfully with Ariel's voice, he could sing a Hungarian Horntail into letting him ride its back, literally.
As he and his two-ton fire breathing death machine soared through the troposphere, intent on persuading a clan of mountain trolls to join him as allies in the noble cause, he screamed and kept his arms out to his sides like he was an airplane the entire time.
When Ariel went downstairs that next morning, she found an ocean of flowers awaiting her. All kinds: sunflowers, lilacs, lilies, tulips, foxgloves, rare ones like the iridescent fire irises of Iran, and roses in every hue even blue and aquamarine. Vases of these beautiful flowers occupied every flat surface of that one room and it smelled so fragrant and divine it was like stepping into a small paradise. She beamed immediately at Voldemort who stood in the middle of it and acted earnest when he explained, "I didn't know which was your favorite so I made the florist give me every flower known in the world."
"Oh Tommy," she said, feeling cherished and ready to dote the hell out him when a thought crossed her mind and her face changed. "Wait. Why did you get me flowers? Is someone dead?"
"They might be. People die every day. I'm not responsible for all the deaths in the world."
"Just some of them."
"Yes, but I still did just get you flowers because I love you and I thought that's what people do when they love their moms."
Ariel gave him a sardonic smile. "I wouldn't know."
"Oh yeah, I forgot you were in the dead mother club."
She laughed a little but then she got visibly sad as her thoughts inevitably drifted to her mother, who she never knew and only knew through the stories she heard, for Athena died when she was very young, and, who she realized with heart-shattering horror, she'll have outlived for nearly two centuries, more years than her mother ever lived.
Voldemort, knowing her thoughts, said, "It's such an awful club."
"Yeah," she said with another sad laugh as her eyes teemed with tears. She looked to the side in embarrassment but then saw the flowers and she gave them a closed-lipped smile. "Thanks for the flowers."
"Anytime, mom."
He made her breakfast or lunch depending on the time (with magic of course); he would charm the dishes to clean themselves, make them tea, and ask about her week and her sisters ("I love Arista but she kills every single one of her lovers then complains about being lonely all the time. Like, sissy, you wouldn't be lonely if you just kept three of them alive!" "Some people just can't be helped."); then they'd talk until dinner or until Severus came back from work and then he'd shower her with last-minute affections, tease Severus for being her husband and leave without hurting anybody.
After which Ariel would repeat everything said during their conversations to Severus and he would relay any messages sent by Dumbledore.
It went this way for months.
"Can you incapacitate him all day the next time you meet?" Snape asked one day in June.
"Yes," Ariel said confidently.
She used a play from Narcissa handbook to ensure Dumbledore and Potter could explore that cave wouldn't running into her son.
"Would you judge me if I sirened up this tea?"
"You could butcher a newborn in front of me and I wouldn't judge you, mom."
She uncorked a bottle of rum and filled her teacup. Then she shook the bottle at him invitingly.
He held out his cup and she filled it before they toasted to their Mother-Son Mondays.
"So, how's..." he passed out face-first into the kitchen table before he could finish his sentence.
Ariel dumped her drink into the sink, then poured the rest of the sleeping draught spiked rum down the drain as well. Then she turned to her drooling monster.
When he woke up the world was black and there was something covering his face. He thrashed for his wand then shot upward, pointing his arm straight out at—Ariel.
He was in a bed, safe and sound and she had come to check in on him.
He dropped his wand immediately. "Sorry, I thought—" he held his head suddenly slammed by nausea "Fuck me."
"You know you're a lightweight for an evil wizard." She said as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. "You barely had half a cup before you were passed out."
He chuckled, rubbing his temples. "Maybe you're just an alcoholic."
"Maybe." She said and they laughed.
"What time is it?"
"It's almost midnight."
He tried to remember when he first arrived to visit. It had to have been no later than noon. Did he really sleep twelve hours? That was more than six times what he normally slept.
"Wow. I haven't slept that long...in my entire life."
"You must have needed it."
He didn't agree. Inwardly, he suspected that he never felt safe enough to sleep for that long—to let his body surrender to such a vulnerable state when there were always foes afoot—but for the first time in his life, he could trust someone to protect him. He could feel at home, sleep in this bed in his mother's (and step-father's, ugh) house, and rest, knowing she was nearby to protect him.
He felt so cherished in that moment he couldn't physically handle it. He started to convulse. His face turned a dark blue as his breath went ragged. Soon he was hyperventilating and, to Ariel's horror, the corners of his eyes misted. Before she could react, he threw his arms around her waist and sobbed into her abdomen for ten minutes straight, telling her in croaky wails, how much he loved her, and how he would never hurt her and how she had to promise to never, ever, leave him.
As they wept and made a thousand impossible promises to another, the world would wake to the news that the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, was murdered by Death Eaters.