Disclaimer: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to deny my rights on HP, not to claim them
A\N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed\followed\faved! Also, thanks for pointing out that stray 't' in Herzen and that missing umlaut. Funny thing is, I actually can speak a bit of German...yeah, I really have no excuses. Oh, and who guesses the reference in the disclaimer gets a virtual cookie.
Anaelyssa: Indeed, knives are too mild for Snape's tastes, to the point of it being insulting...Hence the more superior chainsaw.
DiamondStuddedRainbow: Borrow away, my dear. If you credit me, that is. I mean, I did invent those nursery rhymes, or rather modify them. Otherwise... one, two, I'll go after you, three, four, I'll open the door, four, five, I'll push you in a beehive, six, seven, I'll send you to Heaven... Joking. But maybe not.
Chapter 3 – in which Avery makes an unfortunate comment, Voldemort takes revenge, and Harry spits
The Dark Lord got back to the house late at night. He had been doing stuff all day, and finally, finally, it was time to rest. Man, being evil sure was tiring.
Stifling a yawn, because Dark Lords didn't yawn, he climbed up the stairs and went to the kitchen for a quick meal before bed, and he found Mulci, Avery and Dolohov waiting for him with Harry.
"Good evening, my Lord," said Dolohov tightly, his arms folded across his chest, pointedly not looking at him.
Dolohov lifted Harry on his hip and started combing his black, unruly hair with his fingers, still not looking at his master.
"You're not even going to say hi to Harry?" he asked with fake indifference, while Harry chewed on The Skull. "That's the least you could do, my Lord"
Voldemort was confused. Had he done something wrong? Why was Dolohov angry at him? Did he need to Crucio him? In any case, he decided to do as he said, and he awkwardly walked to Harry and extended a reluctant finger to him.
"Um, hi Harry" he muttered uncertainly.
"Daddy," said Harry with a big, bright smile, grabbing his finger with his chubby little hand.
Voldemort automatically twitched.
Dolohov scoffed. "It's a wonder he still recognizes you, seeing as you're never here, my Lord"
"What?" asked Voldemort, whose metaphorical eyebrow had reached his metaphorical hairline.
What was the matter with Dolohov?
"What is the matter with you, Dolohov?"
Did he really need to Crucio him?
"Do I really need to Crucio you?"
Dolohov pointed an accusing finger at the Dark Lord.
"You're never home! It's always work and work and work with you...you never have time for us! And you missed him walking for the first time!"
"He...He walked?" asked Voldemort with an unreadable expression.
"Yes! But you, like every other time, were working! Are we that unimportant to you?"
"Dude," whispered Avery loudly. "What are you, his wife?"
Everyone froze. An awkward, horrified silence fell upon them as they tried to imagine it.
"Yeah...I'm going to pretend that didn't happen," answered Mulciber with the haunted eyes of a person who had witnessed unimaginable horrors.
They all went separate directions, without meeting each other's eyes.
"Welcome home, dear. How was work?"
Voldemort slowly walked into the kitchen. A woman was cooking with her back to him. Who dared call him 'dear'? He hadn't been 'dear' since...well, ever. He'd never been a 'dear' kind of guy, really. He was more of the 'master' type. His hand inched towards his wand, but he wanted to see who was it that dared talk to him that way.
Although, the food she was cooking smelled really good...perhaps he could keep her around, afterall. He trepidantly walked to the kitchen counter where she was preparing salad.
He peered over.
Dolohov's bearded, ruvid face with make up on it smiled sweetly at him.
"Dear, dinner's ready, sit down or it'll get cold"
Voldemort screamed.
Then he woke up panting, shivering and wanting to wash his eyes with bleach.
His bald head gleaming with sweat, he promised himself to Crucio Avery first thing in the morning. And Dolohov, for good measure.
The next morning, Voldemort sat at the kitchen table, his wand at the ready. He hadn't managed more than two hours of sleep after that, because everytime he was about to drift to sleep, Dolohov's beardy, lipsticked face popped up in his mind. His skin was grey and there were huge, black circles under his eyes. Oh, someone was going to pay for that.
Avery walked to the door yawning. He blinked at the Dark Lord's stormy expression.
"Crucio"
He fell to the floor while Voldemort exacted his sweet revenge.
After a while, Dolohov entered stretching his arms tiredly. He shot a look at Avery's body and seemed to consider a quick retreat.
"Crucio"
He was caught before he could attempt to do anything and fell down beside the other Death Eater, wondering what was wrong with their Lord that morning.
Just then, Wormtail came in with his usual cowardly air and timid manner. Out of reflex, Voldemort waved his wand.
"Crucio"
He hadn't meant to, but he was so used to punishing the rat that he couldn't help himself. Moreover that cowardly air grated on his nerves so early in the morning.
After a while, Malfoy entered, the only one perfectly combed, washed and dressed. He was whistling, until he saw three bodies lying on the floor. He looked at the Dark Lord's eye-bags and furrowed his brow.
"My Lord, I can lend you my concealer, if you want–"
"Crucio"
Voldemort revelled in being superior.
That was no news. The rush of power that came from knowing that other people were worms at his feet was what he lived for. There simply could not be something the Dark Lord wasn't good at.
This was no different.
Given a choice between engaging in your hobby and spending time with your kid on Sunday morning, what would you choose?
He intended to excell even at this, gulp, 'daddy' business.
Anyway, that was a tough one. He would have considered this a no-brainer before. Nothing was as thrilling, interesting and challenging as world domination. But lately...
Harry had started to become mean. What with the spitting, the pinching, the kicking-in-the-crotch thing...
It was so cute. He'd even said an almost-sentence. "Use'ss rat", he had exclaimed, pointing his chubby little finger at Wormtail. Harry had potential. He was going to grow into a wonderful adult.
So his answer would have to be the number three: 'I'd try to teach and share my hobby with my kid'.
Next.
When your child acts up, what do you do?
Well. He didn't really do anything. He had minions for that. He picked number one, 'I keep my cool and wait'. He had calmed him more than once just by looking at him, afterall.
Alright, next.
When you get home after a tough day, your wife immediately hands you the baby and asks you to give him a bath. What do you do?
Wife?
What the–
Wife, as in–
Dolohov's face popped up in his mind, smiling sweetly with red lips on a beard.
Voldemort grabbed his wand.
He had some more Crucio'ing to do.
Avery, wherever he was, was in for Revenge 0.2, The Second Round.
As was Dolohov. Though he technically wasn't at fault. But had that ever stopped him?
Every Death Eater who encountered the Dark Lord in the halls of the Manor that evening had every reason to clutch their rosary and pray for mercy.
Lord Voldemort was pissed.
No one knew what or who was the target of such fury, but several witnesses admitted to hearing the words 'wife' and 'all their fault'.
When he got to the kitchen, he saw Harry seating in an extra-tall chair, so that he could safely reach the table and splash food around with his little hands. Macnair was feeding him, or trying to anyway, while Avery, Dolohov and Bellatrix were discussing heatedly over something. They all stopped doing what they were doing when they felt the evil wave Voldemort exuded from the doorway. Then Bellatrix's look turned to worshipful fascination.
"Daddy," greeted Harry happily. Voldemort duly grimaced.
Then he spotted Avery.
"You!" he was saying, ready to inflict his Monologue of Doom on him, but was interrupted.
Harry spit a soup projectile at Avery, hitting him between the eyes. The latter let out a girlish shriek, and the Dark Lord looked at Harry with a reluctantly impressed expression.
He turned to Dolohov.
"You!" he tried again.
And again, Harry landed a clean hit on Dolohov's face with his soup-y weaponry, before Voldemort could even say anything.
He watched Harry calculatingly. If it went on like that, they really could share a hobby. Remembering how the How To Be A Good Parent guide recommended to always praise the child when he did something good, he hesitantly patted him on the head.
Spitting soup on people was definitely good in Lord Voldemort's books.
"Worthwhile endeavour," he complimented solemnly, shaking his chubby hand, as if he was talking to a business partner rather than a soup-spitting toddler. But well, praising was one thing, baby talk was quite another.
And he had to retain at least some of his Evil Overlord dignity.
Bellatrix and Harry were eating ice cream. Or rather, Bellatrix was eating ice cream, and Harry was smearing it all over the place.
"Hey, Harry" she said, suddenly standing up and bouncing excitedly on her feet with a crazed look. "Want to know a secret?"
"Secwet," Harry exclaimed, eliciting an admired look from Bella. He was starting to get the hang of words lately, though it didn't seem like he understood them yet.
She leaned in and whispered cospirationally.
"I'm gonna be the Dark Lord's wife!"
Voldemort and Harry were enjoying a calm evening on the couch. The former, on the right side, was reading the paper, while the latter, on the left, was eating pudding.
The Dark Lord produced a happy sigh. Nothing was more relaxing and at the same time satisfying than reading about his own evil-doings in the paper. Although, he did resent being called a 'noseless white abomination'.
As Bellatrix entered the living room, Harry pointed at her, exclaiming "Wife!".
Voldemort twitched so violently that he looked like he was having a seizure. He was kind of sensitive on the wife subject at the moment. He lowered the paper. "And what exactly does he mean by that?"
"No-Nothing, my Lord"
Crimson, sepentine eyes narrowed to slits. "What have you been telling him?"
Bellatrix blushed like a junior high girl in front of her crush.
"Harry," he simply said, returning to the paper.
In a matter of seconds, the dark-haired Death Eater found her face covered in pudding.
Harry and Voldemort's lips stretched in an identically evil smirk.
Yep, doing a good job so far.