Summary: When the road you're on is already in the verge of crumbling, you could either choose to foolishly continue onward, or turn back and change paths. Harry decided on the latter. MoD!Harry
Pairings: Older Harry/Voldemort, other side pairings
Warning: AU, Time-Travel, Universe Hopping, New Identity, Slash (this means Boy/Boy), MasterOfDeath!Harry, Killings/Torture
Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumbies would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.
"Speaking"
"Parseltongue"
'Mental telepathy'
"Spells"
Chapter 6: School and Reunion
1965
Location: Hogwarts, Dungeons
Marcaunon grimaced as he tried (and failed) to scratch the unreachable itch behind his mind. He knew that he was forgetting something important, but what was it? He suspected it had something to do with his progeny, and that made his grimace turn into a scowl.
With a defeated sigh, he continued towards the Great Hall, where he would meet up with his little one for dinner. Marchosias had all but run off to the restriction section after he had given permission during lunch, for only a day though.
He wasn't really worried about his little one roaming the castle unsupervised, since Manasa and Suki (he made sure that they were small enough so that Marchosias could carry them) would be with him at all times. Marcaunon preferred his familiar to remain together with his son due to the Headmaster. Slytherin descendants could be used as a weapon against Voldemort after all –not that Chaos would even want to be on the Light's side.
"P-professor Gaunt?" A female's voice stuttered from behind him. Marcaunon plastered a polite smile onto his face and turned.
"Yess?"
A Hufflepuff girl twirled a lock of her chestnut hair in a nervous gesture as she cleared her throat.
"Are you alright?" Her face was an amazing shade of red.
"E-excuse me?" She blinked.
"Your face is red. Do you have a fever? Do you need me to bring you to see Madam Pomfrey?"
"No!" She squeaked as she turned crimson. He could practically see the smoke rising from her face. "I mean, no sir! Looking at you makes me hot. No wait I didn't mean…! That wasn't…"
Marcaunon inward frowned in confusion. Why would looking at him make her feel hot? He wasn't wearing that much clothing, since he forgone his robe.
"Daddy?" The innocent little voice made him spin around and look downwards. Marchosias was standing just an arm's length away, his arms hugging a tome almost half his size. His hood was up, making the blue dragon horns attached at the top stand out. Marcaunon almost cooed at how adorable his son is; he often wore those cute animal hoodies Marcaunon had bought for him.
"Hello there little one. How was your trip to the library?"
"Good. I found this interesting tome to read. Was there something she needed?" Marcaunon missed his son's narrowing of the eyes when he turned back to the girl in question.
"I… I was just wondering if you could tutor me, sir… Since the O. are coming."
"Ah. I'm having a tutor session the next day with the Ravenclaws. In the library at noon. You may join us, if that's alright with you?"
She looked a little disappointed but smiled at him nonetheless.
"Alright. Thank you Professor Gaunt." The Puff bowed before hurrying away.
Marcaunon shook his head and sighed. Being a Professor was tiring.
"Chaos?" He turned towards his son. "Let me carry that for you."
His little boy thanked him and they continued their way towards the Hall, hand in hand.
OOOO
"Marcaunon, I've been wondering for a while…" McGonagall spoke suddenly from beside him.
Marcaunon's fork was half way up his mouth when he turned towards her with a questioning tilt of his head. A habit he couldn't get rid of no matter how much he tried.
"Why isn't little Marchosias not attending Elementary school? He's already five is he not?"
Ah… So that was what his itch was about. What bad parenting skill he has. Marcaunon groaned at his stupidity. Whilst he was berating himself, he missed how Marchosias had frozen in place with a look of incredulity.
"I forgot! I knew there was something I had forgotten. Thank you for reminding me Minerva…" He sighed and faced his little one, who looked a little too pale for his liking. Was he alright?
"What's wrong? Are you ill?" He touched his son's forehead.
"No."
"Well alright. Anyway, I'll have to sign you up for primary school."
"Daddy, I don't think I would fit in with other children."
"Nonsense, you haven't been with others your age to know that yet."
"I already know how to read, write and do mathematics. I don't really need to go school. We can just say I was homeschooled… which is true since we do live in a school."
"Chaos… Name me five people you've converse with today."
"You, Minnie, Filly, Mana and Suki."
Marcaunon deadpanned alongside with McGonagall.
"Marcaunon I'm worried."
"So am I, Minerva. So am I…"
OOOO
"Mr. Gaunt? The Principal will see you now." A woman with dark wavy hair called out from behind her desk.
Marcaunon thanked her and entered the office with his gloomy son in hand. Marchosias had been acting more than a little irritable lately, especially after he had called the School Principal to enroll his little one into school.
Marchosias had been throwing tantrums that would make even Voldemort look like an angel. Just to name a few: his wardrobe was burnt crispy, their bedchambers had looked like a tornado had passed through, his hair had been turned into a brilliant shade of fuchsia, and Death's cloak was transfigured into a green and white striped bikini when It had Its guard down–the entity had shrieked quite like a girl and went missing for days.
He had lost his patience after his stack of Deathfiles became incinerated –he had worked the whole night to complete that. Marcaunon then confronted his moody child and after their talk(screaming match), Marchosias had finally accepted that he would have to attend Muggle Elementary school since there were none for Wizards and Witches.
"Principal Skinner, thank you for allowing us to meet you."
"It's no problem, Mr. Gaunt. Please take a seat."
Both mother and son seated themselves on the coach whilst the man sat opposite to them. Seymour Skinner is the Principal of Towne Private School, with greying brown hair, and dark eyes. He wore a lavender shirt underneath his blue suit, and orange tie.
"First of all, I would like to welcome you and your son to Towne Private School, Elementary division."
"Thank you, sir."
"Before we move on to what this school expects from young Marchosias, you said something about wanting your son to have an aptitude test for Second Grade, Mr. Gaunt?"
Marchosias's head snapped towards him at the mention of Second grade, and Marcaunon hid his glee behind his serene mask. Marcaunon was still holding a grudge against his son for setting his Deathfiles in flames. He knew that Marchosias wanted to be in fifth grade so that he didn't have to deal with drooling children and could graduate in a year –lest he killed them all with his accidental Magic.
He knew that he was being petty, spiteful, and pretty much immature, but he couldn't bring himself to care. La vendetta es una minestra che se mangia fredda[1]. Insert evil cackle here.
"Yess… I know that parents usually brag about their children, but my son… is different than any average five year old child. To put it bluntly, Principal, I do not wish to bore him with the teachings of Kindergarten."
"If you say so, Mr. Gaunt." Skinner's tone was full of skepticism and resignation. Marcaunon wondered if parents usually overestimated their child's abilities… But he highly doubted that Tom Riddle, child and magical prodigy, could fail a test below the level of a college student –if he studied Muggle subjects of course.
Skinner placed a few pieces of paper on the table in front of Marchosias and handed his little boy a pencil.
"Ten minutes, no more I'm afraid." Marchosias picked a sheet up and scanned it. Marcaunon became wary when a manic glint appeared inside those beautiful ruby eyes.
Maybe he should tinker with the Principal's head a little and force him to place Marchosias in Second Grade… No… He should be a good example of a parent and Mini-mort would rather eat Dumbieboob's Lemon Drops than make himself look less intelligent. Why was his boy so prideful…?
…Oh right, ex-Dark Lord.
OOOO
"Really, what were you thinking…"Marcaunon gritted as he kicked a stray pebble out of the way.
"You should've just placed me into Fifth grade like we've planned."
"I applied you for Muggle School because of your anti-social tendencies. For you to make at least a friend with your own age group." They both glared at each other, ruby meeting scarlet head-on.
"Like you're one to talk, Mother. You don't even have friends, only allies."
He couldn't say anything to that. Marchosias was right, he was indeed friend-less. Marcaunon turned on his heels, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode towards his House's common room. He had duties to attend to.
1965
Location: Towne School, Elementary Section, Class 5-A
Torture. What he was experiencing now was pure, agonizing torture. Even after a month of attending Muggle School with eleven year olds, he could feel his intelligence melting away from sheer stupidity. What they learnt were so basic that he literally fell asleep once the teacher starts droning.
He recalled the time that he was an actual eleven year old boy. Due to the Orphanage having a financial crisis (money spent on Mrs. Cole's liquor), many of the children there were unable to attend school. He was one of them. When he still didn't yet know about Magic, he went to the library daily and thanks to his eidetic memory, memorized books that no other eleven year old could hope to understand. He even read the dictionary to improve his grammar and learn foreign languages.
He had already planned how he would try to obtain scholarship to a good University when he grew older, but his plans were discarded due to him being enrolled into Hogwarts –and becoming a Dark Lord after graduation. Marchosias could only shake his head at how his classmates –he spat the word with venom, even in his mind– do nothing but goof around. Not all, but majority. Due to him being enrolled into a Private School, the children here were spoilt rotten by their parents. It was Draco Malfoys Muggle edition.
Unlike in Hogwarts, the teachers here were having a hard time controlling the students. Their lessons were so boring that the students would fold paper airplanes to entertain themselves. Now that he compared how eleven year old Muggles and Magicals behave in their Schooling environment, he preferred staying with the latter (obviously) –even when they were calling him a Mudblood. At least Wizards and Witches gave their Professors the respect they deserved –they were learning Magic after all.
Speaking of Marcaunon… His mother was depressed thanks to Marchosias's scathing words and actions for the whole of his time attending school.
Now that he had time to actually sit down and think (nothing else to do in class anyway) after a week of giving the silent treatment to his mother, Marchosias admitted that he was being a git to his caring parent. Not something he liked to admit, even to himself.
He knew how hard it was for his mother to raise him as a single parent –even if they were rich. Marcaunon worked hard to make Marchosias content, giving books and teaching him things that even he himself didn't know. Marcaunon's workload was a lot, no thanks to Dumbledore. Teaching all the students (first to seventh years, he should really get an assistant), marking essays, making lesson plans, club activities, Head of the House duties, and mountains of (still unknown) paperwork he received from Mort on a daily basis.
Even with his amazingly filled schedule, Marcaunon still made time for Marchosias. He recalled a time when his mother hadn't had time to sleep for a week, yet he still stayed awake for the whole of Sunday just because Marchosias told him to do so.
He actually felt guilty for denying his mother sleep. He, Lord Voldemort, ex-Dark Lord, felt guilty. And now, he felt like a bloody git for treating his gentle (to him) mother like dirt.
Just because he couldn't control his temper, he said withering and downright scornful things to Marcaunon that he immediately regretted. He deserved to be slapped, punched, even kicked at, but the only thing Marcaunon did was bury his face into his hands. He walked away from his mother then.
That night when he performed his nightly memory sorting, he noticed things that he never noticed before.
He noticed how his mother looked hurt when Marchosias mocked him. He noticed how his mother forced a smile when Marchosias scorned him. He noticed how his mother endured it when he showed his contempt. He noticed how his mother did everything just so he could see his downright ungrateful child smile –even a small one counted. Lastly, he noticed how his mother sobbed ever so softly when Marchosias walked away from him.
It made his non-existing heart quiver and ache.
With a never seen before determined expression on his face, he made up his mind. Marchosias would apologize. Not something he had ever done genuinely, but to mend bridges with the only person he treasured? He would.
OOOO
As usual, Marcaunon, his beautiful mother, waited for him at the entrance of his Muggle School. Marcaunon studied his mother's strained smile, his worn out appearance and the bags forming underneath those dimmed scarlet eyes. They stood out in contrast to Marcaunon's pale skin. Even with how exhausted his mother looked to be, heads would turn towards him without him doing anything but just standing there. Not even Marchosias could deny how alluring his mother appeared. Luckily, his feelings for his mother were purely platonic. It would be awkward if he wanted to bed the person whom had given birth to him.
"Marchosias. How was school?" That was another thing he hated. Ever since he yelled at Marcaunon two days ago, Mother had started calling him by his full name, not those endearing nicknames that he secretly cherished.
"As good as being with Muggles could be." He snarled unintentionally. The smile became more strained and Mother flinched at his tone. He instantly berated himself for losing control (again).
"Eh… Let's head home, shall we?" Marcaunon hesitated in taking his hand, but did so and walked to an empty alleyway.
Once they appeared outside of Hogwarts's massive gates, his hand was released as if burnt, and they walked silently towards their shared chambers.
Just as they reached the portrait of their ancestor, Salazar, he grabbed a fistful of his mother's robe sleeve. This action made Marcaunon jump in surprise and turned towards him with guarded eyes. Probably to prepare himself for another round of a screaming from Marchosias. He breathed in deeply and turned to look into Marcaunon's eyes. He wanted to convey his absolute sincerity.
"Mother… I…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I would like to apologize. My actions were –"
He was cut off by Marcaunon's sudden embrace. He didn't hesitate in returning it. Marcaunon was on his knees and he could feel how his mother's whole body was trembling. He ignored Salazar's dark gaze from within the portrait and the wetness he felt on his shoulder. The only thing he did was to continue comforting his only treasured parent.
He swore to himself to never hurt his most cherished person in his life ever again.
24th August 1966
Location: Hogwarts
Marcaunon stood with a serene expression on his face, cursing the Headmaster in all the languages he knew –and boy that's a lot of languages. That bloody old man had changed the password to the meeting room and didn't even bother to inform him! He was already late since he had to ensure his bookworm of a son not enter the Library just yet, lest they get screeched at by that harpy.
Madam Norma Pince, Irma Pince's mother, was a strict woman and had given specific instructions that nobody enter her Library until she deemed it appropriate enough. After hearing the news, Marchosias imitated a Basilisk for a few long hours before Marcaunon had had enough and threatened to force him into wearing glasses. Many people were uncomfortable with his boy's glare, and for a five going six year old, oh he could glare alright. A great definition of If looks could Kill.
"Marc?" He was startled out of his musings by a female's voice and turned around, only to come face-to-face with his fellow Puff. "Are you a Professor?"
"Pomona? What're you doing here?" He took a step back and observed the slightly plump woman. Pomona Sprout had grown from her childish looks and into a fine woman (big breast), albeit on the chubby side.
"I got accepted as an Assistant Professor for Herbology. And you?" Her eyes roamed his body and finally stopped on his face. "Still as beautiful as ever, hm Marc?"
"Pomona! At least call me handsome." He huffed and crossed his arms with a scowl. "I'm the residence Potions' Master of Hogwarts. Do you perhaps know the password? It seems they have forgotten to inform me of the change…"
She giggled at him and nodded.
"Handsome doesn't really suit you, dear Marc! Congratulations on getting the job you wanted by the way. Plantain. We should catch up afterwards."
The portrait opened and they moved inside, the other staff members already seated. He whispered his thanks to his fellow Puff and seated himself to the Headmaster's left. He hated this arrangement, but Dumbles seemed to have taken a liking to him over the years.
"Now that everyone has arrived, I bid you all a good afternoon!" The old man spoke after Sprout had seated herself beside their Herbology Professor, Beery. They each mumbled their greetings to the eccentric Headmaster.
"Apologies to have called you in on a Sunday on such short notice. As many of you should know, there was an attack on Hogsmeade the previous day. The Minister had invited me over on Monday, and there would be no other time to conduct another meeting since you would all be busy preparing for your classes."
"The Prophet had yet released any information pertaining to the attack, were there casualties, Albus?" Rolanda Hooch, the Flying Instructor asked with worry.
"None that were fatally wounded. Just a few scratches."
"Was it terrorists?" Beery questioned, looking quite nervous.
"I have my suspicion… That it's a newly rising Dark Lord."
The staffs gasped and started firing question after question towards Bumblebee. Marcaunon hid a frown. Was Voldemort back from his travels? Did he have enough followers to boldly make an attack in Hogsmeade? Wasn't he supposed to be hiding until the 70s? So many questions yet he had no answers. Perhaps it was time for him to–
"You're unusually silent on this, Marcaunon my boy." The Headmaster whispered to him.
"Just thinking, Albus. Were there any marks or signs, for you to deduct it the work of a budding Dark Lord? Were they similar to Grindelwald's…?"
The old goat hummed as he stroked his beard, his twinkling blue eyes sparkling more at his question. How disturbing…
"No, but the group targeted shops that sell Muggle artifacts."
"They could just be a group of men that hate Muggles, Albus. Perhaps they have a uniform of some kind? Something to make them unique from the rest?"
"They wore blank white masks, but that was all."
"Blank? No patterns…? None at all?"
They continued to whisper for some time before the Headmaster silenced the Staff and continued with the meeting. He introduced Sprout as their newest member, alongside the DADA Professor –which he forgot the name soon after. Nobody said anything but they knew that he would not last long.
The meeting went on for another hour before they were dismissed. Marcaunon stretched in his seat and just as he made to stand, an aged hand held him in place by the shoulder. He raised a question brow at the Headmaster but received only a kind grandfatherly smile in return –he resisted the urge to claw the Headmaster's face. They waited until the last of the Professors exited before Dummiepork spoke.
"My dear boy," He hid a glare behind his polite smile. "I would like you to accompany me to the Ministry tomorrow." He plastered on a confused expression and the old man elaborated. "Minister Leach has a sample of an unknown potion used in that attack. One of the Aurors managed to snatch one of the vials before the culprits portkey-ed away. They need a Potion's Master to make an antidote since many were poisoned."
"It would be my pleasure to accompany you, Albus. Is there anything else?"
"Nothing else, my boy. Pass little Marchosias my regards."
"I will. Good day to you, Albus."
Bumblybitch inclined his head just as Marcaunon exited the room. He grimaced at the thought of spending any more time with that barmy old coot –insanity was contagious. Just as he was about to find his boy, Sprout appeared in front of him with Marchosias in hand.
"Why did you remain behind, Marc? I thought you've left and went to search for you!" She whined and placed her free hand on her hip.
"Albus wanted to speak to me in private. My apologies Pomona. Hello there Chaos dear."
"Hi dad." Was the reluctant greeting.
"Why don't we catch up whilst we're having lunch?"
"Sounds good. My, how little Marchosias has grown. He looks exactly like you, Marc."
"He is my son, Pomona."
A/N:
[1] Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Thank you for all your reviews, fellow readers! I'm glad many of you love little Chaos and Marcaunon. Since a lot of you wanted to see Voldemort, I decided that he should be returning to British soil right about now. We'll be having some action soon!~
I sometimes wonder if readers follow me just so they could see what story I recommend in my next chapter… Insert sweatdrop here. Oh and please take a look at a new fic I posted, The Tale of a Mad Inventor if you have free time!
Story recommendation for today: The Game by Rendered Reversed. This fic is about… Well… A game. A three man party who goes to quests, fighting mobs, grinding, being lucky, the usual gaming stuff like competition and all that. With Scarred the warrior with absurdly too much luck, VolDeMort the bad ass PVP champion, and HBPrince with his poisonous tongue, this fic would make you roll on the floor laughing. Non-magical AU. TMR/HP pairing.
Rainbows and Honeycreams,
GenderlessPerson