-December 7, 1991-
With Dumbledore's slowly cooling corpse to the left of him, Voldemort stood in silence as he tried to figure out where the old coot had hidden his son. Death hovered over the ground next to him, his face drawn up and pensieve. Dumbledore, while completely off his rocker, had a lot of connections while he was still alive, which meant Little One could be anywhere.
"Where would Dumbledore hide him?" he asked to himself, absently beginning to pace. "Perhaps the Order...? But, no, Severus said..."
Voldemort frowned. According to Severus' hasty response, Dumbledore had alienated the Order after he kidnapped Little One, which meant that the likelihood of the Order housing his son was slim to none. Voldemort growled with frustration, his hands coming up to anxiously tug his hair.
There wasn't much time left at all. The tether that Voldemort had grown used to was steadily growing weaker as more time passed, signaling Little One's descent. Voldemort figured he had less than two days to find Little One and revitalize him with magic before it was too late.
Despite the battle with Dumbledore being over, Voldemort was no closer to finding his son. And now the only person who knows where Little One is, is dead. Voldemort let out a growl of frustration and sent a hex at Dumbledore's unmoving body out of spite.
"We need to find Little One, and soon," Voldemort said, turning to face his paramour. "Do you have any ideas where he might be?"
"With Dumbledore's soul residing in my domain, I know everything," he said, and Voldemort felt his face lift with joy. "However I am unable to directly tell you."
"What? Why not?" Voldemort demanded, his fury leaking into his tone. "You know where Little One is!"
"My Sister's plan is still in place," Death lamented. "I cannot interfere."
Voldemort let out a hoarse shout of frustration. "Damn Fate," he cursed, running his hands through his hair as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Is there any way you can tell me indirectly?"
Death smirked. "Where is Severus and his lackeys? Weren't they meant to report to you?"
Voldemort's eyes widened. "Indeed they were," he said with a smirk. He focussed his magic on the Dark Mark and called Severus, Black and Lupin. He could feel their marks tugging in response to Voldemort's summons, and Voldemort waited for a few seconds until they appeared in front of him.
They looked awful. Their faces were haggard and dark from lack of sleep and stress, and Voldemort could tell they took his last warning to heart. They struggled into a deep bow, their faces displaying their true exhaustion. "My Lord," they said.
"What news have you for me?" Voldemort demanded, his eyes flashing with the frustration and rage he could feel boiling inside of him.
"There is no sign of Little One, My Lord," Severus said, cringing when Voldemort hissed. "We have been searching through the Headmaster's office in search of records but have found nothing so far."
Damn Dumbledore. Even in death, he caused Voldemort problems. "Anything else to report, you useless excuses of Death Eaters?" Voldemort snarled.
"The Order is very angry with him," Black said, his voice tight with nervousness. "They all agreed to have nothing to do with Dumbledore when he returns. He's officially lost any support he had."
"Interesting, but ultimately useless to me," Voldemort said with a careless wave of his hand. "Seeing as Dumbledore will not be returning to them."
The trio in front of him sucked in a sharp breath, their eyes suddenly drawn to Dumbledore's corpse beside him. Voldemort internally cackled at the sight of awed horror in their eyes. Severus stared at the body for a long time before he lifted his head slightly. "If I may, My Lord?" he asked.
"You have something to say, Severus?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Well, go on then. Share with the class."
"Have you considered bringing Dumbledore back and asking him where he hid Little One?" Severus asked.
Voldemort frowned. In truth, he hadn't considered bringing Dumbledore back. Not after all the trouble he went through trying to get rid of him. However, the thought of being in complete control of his archnemesis was too good a chance to pass up, especially if it would help him find his son. The only problem, however....
"The necessary ritual cannot be done for another month," Voldemort said with a frown. "The moon is not in the right place for the ritual, nor is night time. I don't have the time to wait another month to find Little One. There is less than two days left."
"I am unable to interfere with my Dear Sister's plans," Death said, causing Voldemort to turn and look at him. "But the Ritual of Inferi is in my realm. I have the power to grant you a boon."
Voldemort grinned when he realized what Death was saying. "Well then," he said, drawing the trio's attention to him. "It looks like we can perform the ritual, after all." The trio looked at him in confusion, and Voldemort knew it was because they couldn't see Death. Voldemort only narrowed his eyes at them. "Return to the office and continue your search while I perform the ritual."
"Yes, My Lord," Severus said, bowing his head one last time before he apparated away. Black and Lupin shared a confused look before they too, whispered their goodbyes and left.
With the three of them gone, Voldemort was free to turn around and look at Death with a raised brow. "So how will this work? How do I complete the ritual when I am missing several key ingredients?"
"I said I would grant a boon," Death said with a wink. "Far be it of me to suggest how you use it, but to summon the soul of a recently deceased and return him to his body for a short period of time is something I can do."
Voldemort smirked. "Wonderful. Let's do that."
Death grinned, and the look on his face was almost haunting. Death closed his eyes and when he opened them, his eyes were glowing a bright green. Voldemort stifled a gasp as shadows seemed to appear from nothing and wrap around Death like a cloak. The shadows completely covered Death from view, and when they finally receded, Death was gone. Or perhaps, not gone but he no longer had a physical form.
Voldemort's eyes strained as he struggled to see Death in the forms of writhing, dancing shadows. The only thing that Voldemort could make out were the two glowing orbs of green that Voldemort knew was Death's eyes.
"I grant thee, the Immortal Lord, favored by Fate, a boon," Death said, his voice booming across the empty clearing. "State your boon."
"I ask that you return Albus Dumbledore's soul to his body for a brief time so that I might interrogate him on my son's whereabouts." Voldemort said in a strong voice.
"I hear your boon and I grant it. So be it." Death said.
There was a loud crack followed by a huge boom. Voldemort blinked as a bright light washed over the clearing. When the light faded, Voldemort was staring at Dumbledore's corpse, now sitting up in an awkward position. Dumbledore blinked a few times, eyes wandering around with obvious confusion before they landed on Voldemort's smirking face.
"Oh... Tom... What have you done?" he said in a hoarse whisper.
"Hello there, Dumbledore," Voldemort said with a cruel grin. "So sorry to bring you back, truly I am. I did the world a favor, getting rid of you. But I'm afraid you have something of mine that I need back. Now. Tell me where my son is."
"Harry Potter is not your son---"
"Oh, not this again," Voldemort said with a huff. "Tell me where you hid him, and I'll send you on your merry way to hell."
"I will not tell you where Harry Potter is," Dumbledore said firmly. "He is finally safe from you."
"Safe from---Are you serious?" Voldemort barked out a laugh. "He really is mental. Why won't he tell me where Little One is?"
Death's shadows shook, almost as though death were shaking his head at him. "I brought him here, but I am unable to force him to speak." he said sadly.
Dumbledore let out a horrified gasp when his eyes landed on the mass of shadows. "How is this possible?!" he cried. "How can Death be here?"
"Oh, you can see him?" Voldemort asked with a tilt of his head. "How interesting. I suppose it makes sense since you're dead."
"You made a deal with Death? I knew you were Dark but this..." Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes wide with horror, his face pale.
"Oh no, I didn't make a deal with him," Voldemort said with a smirk. "I was granted a boon."
"A boon?!"
"Quite," Voldemort drawled, leaning forward. "See, he was so put out that he couldn't tell me where you'd hidden our son so he gave me your soul as an apology."
"My soul?!" Dumbledore cried.
"That's right," Voldemort grinned. Beside him, Voldemort could hear Death chuckling. "I own you. I can decide what happens to you once I send you back. Tell me where my son is, and maybe I won't make sure you suffer for eternity."
"I put him somewhere safe!" Dumbledore cried. "He's with Gellert---"
"Gellert? Gellert Grindelwald?" Voldemort asked, his eyes widening as he risked a glance back at Death. "You'd take him from me but leave him with another Dark Lord? Your hypocrisy knows no bounds."
"I did it for the Greater Goods, Tom," Dumbledore said with a sad shake of his head. "Everything I did."
"What do you mean? Everything?" Voldemort asked, narrowing his eyes. Why did he look so somber? Something wasn't right here... "What did you do?"
"I'm sorry." Dumbledore says with a sigh. "It was for the Greater Good."
Voldemort's eyes widen as a punched out breath of air escapes him. "No..." he whispered, frantically searching for the tether that connects him to his son. It wasn't there. Voldemort whirled around to face Death, seething. "TAKE ME TO GRINDELWALD! NOW!"
Death's shadows wrapped around Voldemort, the freezing cold darkness embracing Voldemort tightly. Voldemort felt the brief sensation of being disoriented before he opened his eyes As the shadows receded he was greeted with the sight of the age-old prison Nurmengard on fire.
"No!" Voldemort cried, lunging forward before Death had the chance to stop him.
The heat of the flames burned him, but Voldemort didn't even notice. Voldemort was focused on tracking his own magic signature that was ingrained in Little One, following it throughout the burning prison in search of his precious child.
"No...." Voldemort whispered. The magical signature led to a prison cell at the top of a tower. The cell was obviously the starting point of the magical fire, and it took a few minutes for Voldemort's magic to snuff the fire out, his hands trembling.
The fire was magical, and Voldemort had seen Fiendfyre enough times to recognize it. The fire had eaten everything in sight, tearing the old prison castle to nothing but dust and ash. With the animalistic fire finally put out, Voldemort was able to see the cell that had housed his son for the past few days.
He could see with clear eyes how horribly empty it was.
"No, no, no, no please," Voldemort whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke. The cell was empty save for ashes. The fire had consumed everything. "No."
Voldemort searched inside himself, scouring for the tether that locked Little One to him. So long as Little One was connected to Voldemort's magic, Voldemort should be able to feel him. The tether had become something of a comfort to him over the years of raising his son. He'd spent so long with it, and yet as Voldemort desperately called for it, he couldn't find it.
He couldn't find the tether.
Out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort sees something resting in the ashes. With a trembling hand, Voldemort leans down and lifts the brown satchel out of the dust. It was the side-bag that Voldemort had given Little One to carry his flowers. It was charmed impervious to anything, virtually indestructible. Despite the strength of the charms, Voldemort could see where the fiendfyre had begun to eat away at it. The strap was snapped and charred from the fire, the buttons on the front melted to the leather.
"No." Voldemort said, his eyes hardening as he clutched the bag to his chest. "He's not dead. He's not."
Voldemort hears the sound of shifting and turns to see Death standing there, a new human host. The body was male, dark black hair and eyes that stared at the pile of ashes by Voldemort's feet with an absolutely devastated expression. Death's hand reached out towards him, his mouth opening and closing.
"He's not dead," Voldemort repeats, shaking his head when Death looks at him with agonized eyes. "He's not. He wouldn't die from this. This is a trick."
Death steps forward, cringing when he steps over the pile of ashes and draws Voldemort into his arms. "You---"
"Why are you hugging me?" Voldemort demands, smacking the hands that had wrapped around his waist. "Stop that! We need to go find him."
It was true. Voldemort needed to go out and find Little One, as this was just a waste of time. He should've known better than to trust Dumbledore for his words. Obviously, this was a trick to knock Voldemort off his feet. Voldemort was ashamed to admit it worked for a moment, but Voldemort knew that Little One was alive.
Little One was perfectly fine, he was just missing. He was probably terrified and needed his Papa to come find him and hug him. That was what Little One needed. He wasn't dead because who could hurt his precious child? No one could do such a thing. He knew Little One was alive, so why was Death staring at him like that? Didn't he realize that Little One was still out there, alone and afraid?
At some point, Voldemort wasn't sure when, Death had taken him from the prison. In a blink of an eye, Voldemort had gone from staring at the charred remains of a cold cell to staring at the gardens behind Voldemort's castle. The fire that Dumbledore had set had ruined them.
Voldemort frowned at the sight of the burned up flowers and trees. Little One would be absolutely devastated when he saw what happened to his gardens. Voldemort would have to fix them before he came back. Maybe add a pond or something for that infernal beast of his. Voldemort would make sure that the gardens were returned to their full glory so that Little One would smile the way he loved.
He loves the way Little One smiles. His son was so bright and happy, brighter than the morning sun. So beautiful. The gardens paled in comparison. When was the last time Voldemort saw his child smile? It's been too long. That would all be fixed, though, when Voldemort found him and brought him home.
There would definitely be a conversation about leaving his things lying around, though. Voldemort didn't want Little One to lose his bag again. Voldemort's fingers clenched around the bag in question. Voldemort would have to mend the bag as well for Little One. Little One loved the bag. When Voldemort had first presented him with it and showed how the flowers could magically appear from it, Little One had given him one of the brightest smiles Voldemort had ever seen.
Voldemort frowned when he looked at the bag in his hand only to see that his vision was blurred. Why couldn't he see? Did he get injured during his fight with Dumbledore? Perhaps a head injury? It would explain why his vision was blurred.
Voldemort blinked and his vision returned to normal only for a strange wetness to run down his face. Voldemort frowned and lightly touched his cheek. Was he... Was he crying? Why would he do that?
Beside him, Voldemort could see Death's mouth moving, but Voldemort couldn't hear anything the entity was saying. Voldemort looked at him, and for the first time, Voldemort noticed how sharp the being's cheekbones were. It was a strange common trait that Voldemort noticed on all of Death's bodies. However, in this moment, the sun filtered down on him at just the right angle and it made him look...
"Beautiful."
Death frowned. "Talk to me," he begged, leaning forward to swipe his thumb under Voldemort's eyes. He must have been crying still. Odd. "Please, don't shut me out."
"We have to go find him," Voldemort said. "He's still out there. We need to talk to Dumbledore again. Is he still here?"
Death frowned. "Find him?"
"Yes, we have to go find Little One," Voldemort repeated, shaking his head at Death's confusion. "Obviously Dumbledore lied. We just need to get him to tell the truth so we can find him."
"My Dear..."
"We'll have to fix the gardens, too. Oh! I almost forgot that Dumbledore ruined Little One's room," Voldemort scowled. "He'll have to sleep with us for a little while. But we can worry about that later. Right now we need to go find him."
"He's gone, Voldemort." Death said, his voice grim and somber.
Voldemort froze, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. That was the first time Death had used his name in such a way. He stared at Death for a long moment before he shook his head. "No he's not..." he said firmly. "He's not... he's fine... He's not..."
"He's gone." Death repeated, a single tear trailing down his face. "He's gone."
"No..." Voldemort's protests were cut off by a soft smack against his ankle. Voldemort looked down to see Larry leaning against his foot, an expectant gleam in his eyes. He let out a soft quack, his eyes darting around as he looked for Little One.
Voldemort could see the silent question in the duckling's eyes.
'Where is Little One?'
The force of the sob that escaped Voldemort's mouth surprised him. His eyes widened with surprise at the cry that left him, his hand coming up to cover his mouth for a moment before the next sob left him. Voldemort doubled over from the force of it, his entire body shaking as he cried.
"No, no, no, no," he pleaded over and over again, his breath coming out in choked, panicked, cries. "No, no, no, no!"
Larry let out another soft quack and Voldemort screamed.
He whirled around and slammed his hands into Death's chest, pushing him down. "BRING HIM BACK!" Voldemort screamed, his voice breaking under the strain of his sobs. "BRING HIM BACK!"
"I---"
Voldemort let out another hoarse cry and he began to punch Death's chest over and over again, screaming with wordless rage and grief until his voice broke. "Bring him back!" Voldemort wept, his fists digging into Death's chest. "Bring him back! That's my baby! Bring him back! You can't... You can't take him! You can't take my baby! BRING HIM BACK! THAT'S MY BABY BRING HIM BACK!"
Death stood there taking the abuse with nothing but a pained expression. "You can't bring back a dead Inferius." he whispered, and Voldemort let out another wordless screech. "It's too late."
"BRING HIM BACK!" Voldemort demanded, his anger overtaking his senses. "YOU BRING HIM BACK RIGHT NOW! DO IT! THAT'S MY BABY!"
"I'm so sorry." Death cried, another tear rolling down his face.
"DON'T CRY! BRING HIM BACK!" Voldemort screamed.
"You know I can't," Death said softly. "It's impossible to bring an Inferius back for a second time."
Voldemort screeched, his wordless cry of rage and anguish echoing over the destroyed garden that was once a symbol of peace to his dear son. His magic festered and bubbled over, exploding out of him as he fell to the ground.
"Bring him back," he wept. "Please, I'll do anything. Bring him back. That's my baby. You can't have my baby! Bring him back!"
Death sunk to the ground, his arms wrapping around Voldemort, pulling him into an embrace. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. "There's nothing I can do. You can't bring an Inferius back."
Voldemort blinked the blurriness from his eyes, his gaze traveling over his destroyed home. He could see the burned garden, the ruined echo of happier days. He could see the tree where he had read a book to Little One. He could see the flower beds where Little One would create crowns for him. He could see the pond where Little One would play. The pond where he found Larry.
He could see Larry sitting on the burned grass, his yellow deaths dark with soot and ash. He was resting on a Spider Lily, Voldemort's signature flower. Next to the Lily was a single dandelion that had survived the wreckage. Larry's eyes met Voldemort's and a soft breeze flew through the garden, making the Lily and Dandelion dance together.
Voldemort stiffened and pulled away from Death's embrace, his crimson eyes hardening with determination.
"Watch me." he snarled.