-October 31 1991-
"Your report on the New Ministry, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, leaning back in his armchair. The heat from the fire beside him warmed the right side of his body as Voldemort allowed his crimson eyes to flit over the people in the drawing room. His Inner Circle (minus one Severus Snape who was still in isolation) sat in chairs around the room, each member facing him.
Lucius shifted in his chair, holding his head high as he looked at Voldemort. "Minister Fudge's term is ending in a few weeks," he said. "The elections for the new term takes place next month."
Voldemort nodded absently. When Voldemort founded the New Ministry, he left Cornelius Fudge as the Minister---as much as he despised the man and the lack of backbone, the public had voted for him, and the last thing Voldemort wanted was to make matters worse by evicting the only democratically elected official.
(It wasn't that hard to get Fudge on his side, anyway.)
"And the runner ups?" Voldemort asked, a delicate eyebrow raising.
"So far, no one has stepped forward, but I believe that will change very soon." Lucius said. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, silently urging the man to continue. "This is the first election since you took over, My Lord, I am certain that many people will be vying for a position of power."
"I want a Minister that I can trust," Voldemort mused. "Someone that can do the job efficiently. I don't want to babysit."
"Is there someone you have in mind, My Lord?" Lucius asked. Voldemort hummed in thought.
"Perhaps you, Lucius, could run for Minister?" Voldemort suggested. There was a momentary lapse in the Malfoy Patriarch's mask, clearly showing his surprise at Voldemort's words before he regained control of his emotions.
"I would be honored, My Lord---"
Before Voldemort could respond, however, the door to the drawing room was pushed open to reveal Little One, a content Nagini slithering in behind him. Voldemort stops short at the sight of his child walking happily into the room, an air of ease and happiness surrounding him. It had been a long while since Voldemort had seen Little One so content.
But the surprises didn't stop there.
Little One, instead of walking immediately to where Voldemort sat, turned towards the nearest Inner Circle member, Lucius, dug his hand into his side bag and pulled out a handful of Tulips. Voldemort's eyes widened at the sight of his precious handing out flowers once again.
Seeing Little One close up and draw into himself after he was taken was one of the hardest things Voldemort had to witness, and Voldemort could not count the number of times that he wished Little One would go back to normal.
It reminded him of the struggles he faced the very first year Voldemort brought Little One home. Back while he was adjusting to being an Inferius, as well as the transition from abusive family to loving father, Little One would go through the good and the bad days.
It was hard. Very hard. Getting Little One to trust him and confide in him was one of the most difficult things he had to do. Some days, when Voldemort was in a horrible mood, Little One would relapse and go back to flinching away from him and hiding from his sight---Voldemort figured that Little One learned how to gauge the moods around him as a survival technique, thanks to his muggle relatives.
Whenever Little One would relapse back into his old habits, it would takes weeks of convincing and coaxing from Voldemort to get him back to the level of comfort that he'd previously displayed.
Voldemort was proud when, after a year and a half, Little One stopped relapsing entirely. He still had bad days every now and then, such was the way healing worked, but they were nowhere near as regular as they used to be. The feeling of joy Voldemort felt whenever he hugged Little One without relieving a flinch was incredible, and it filled Voldemort with such glee.
So seeing Little One revert back to the scared and emotionless child he used to be was hard to watch.
And yet...
Here his child was, acting just as he used to before, handing out handfuls of flowers to each of his followers. There were more flowers than he usually gave, almost as if he were apologizing for not handing them out sooner. Each of his Inner Circle members took the flowers as though they were a priceless gift, holding it tight to their chest and looking at Little One with joy.
Finally, after he hands the last handful of flowers to Bellatrix, Little One turns around and walks towards Voldemort. Voldemort helps Little One up as he crawls into his lap. Voldemort smiles as his child presses a red Spider Lily behind his ear before he turns around and snuggles close to his chest.
Voldemort wraps his arms around Little One in a protective hold, and Voldemort turns back to look at Lucius. The man is staring at Little One with visible surprise, his hands clutching the bouquet of Tulips so tight, that his knuckles have turned white.
Voldemort smiles with light amusement. As much as he claims otherwise, Lucius truly does care about Little One. Voldemort could see how frustrated the man was whenever he saw Little One flinch away from the Inner Circle, and it was obvious that the man was relieved to see Little One acting like his usual self.
It made him wonder what happened to help Little One heal so drastically.
Voldemort lifted a hand to card through Little One's hair as he spoke. "As I was saying," he said, reclaiming the attention of his followers. "Lucius, you should run for Minister."
Lucius shook himself from his stupor and nodded his head. "It would be my honor to serve you, My Lord."
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Voldemort sighed wearily as he walked into his son's room. The sudden assault of bright colors and pollen made Voldemort rear his head back in shock. Little One's garden had begun to look... wilted, almost, ever since Little One was first kidnapped. But now that Little One seemed to be acting like usual, his garden was back to it's bright and beautiful self. Voldemort wanted to know what had happened to Little One that made him cope with everything that happened, but he dared not ask. Not yet. He didn't want to risk hurting Little One by bringing it up and sending him back to his forlorn state.
However, what he was about to do might just send him back regardless.
As loathe as Voldemort was to admit it, having those two extra spies in the Order would be incredibly helpful. Not just in taking down the irritating organization, mind you, but also in finally taking down Albus Dumbledore. But in order to do that, he needed to figure out if his precious was open to meeting with the two demanding idiots in charge of spying.
Voldemort walked over to the swing bed where his precious was sitting cuddled up in a massive blanket burrito. It was one of the most adorable sights Voldemort had ever seen, and he internally cooed at his most cherished child swathed in hoards upon hoards of quilts. He was nothing but a blurb of fabrics and a face poking out.
When Little One caught sight of him, his face lit up in the most radiant smile. The very sight of it filled him with joy and made his stomach feel warm. Voldemort smiled back at him and sat down on the bed swing, opening his arms to allow Little One to snuggle up close to him. Voldemort pressed his face into his son's curls and breathed in deeply, his eyes fluttering shut with contentment.
"Hello precious," he whispers, pulling back so that he could see his child's face. Little One grinned at him and Voldemort cupped his face and bumped their noses together. "You seem quite happy today. Did something happen."
Little One tangled their hands together. "Not my fault, Papa." he whispered, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper.
It took Voldemort a few seconds to understand what he was saying. When he did, however, Voldemort wished that he had tortured Pettigrew longer. He pulled Little One into his lap and began to rub his back comfortingly. "Never, baby," he said gently. "Was never your fault."
Little One hummed softly and idly began playing with Voldemort's fingers. Voldemort wished he could sit here forever, just him and his son, safe from the drama and the trauma. But alas, Voldemort could not.
Voldemort sighed and shifted Little One so that his back was resting against his chest and conjured both a muggle coloring book and crayons. (Voldemort despised all things muggle, yet his precious loved to color with these blasted things, and since Voldemort may or may not upset his child with the conversation that was about to follow, Voldemort wanted to keep him as happy as possible.)
Little One had let out a silent giggle at the sight of the coloring book and squirmed in Voldemort's lap until he was handed one. As Little One set off filling in the pages with color, Voldemort pondered the best way to bring it up.
When Little One had finished the first drawing and was halfway through the second one, Voldemort finally spoke up.
"Little One, my precious," Voldemort spoke softly, smiling gently when his child tilted his head backwards to look at him. "You know that I love you very much, right? You know that I would never let anyone take you away from me. Never ever. You know that, right?"
Little One's face scrunched in obvious confusion. "Papa?"
"Little One... Do you remember those two men from before?" Voldemort asked softly. "Moony and Padfoot?" Little One's eyes widened with recognition and Voldemort winced when he saw Little One draw closer to himself. "Precious listen to me, I'm not sending you away. I will never send you away. Not ever."
Little One nodded slowly. Voldemort sighed and brought his hand up to cup Little One's chin. "They want to see you. They miss you. Would... would you be okay with that, dearest?"
Little One was silent for a long time and Voldemort was nervous that Little One would say no. He was also hoping he would. Finally, however, Little One spoke.
"S'okay, Papa," Little One says, his voice as soft as usual, yet somehow, the voice carried throughout the entire room. "You keep me safe. We see them together."
Voldemort is silent for a very long time, long enough for Little One to turn back around and flip over a coloring page and begin drawing on the blank side. Voldemort only acknowledges the weird feeling he feels when Little One turns back around to hand him a drawing. Voldemort stands in a garden of colored blobs that Voldemort knows are meant to be flowers. Beside him, Little One stands with a broad smile on his face, and Nagini is drawn hanging off his shoulders. A bright red heart is drawn above their heads and the wobbly script reads, My family. Voldemort sets the paper down and draws Little One into a tight hug.
"I love you, Little One." he whispers, burying his face in his son's curls.
Voldemort thinks that might be his new favorite drawing.