Chapter Text
“Enna dear—”
“Ew gross, don’t ever call me that.”
“Sweetheart—”
“What are you born in the 1950’s or something?”
“...No, in the 1920’s actually.”
Enna had no visible reaction, which was concerning to Voldemort who’d just revealed that he was much older than perhaps his daughter was expecting. On one clawed snakey hand, he was glad. They would have no problems and move on but on the other snakey clawed hand (by jolly, he had two! Good for Wormtail!), his tomb on Father-Daughter relationships for idiots was failing. Affectionate monikers were supposed to have brought them together!
He sighed, banishing it away for another day. “Well, then. I’ve already gave word to Lucius that he should be expecting us for late brunch, have you gotten your robes ready?”
Enna made a face of displeasure, “Yeah I did but like, why? Can’t we just wear something less…naked underneath?”
“Robes are the traditional Wixen wear, I don’t see why—”
“Well, aren’t you like the supreme ruler?”
Voldemort blinked. He supposed he was, in the shadows that is. That blasted Dumbledoor ruled the Light and there was nothing Voldemort could do while that wretch Potter boy still walked this realm.
So yes, he sorta did rule.
At least, where it mattered.
“Then can’t you just… I don’t know,” Enna said, waving a flap of her robes, “Do a fashion revolution while you’re at it?”
Voldemort supposed he could.
Afterall, what kind of father would he be if he could not make the world the best place for his lovely daughter?
It seemed the Death Eaters had a new goal to remember in next week’s meeting.
Changing wizard traditions, huh?
Ha! Lucius would be scandalized.