Chapter Text
Harry, the current Lord of the previously thought extinct House of Gaunt, is currently sitting at a session of a Wizengamot and is currently fighting himself not to outright snore inside to broadcast how bloody pointless and droning the discussion was.
Except for the current Lord of the House of Merch, he was already sleeping but then again he hardly counts as his brain is incredibly business-focused and the current discussion is not at all Economic Related.
Harry envies the Lord a lot.
The Supreme Mugwump, Anton Vogel is decidedly unimpressed and is itching to change the next discussion of laws being passed.
The law in question was another blatant anti-creature law that they will not pass since this law in particular will break the treaty between Goblins and Vampires and going through this motion will add another migraine to whatever Grindelwald was already doing at the other European Countries.
Last he heard, he had the Magical Belgium under his thumb. If Harry remembers his very muddled history that Hermione may off-handedly mention. France would be next; the only thing he remembered is that Magical France also made a version of their Maginot Line, with lethal magical artifacts stationed there and experienced Hit-Wizards scattered.
Back to the incredibly bore of a discussion that unfortunately devolved into two Houses bringing up their Blood Feud, which he really wanted to facepalm so openly about the pettiness of these grown ass Lords. You’d think they were Hormonal People with how petty they are. But no, these are real people with actual power amongst their community.
A sad state, and depressingly difficult to uproot.
When the session finally ended and Harry huffed an amused exhale when he saw in his peripheral vision a Lord applauding to himself and letting out a sigh of relief that it was over. He walked to the floo—
And stopped by Lord Black… Arcturus Black in particular. He had a gleam in his eyes and Harry simply raised an eyebrow.
“Lord Gaunt, I must discuss some… important matters.” Black told him, steely on his resolve.
“Sure… We should go to a private room. I have a feeling this wouldn’t be a pleasant topic to air out so openly.” Harry replied. Black nodded which meant he approved.
Walking to an abandoned Unspeakable Room that Harry never bothered to know the reason why they left this. He faced the Lord and casted wordlessly some strong silencing charms and for measures casted a security charm to alarm them of nearby Wixen who can eavesdrop in their conversation.
“I have placed some privacy charms around here. May I now ask why you needed to talk to me?” Harry casually asked the frowning Lord.
In reality, he was sweating a little. He always forgets how intimidating Arcturus can be.
“Alphard has… written interesting events happening inside the school. Particularly, your heir’s little gathering. He has wrangled Heir Avery, Mulciber, Malfoy, Lestrange, Flint on his group. Your heir is reaching out to our family. As the head of the House, I will be asking you, the current head, of your heir’s intention.” Arcturus elaborated and Harry found his breath faltering a little.
What did his Tom want to do with his group? He would be one stupid bastard if he said those were just his friend. No, no… Tom has always been an ambitious child, aiming for the stars and a strong belief that he was nigh untouchable. He was gathering, and hopefully history will never repeat itself.
Harry felt that time that he failed, just a little.
“Tom—” Harry started and he felt his voice waver. “—has always been… ambitious. Proud of his Slytherin heritage. He always wanted connections and the following heirs he believes are the first to reach out to him. He isn’t… sociable at the slightest. They may be planning for the future of the Wizarding World, who knows? Tom has always been an odd duck.”
Harry smiled, and he believes it to be the smile of one proud parent who will love to see his child; biological or not flourish at his objective.
“But, he is my odd duck. And I assure you, Lord Black, that Tom merely wanted to ally himself and my family to your house.”
—:—
Harry found himself baking in the muggle way. He’d always been scrutinized by some of his colleagues that instead of giving it to the House-Elf the chores of making the food. He does this sometimes. Harry doesn’t care about those stares and judging silence. Cooking, even if the Dursley soured his opinion on that chore, has been peaceful for him after a long contemplation.
He was athletic, yes. He bloody played Quidditch and he was one talented son of a bitch. He was average at schoolworks (Even if Hermione, his old friend off-handedly commented that he was smarter than he looks as getting above average scores with literal murderers on your tail was impressive). He wasn’t some academically gifted child that can pull off O's so incredibly easy.
He was… Harry. Quidditch Enthusiast, Hopefully a Good Guardian and can bake a mean Chocolate Chip Biscuit.
The Oven, which he saw was your medieval ones with torchwood, fans and other things that he kind of never knew how to use and decided to give this one to the house-elf with instructions on how they will handle the heat. They want the biscuits to be a little soft, not too hard as they want it to be a little gooey. He also assigned them to feed the oven some wood if the heat was getting too low.
Harry was at the ingredients stations. Preparing the cacao that he bought from the Alley, sugars from a Muggle Store as it was bloody expensive in the Wizarding World (like seriously, two sickles and three knuts? He could’ve bought a pack for six knots at the muggle store), the dough that he prepared overnight as he was getting a little restless and preserved it with charms. He sprinted from table to table baking, and the lunch he was preparing.
He made a lot, and he meant a lot since Tom told him he would be hosting his friend. He would be one horrible host if he left their guest starving. He always imagined the feast in Hogwarts as the standard for greeting guests.
Would Molly Weasley be proud? He thinks so…
“Master Harrys the cookies bees fine now.” Poppy, the lovely house-elf that latched unto him told him shaking out of his stupor of preparing the stew that was near boiling now. Harry hung the ladle and sprinted again to the oven. Bringing out his mittens and which he would add that was charmed for the petals to sometimes move slightly like being carried by the wind. Harry saw this at a random Pop-up store likely made by a Muggleborn who wasn’t given a chance to present their work. He bought it for twelve sickles and since then he’ve always thought that he got a bargain.
Purebloods these days have no eyes for neat handiworks. The only passion they see is the cost of labor and how flashy it would be during a Wizengamot session. Harry always wondered how they were revered to be trendsetter when all he sees are social climbers who wants to appear at the top of their game. World War Magical England was a sad state of fashion.
He now understands why Dumbledore was a Fashion Icon once. The dress might be bold and tacky but by God Dumbledore knew it was and pulled it off. Impressive really, Harry never knew Albus really loves his vibrant robes with subtle charms.
Getting off-track. Harry and the Elves finished preparing lunch; Harry hummed and bought the tray full of Chocolate Chip Cookies and entered where Tom is likely holding his meeting syncopaths.
And guess what? He was right.
Tom was sitting at the middle of the table which was once a stern expression turned into a slight suprise of his entrance. Heir Lestrange or Raven Lestrange sitting next to him eyeing him which Harry did not thought of the expression. Heir Malfoy or Abraxas Malfoy which Harry had to admit reminds him of a Dog sometimes, an adorable one brightened at the sight of the cookies. Heir Avery was there too sporting a slightly unimpressed eyebrow at a prospect of a Lord holding himself like a servant. Heir Black, or Orion and Harry had to count his blessings that Walburga has not yet joined as Harry wouldn’t know if he could tolerate the woman’s mutterings however age she would be. Maybe she was much more pleasant as a wee teen, but alas her portrait soured his thoughts of her further. Heir Nott, his second favorite heir smiled softly at the cookies. Prince, a new money family was also there. She was sporting a surprised face too herself.
Overall, they look starved and Lord Gaunt does not let his guests starve.
“Children, may I interrupt your… meeting with lunch? We’ve cooked Beef Stew. I’ve also baked some cookies for all of you snack on. Do not hesitate to ask for seconds, I did make a lot of food for Tom’s friend.” Harry told them with a smile.
He, of course brightened up when he can visibly see Abraxas squeal a little at the prospect of food and Prince widened her eyes more if possible.
“Father, you did cut the salt this time correct?” Tom answered.
Harry scoffed remembering the time the stew felt too salty. “Of course! Not because I put four tablespoon more than last time then I’ll repeat it again.”
Harry then placed the food with the House-Elves popping off too giving their bowls. The aroma of beef paired with the vegetable wafted through the room. Abraxas looks so restrained not to break his etiquette in table, but he really wanted to dig on the stew.
Should Harry send each families recipes? Their Heirs seems to be suffering with bland and mid foods. It would be a little depressing if their best food were in Hogwarts, and don’t get him wrong. The food at that school is fantastic, always been. But, it is a little sad if their House-Elves always settled with Mediocrity.
It would be nice if they can have flavor when they are just at home and not Fine Dining.
Of course, when they dug in. Harry heard noises of satisfaction and he reveled at those noises. Tom, used to tasting his meals merely hummed in satisfaction. Harry took that cue to leave the room and maybe rest at the Living Room.
Merlin knows how heavenly the couch seems to be now. He should pair it with the Novel Book he brought earlier. The premise was interesting and the characters don’t look like caricature of simplicity.
—:—
“Lord Gaunt’s cooking is making me want to spend more days here. You have no idea Tom how good your Father’s food is. I don’t think House-Elves can capture this which is a shame because the crime I am willing to do to get his recipe and give it to our House-Elves.” Abraxas mindlessly muttered off. Tom exhaled in defeat hearing Malfoy’s infatuation with Father.
“You’re— correct…” Orion trailed off. “These kinds of dish is what I expect to eat going on fine dining, not as a homecooked meal.”
“That must’ve been a frequent miserable dinner.” Tom snarked.
“We aren’t blessed by Lady Magic to have a Father whose hands make all their food heavenly.” Lestrange muttered off recieving a light stinging hex from Tom.
“We’re trailing off, as pleasant as Father’s cooking is. This isn’t our topic at all and I might request after eating is to continue planning on how to get yourselves Ministry Position.” Tom reminded his syncopath earning him in his opinion an undeserved Migraine.
Tom eyed Avery as he discreetly got himself another serving of Beef Stew, the heir practically worshipping the ladle as he got himself more stew. Idiots, a lot of them.
“Now… our agenda for this day—”
—:—
“Why are the apothecaries at Diagon Alley selling overpriced ingredients? These aren't even good herbs.”
Tom rolled his eyes as he heard his Father mutter off buying Moondew. Of course, his father does have a point as his Herbology tells him that those ingredients are pre-maturely harvested as he can still see the color is still grey and not silver. “Father, if you think the apothecaries at Diagon Alley are useless. Shouldn't you check Knockturn Alley then? I heard that if you threaten them you would be given a hefty discount.”
“I am not threatening anyone for a bargain Tom. I do need the shops open for me to continuously browse.”
However, Tom suspects Harry took his advice in searching in Knockturn Alley and headed there. Tom smiled and asked for a pouch of Galleons as he wanted to purchase some books there. Harry wordlessly gave him some and waved him off.
“Be safe Tommy!” Harry simply said to him and Tom rolled his eyes. He was a dark lord. It is very unbecoming of him to have such a doting Father.
He entered a shady looking bookstore. The edges of the shop were visibly burned. There is also a horrible stench surrounding the place. Tom hopes it was just a rodent carcass and not a human carcass as Harry would be scolding him for going near such disgusting things. Not that Tom is afraid of it, he's only scared of carcasses when it is his own.
The bell rang and he looked around. Times that are so old that he suspects a single touch would've disintegrated the pages. However, it has a surprisingly pleasant smell which is a very abrupt change from the fetching smell outside. There at the counter stood a frail looking elderly woman. She looks like she is conducting inventory. When the door moved, she immediately looked and gave him what supposed to be a customer service smile but instead she looked like she had murder plans on him. Tom grimaced.
“Hello there,” The cashier greeted and Tom refused to be afraid. “What can I do to you on this pleasant morning?”, Her voice reminded Tom of those evil witches in children's fantasy stories.
“Do you have some works of Chekovsky? I am particularly interested in his line of works,” Tom started and the elderly woman gave a thoughtful hum.
“Perhaps… Those are very dark books vnuk. Are you really certain you want to dabble on it?”, the old woman questioned and Tom felt offended that she dared suggest he was too weak for those magic.
“Yes I am certain.” Tom simply said leaving no doubt on his words.
The old woman nodded and gestured to sit on the chair. She then conjured a tea set and gave him a reassuring smile. “If you're sure then, I'll get it on the back. His works are extremely illegal, you know? It would be foolish of me to blatantly expose those books.”
She then let out an unsettling cackle and Tom shivered ever so slightly. He didn't dare touch the tea set poisoned or not as her mannerism doesn't exactly promote confidence that he will live after this.
He did, however, grab a small book which was an erotic novel about a Harlot and a Duke.
He was in the scene where the whore was about to confess to the Duke when the old woman came back. She had a pouch on her hand, it was midnight black and it shined when light hit it in the right spot. “Here you go, a full volume of Chekovsky works. Including some original manuscripts using findings. These are very rare books, you know?"
Tom nodded and got the pouch. “How much?”
“320 Galleons.”
Tom let out a shaky exhale. He hoped Father would let him spend this much money on his personal projects. “That would be fine.”
He then gave the old woman the pouch and she gave Tom a smile full of teeth. She waved him off and Tom decided he would be searching for another source of books as he felt that the woman would eat him at any moment. It was for self-preservation for his sanity.”
As he exited the bookstore. He felt uneasy, like he was being stalked.
He decided to hurry in his steps as he was not familiar in the alley at all. When he heard footsteps, he sprinted off.
“Petrificus Totalus!”, one of them casted.
“Protego!”, Tom countered.
He then looked at his assailants. He then cursed himself, these were Grindelwald’s goons. One of them licked his lips looking at him as he was a particularly tasty snack.
“Look who we have here… Gaunt's heir. Our Lord would be very pleased to bring you to him,” One of them commented. Tom gritted his teeth, but he'll let them talk him down for now. After all, dirts like them do not deserve him. But he won't go down so easily.
One of them transfigured the air into sharp glass and Tom hissed as he felt sharp residue on his wrist. He then casted ‘Finite Incantem’, but the damage was done as he felt blood course down his wand arm.
“Don't kill him, Lord Grindelwald would not have any leverage with Lord Gaunt if his heir dies. Stun him.”, the others go on ordering.
Tom then cast a curse himself that he read on one of Malfoy’s libraries. It obviously missed and Tom transfigured the floor to be slippery.
It gave him enough time to widen the space. Then, one of the goons cast a bone-breaking spell which hit Tom's leg. He cried out in pain and fell on the floor. Tom won't go down like this though and cast incredibly strong Bombards which even the Goon’s protege cannot even block.
He heard one of them scream in pain and he smirked at the thought of doing damage.
“You fucking brat! You'll pay for this. Lord Grindelwald be damned, I will be relishing your demise.” One of them cursed.
“AVARA KEDAVRA!”
Tom tried to get away, but he felt frozen. One of them wordlessly casted a stunning spell so he couldn’t move. Is this it? Dead in an alleyway? Such a pathetic end for Lord Voldemort.
Then, it dissipated. Tom looked and there he saw Father took the curse point blank. Tom never knew that his Father is immune to the supposed certain fatal spell.
Then, there was silence. Tom was afraid when Father was silent. Of course, it was never directed on him. Father loved him too much. But he knew the fate of those who were met with his silence.
He saw veins of his Father turn black and the goons tried to apparate away but found themselves unable to. Tom tried to look at the scene, still suffering at the pain of his broken ankle. He saw Father swish his hand, like a conductor in an orchestra.
The minions were crying blood. It wouldn't stop flowing. Their hands in a mockery of prayer, begging for mercy they were never going to receive.
Father then slowly approached Grindelwald's minions. Tom never knew what he said to them.
Their faces contort into horror.
Then, they simply went slack. Like a marionette with their strings cut.
Silence filled the room.
The veins in Father's slowly went normal. His eyes from acid green to its beautiful Emerald eyes every pureblood heiress create prose to. He then gave him a reassuring smile.
“Rest Tom, I know you're hurt. I'll take care of this.”
Tom was a strong man, he didn't need his Father to do anything for him. He was Lord Voldemort and he felt his pride already wound in shame. But maybe, this time he'll let it.
—:—
Tom was stuck on the bed. Of course, the books he bought were safe and decided while healing his bone was to study the Dark Arts. His servants' introductory books were acceptable, however they were too elementary in his opinion and he decided to study a much more complex application. There were few experiments dabbling on soul magic as the results were never pretty. Superstition arose that Death itself loathed when a mortal dared presume his area.
Of course, he'll stand with Death. He will treat its domain with equal fear and respect. Father drilled it on him, and he is inclined to agree. Afterall, weakness arises when you fear something. And Lord Voldemort is not weak.
Harry went inside his room, on his hand was a tray of tea and a freshly made sandwich. The aroma of the grill and perfectly cooked meat made him slightly salivate.
“Are your legs better?”, his voice so soft that Tom wanted to berate his Father for being so— soft. Unbecoming of a Lord. But, he was too tired to protest.
“The pain has lessened,” He decided to answer Harry. “I think it will be fine after four days.”
“Nope… I am the adult here and I say I'll sentence you to bed for at least a week.”, Harry teased and Tom fought hard to stifle his groan.
Tom simply scoffed.
There was silence, as Harry tended to his legs and Tom ate his sandwich. He didn't lie per sé; his legs are getting better.
“I know you want to be a big boy. I can see you Tom,” His father suddenly spoke softly again. “I know you want to be more independent, After all, I know most of you as I raised you. And I am proud of what you are. No good parents are not,” he continued. Letting out an exhale. He looked into his eyes. “I know this is a big ask… But could you let me dote on you. I think I missed this.”
Tom wanted to decline, but his Father's eyes made it so difficult to refuse.
He simply nodded a little.
Harry hugged him.
It was nice. Maybe he missed being doted.
“I love you Tom,” He whispered like it was a prayer. “You're my only family.”
Tom wondered what was the deal with that. Since he was a child, he wondered what happened to Father to be so protective of him. He never knew his Father's past. For how he was an open book, regarding his past he drew blank.
Then again, it wasn't relevant at all. Maybe he missed being his Father's child again.