Chapter Text
He had resigned himself to a quiet evening, surrounded by his most loyal, his inner circle. They dined around him silently, expecting an explosive outburst at any moment. Voldemort, after all, was not commonly quiet for extensive periods of time, usually having to use his voice to properly lay out his thoughts.
But, not now. Not when he was so close to catching that infernal thorn in his side. Not when he could feel the boy’s blood rushing throughout his veins as if it were his own. Not when that oh-so-interesting link opened with a new force that surprised even him, the boy’s thoughts and mind so easily accessible. How easy it would be to just pluck around and drive the boy mad, to drive him to his own enemies hands, to his own death.
It was like Dumbledore wasn’t even trying to protect his golden savior.
His thoughts must of shown on his face, if Bellatrix’s screeching, insane giggles reaching his ears meant anything. The other’s had stilled around her, their eyes wide as they glanced between their food and the dark lord. He smirked at their fear, sending another fit of laughter through the insane woman, knowing the thoughts going through their head.
He wasn’t that monster anymore, and he was thankful once more for that cloud being lifted from his mind, but he wasn’t sure his most loyal were quite as understanding as his change. The horcruxes he had found and subsequently absorbed returned his former looks, and his genius mind. He opened his mouth to voice such opinions when he felt the shift in the air, like a crackle of electricity flowing across his skin.
His inner circle looked quite fearful, their eyes widening even more, Lucius managing to look even paler. They seemed to believe it was him, their Lord, causing this change in the energy of the room, yet he narrowed his eyes, glaring at the feeling of discomfort.
Whatever it was, it was a magic more powerful and dark than he had ever encountered before.
It seemed to make a center point, absorbing the breath of all in the room, before releasing them with a “pop.” They all breathed a sigh of relief, even Voldemort himself, as the energy dispersed, leaving the room feeling cold and empty. The wards shifted, as if someone had arrived, but someone who was permitted to enter past the protections of his home.
Odd, seeing as everyone who should be there, was there.
“My lords sirs! There be’s guests for you’s,” The tiny elf, wide eyed, yet somehow fearless as it popped into the room of dangerous wizards. It seemed to expect some immediate reaction.
Which it got, as Voldemort stood, reaching out with his magic to touch and crack at the wards, feeling out who could enter his domain without his permission. The responding magic cracked back, reminding him of Potter’s infernal magic, as he stormed from the dining room, his loyal followers following quickly behind, wands at the ready.
And there they were, six of them in his foyer. Children. They were children in his foyer.
One stood, staring at the ceiling, siblings, they had to be her siblings, surrounded her with different amounts of concern dancing across their faces. She and one other were obviously the oldest, maybe twins, and the others seemed to go down in age in increments.
Then the oldest male notices him, and grabs his brother’s arm, and now he has four wands pointed at him. Not at his followers, only him. They weren’t doing it to attack him, only a warning, stay back .
How cute.
His followers flooded the area immediately, the children surrounded, but not once did they show fear, not once did they drop their wands from Voldemort’s form. Bellatrix immediately began cooing, her eyes for children, even dangerous children, never once changing.
But they ignored her, only having eyes for Voldemort, even as the eldest stepped forward ever so slightly to speak, “I know what this must look like. If you give me a moment, just a moment, to help her, she can explain this. She’s probably the only one who knows how.”
The boy’s voice was strong, his eyes such a vibrant green Voldemort almost swore he was talking to Potter. Instead of thinking of such things, he allowed his eyes to travel to the supposed “her,” and he felt shock once more. Not only did she stare, unblinkingly above, her eyes were gold. Liquid gold seemed to glitter from her eye sockets, a magic he had never seen before wreaking havoc on her body.
“Let me help her,” The boy’s voice rang out again, strong, but there was something underneath it. Worry. Concern. Something was wrong.
“You dare ? Speak to the Dark Lord in such a way?” Ah, lovely Bella, always stepping forward when he was lost in thought to punish those undeserving. But, the boy looked under his nose at her, disgusted at the sound of her voice.
“Try it, bitch.”
Of course, the screeching had to happen, but Voldemort calmly held out his hand, stopping anything else. Her wand was already pointed at the boy, but he couldn’t get anything out of him if he was driven insane by the witch’s games. “Not now, Bella.”
The boy seemed to take that as an allowance, turning, putting his back on Voldemort, as if he wasn’t the largest danger in the room, and his circle, allowing his younger siblings to keep his back protected. He grabbed his sister’s face, forcing her glance down, and mumbled something in her ear.
Voldemort longed to know what the boy thought he could do to fix whatever curse the foolish child had placed upon herself. The gold seemed to pour from her eyes in metallic tears, her body shivering, as if breaking down from the inside. The magic was obviously killing her-
A strange scream left the girl, her eyes closing for the first time since he had seen her. Her magic whipped out from her body, forcing the death eater’s against a wall, some of the weaker willed kneeling at the strength, and Voldemort left in shock. The dark magic swirled around them, caressing their forms and souls, before suddenly absorbing itself just as quickly as it was released.
And Voldemort’s own red eyes were staring back at him.
She didn’t know what she was thinking, when her eyes finally flew open. The only thing going through her mind was protect, protect, protect, I need to get them safe . Her magic had wrapped around them like a thick blanket, absorbing them, hiding them from their attackers. Even as she as she opened her eyes to stare into her father’s red eyes, she turned to count, count them , because something was wrong, wrong, wrong .
Her twin was there holding her up, their brother wand pointed out, eyes weary, the younger twins, bursting with concern, their sister, hiding behind her, but where was he ? Where was her youngest brother? He had surely been in the blanket of protection she had willed outwards to protect her siblings. Their attackers had not been so great to rip him away from her.
A sound, someone clearing their throat, had her lifting her head, and another sense of wrongness flooded her being. That was her father standing before them, but it wasn’t. He was wrong, something was wrong. His eyes were too confused, his skin too pale, his aura too cold. He looked at them like they were confusing bugs to be studied, not with the familiar warmth she was used to.
“Your brother claimed that you could explain your appearance in my home.”
She winced, the voice coming out a scratchy hiss, instead of the smooth baritone she had grown up with. Her brother squeezed her arm, a sign of comfort and a way of waking her up, to make her think, make words form from her lips.
Her eyes flew from her not-father, glancing across the death eaters she knew and recognized. The elder Malfoy, Lestrange twins, Dolohov, the Lestrange bitch!, all significantly younger than when she had last seen them.
Her training finally settled in her bones, throwing her brother’s hands from her, her body moving instinctively to stand before them, back straight, emotionless. Her father looked almost impressed that she had pulled herself together, singing a sense of pride in her soul.
“What is today? I am only interested in the month and year,” her voice came out calm, smooth. She saw shock registering on several faces, used to the sound causing many to react. It was the voice of a leader her parents once said.
Red eyes narrowed, glaring, but he nodded to the elder Malfoy, signaling for the man to speak.
“August, 1996.”
Her eyes widened, slightly, but she kept the mask, staying without emotion as the words wrapped around her mind. She had never, never, gone back that far, years, decades. She could tell her siblings were just as concerned, feeling their magic wrap around her in fits of worry.
They weren’t even born yet, making it particularly more difficult. She knew of her father’s thoughts on children before she and her brother had come along, not to mention his feelings on their bearer. How would he believe her, why would he believe her?
She wouldn’t.
In the end, she knew there was only one piece of evidence that would make him think, make him believe, if only for a moment. Her brother’s hand wrapped around her’s, and she felt the others crowding around her form protectively as she made up her mind.
“My name is Rhea Merope Riddle, these are my siblings,” the hiss of parseltongue came from her throat easily, shock immediately registering on her father’s face, “And, we are your children.”