Heir Apparent By MonsieurClavier

Chapter 4

Note:

Voldemort feeds Harry some coq.

 

(It means chicken. In French. They’re in a French restaurant. I’m sorry.)

WARNING: MISOGYNY. SO MUCH MISOGYNY. THE PUREBLOODS ARE SUCH FUCKING TOOLS LOL

The Muffliato hasn’t yet been invented by Snape, who is currently just a toddler. So let’s just pretend that it was invented earlier, by someone else, shall we? And that it’s a standard spell, albeit tricky to cast. Voldemort, of course, has added lots of bells and whistles of his own to the original spell.
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Recalling his promise to keep Harry fed—Harry was intolerably thin, and Voldemort could not abide his heir resembling a starving street urchin—Voldemort herded his son back out into Diagon Alley and across the crowded street to La Plaque, the finest French restaurant to grace Diagon’s eating district. Voldemort kept his hand on Harry’s back to steer him, and Harry, uncharacteristically enough for him, cooperated. He must be very hungry.

“Thank goodness we got away.” Harry glanced back at Ollivanders dubiously. “I was worried some of those wands were about to indecently assault me.”

“If they had,” Voldemort remarked mildly, “I would have set the shop on fire.”

Harry gawked at him. “Right,” he said, not in agreement but in disbelief. “Centuries of wandcraft. Up in smoke. All because a few wands were being flirty with me?”

Voldemort did not answer. He himself was unsure about why exactly it bothered him so, given that wands were inanimate objects—well, usually inanimate objects, except around Harry—and could not influence Harry or take possession of him as other magical items could. They were not a threat, and Voldemort had even enjoyed watching them tremble for Harry like helpless virgins caressed for the first time.

So many of Voldemort’s impulses contradicted each other in Harry’s presence, as if Voldemort were a compass spinning uncontrollably, no longer sure of true north. It was disconcerting. But it was also, perhaps, understandable; the incident at Ollivanders had revealed to Voldemort that Harry’s magic was strong enough to influence its environment, and Voldemort’s sensitivity to magic had always been extraordinary. No doubt his own magical core was affected by Harry as the wands had been, and was attracted to Harry as the wands had been. It was simple magicophysics. Quite logical.

Besides, discovering that he was a father—and the father of one of the most naturally gifted wizards alive—was bound to change him in ways he could not foresee. If those ways led him to more tactical security and magical potency, especially through some form of magical union with Harry, then would the changes not be worth it?

Voldemort’s ultimate destination was, and always would be, power. His path to power was less important; he was open to changing the steps that got him there, as long as they got him there. Harry’s arrival had opened up a welter of new opportunities, of tantalising new paths to power—some of which were rousing inexplicable emotions in him, yes, but was that not a price he ought to be willing to pay? He’d gone so far as to split his own soul four times, with the Ring, the Diary, the Locket and the Cup, despite great personal cost. Unpredictable transitions were nothing to him. He would conquer them as he always had, and would emerge the victor.

La Plaque was run by the Selwyns, whose intermarriages with French wizarding aristocracy had resulted in immense ancestral wealth, which the family had chosen to invest in fine dining establishments throughout Europe. What the general public didn’t know was that the Selwyns’ restaurants were not merely restaurants, but operational hubs for Voldemort’s Death Eaters, and safe meeting places for Dark Pureblood families and their allies.