Lord Daddy ✅

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - in which Avery makes an unfortunate comment, Voldemort takes revenge, and Harry spits

The Dark Lord got back to the house late at night. He had been doing stuff all day, and finally, finally, it was time to rest. Man, being evil sure was tiring.

Stifling a yawn, because Dark Lords didn't yawn, he climbed up the stairs and went to the kitchen for a quick meal before bed, and he found Mulci, Avery and Dolohov waiting for him with Harry.

"Good evening, my Lord," said Dolohov tightly, his arms folded across his chest, pointedly not looking at him.

Dolohov lifted Harry on his hip and started combing his black, unruly hair with his fingers, still not looking at his master.

"You're not even going to say hi to Harry?" he asked with fake indifference, while Harry chewed on The Skull. "That's the least you could do, my Lord"

Voldemort was confused. Had he done something wrong? Why was Dolohov angry at him? Did he need to Crucio him? In any case, he decided to do as he said, and he awkwardly walked to Harry and extended a reluctant finger to him.

"Um, hi Harry" he muttered uncertainly.

"Daddy," said Harry with a big, bright smile, grabbing his finger with his chubby little hand.

Voldemort automatically twitched.

Dolohov scoffed. "It's a wonder he still recognizes you, seeing as you're never here, my Lord"

"What?" asked Voldemort, whose metaphorical eyebrow had reached his metaphorical hairline.

What was the matter with Dolohov?

"What is the matter with you, Dolohov?"

Did he really need to Crucio him?

"Do I really need to Crucio you?"

Dolohov pointed an accusing finger at the Dark Lord.

"You're never home! It's always work and work and work with you...you never have time for us! And you missed him walking for the first time!"

"He...He walked?" asked Voldemort with an unreadable expression.

"Yes! But you, like every other time, were working! Are we that unimportant to you?"

"Dude," whispered Avery loudly. "What are you, his wife?"

Everyone froze. An awkward, horrified silence fell upon them as they tried to imagine it.

"Yeah...I'm going to pretend that didn't happen," answered Mulciber with the haunted eyes of a person who had witnessed unimaginable horrors.

They all went separate directions, without meeting each other's eyes.

* * * *

"Welcome home, dear. How was work?"

Voldemort slowly walked into the kitchen. A woman was cooking with her back to him. Who dared call him 'dear'? He hadn't been 'dear' since...well, ever. He'd never been a 'dear' kind of guy, really. He was more of the 'master' type. His hand inched towards his wand, but he wanted to see who was it that dared talk to him that way.

Although, the food she was cooking smelled really good...perhaps he could keep her around, afterall. He trepidantly walked to the kitchen counter where she was preparing salad.

He peered over.

Dolohov's bearded, ruvid face with make up on it smiled sweetly at him.

"Dear, dinner's ready, sit down or it'll get cold"