A/N: Our final installment in the ridiculousness that is this story.

Ternion of Trouble

He'd seen everything, absolutely everything there was to see. After all, once you'd lost your corporeal form, traversed the world as an 'un-being,' been reborn from a pot of sludge, died again, and were reincarnated with your soul bound to a locket, what else WAS there really?

The answer to that question was, apparently, "childbirth."

"YOU DID THIS YOU LITTLE SHITE!"

"Hermione, my love, perhaps it would be best to save your strength—"

Hermione lunged forward from her spot on the most posh and terribly ostentatious bed that Galleons could buy and swiped her hand at the robes of her husband. He narrowly dodged out of her reach and her eyes flashed as though that was quite possibly the most idiotic thing possible to have done. The lamps in the room trembled and flickered and Hermione gnashed her teeth. In a low, trembling voice, her lips peeled back and she growled, "Give. Me. Your. Locket."

Voldemort inhaled sharply, twitching away from his wife's snarling face with a hand clutched to his chest. Swallowing thickly, he turned to the Muggle midwife that Hermione had been working with for some time who had absolutely not batted an eyelash at the magical couple once the truth had come out – apparently, she had 'seen much stranger shite than witches and wizards at the tail end of a pregnant woman.'

"Perhaps it would be best if I left her in your care." The midwife spared him an agitated glance, opening her mouth to speak but was cut off by a scream the likes of which he'd never heard come out of his small witch before.

"ELENA GET ME MY WA—AHHHHHHHHH!"

Voldemort blanched.

Elena, one of the Mediwitches bustling about the room, spoke up from where she'd moved in to quickly start blotting moisture from Hermione's forehead with a clean cloth. "Perhaps that would be best, my Lord."

Childbirth.

That was definitely something new.

. . . . .

"Qualifications."

The tall, dark bearded man shifted uncomfortably under Voldemort's gaze. "Ah…proficient in dark arts." His mouth twitched and his eyes glanced up to the bouncing motion of the Dark Lord's knee and back down. "I uh, specialize in unforgivables, particularly t-torture and pain…" He glanced up and back down another time. "And also—"

Voldemort waved off whatever else the man was about to say in a bored motion. "Yes, yes, yes, wonderful, perfect, but how do you feel about nappies?"

The man straightened and blinked, confused, now openly staring at the tiny burbling child Voldemort was bouncing on his leg. "N-nappies, my lord?"

"Yes—" The child let loose a raucous belch that earned a sweet coo from the dark lord. "Oh, that's my sweet little darling, Cassi, get it all out for daddy." He pursed his lips, blowing the tiny gurgling girl a kiss and booping her delicate little nose with the tip of his finger. Turning his attention back to his interviewee, Voldemort smiled a smile that showed far too many teeth to be a good thing. "Now: how do you feel about nappies?"

Fidgeting, the bearded man hesitated, looked at the baby, glanced around the room, and finally said, "Sorry, my Lord, I'm… not sure I understand?"

A long stretch of silence hung between them, everything about Voldemort entirely still and rigid except for the continuous bouncing motion of his one knee where his daughter wobbled, steadied only by his hands, and looked about blankly all while a soft guh-guh-guh noise was forced out of her with every bounce. The man grew more and more nervous as each second ticked by, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin and he dropped back into a frightened hunch as the Dark Lord Voldemort just stared hard at the top of his bowed head.

In the course of a second, the tense, tight atmosphere suddenly lightened and Voldemort perked up. "Ah, I understand where there may have been confusion in my question. Nappies: cloth or disposable?"

That look of confusion on the other man's face lingered for another half a second before understanding replaced it, he straightened again, and the tight lines around his eyes eased. "Oh," he said, shoulders opening with his more relaxed stance, "cloth, of course."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, openly interested by the response. "Really. And why do you say that?"

"Well, it's much better for the environment then, isn't it, my Lord?" he asked casually, seeming only to remember himself when Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Fumbling, he added, "Ah, well, of course, I mean, you already knew that, o-of course—"

"Of course."

"Better for the littluns too as I understand it. No telling what sorts of tonics and spells they use on the disposables nowadays." The tall man's face became much more animated then. "And really! Where are they bein' made now? They say London, but where are all those ingredients coming from? Could be Bulgaria, could be the Americas, there's really no way to tell what—"

"—to tell what shite is really in all of that mass produced nonsense, no." Voldemort nodded in agreement as he covered his babe's ears before he cursed and went back to stabilizing her in her bouncing immediately after.

The two men shared a cordial laugh a moment before the room fell into that tight silence again.

Cocking his head to one side, Voldemort looked at the bearded man again. "I hadn't realized you were a father—" He paused, summoning the man's application parchment closer to have a look. "—Altyn, is it?"

"Yes, my Lord," he said a bit modestly, then more eagerly added, "girls," and then in a prouder tone, "two."

"Ahh," Voldemort sighed wistfully. "Yes, they are lovely aren't they? How old?"

"Five and seven, my Lord."

At that, Voldemort hummed pleasantly. "Wonderful, wonderful. Well, Altyn, you-are-hired."

Altyn brightened, practically beaming at the concept of working for the Dark Lord and the Minister for Magic, but before he could properly thank Voldemort, his red eyed Lord smiled evilly.

"You start tomorrow and you will be caring for little Cassiopeia here and also my little Cassandra and our handsome little Cassius…and Altyn, if you displease me, I will murder your wife and family. Understood?"

Altyn went sheet white. "Y-yes, my Lord."