Pink Patricia
"That'll be ten galleons and a knut." The clerk bagged the assortment of vials and odd-shaped bottles inside of a brown-paper bag that had the shop's neon emblem on both sides.
Harry dug the coins out of his pouch and formed a neat stack on the counter. He was trying to ignore the embarrassment boiling in his stomach and wriggling around in his stomach, a horrible cocktail of mortification, paranoia, and the desperate need to explain himself. He tried to say, "Thank you." But it came out in a hoarse whisper.
The clerk had a look that said she's dealt with worse. "Come again." She stated, pushing the bag towards him and scooping the coins off of the counter with a single had and depositing them inside of the register.
He picked up the bag, bowed his head quickly, and rushed outside of Pink Patricia's Perfecting Products- honestly, could there be a worse name?
It wasn't as though he was buying potions to make his hair grow longer or change the pigmentation of his eyes, which he's seen witches do by the way, but it still felt shameful that he was buying what he had. Even though he had merely purchased moisturizers, lotions, bath oils, and pretty smelling soaps, it felt oddly wrong. Harry couldn't quite explain it.
Harry quickly found a safe spot to Apparate out of Diagon Alley, a small space between two shops, and vanished from the alley that was beginning to cramp as the afternoon rush filed in from multiple directions.
He reappeared inside of the kitchen of his home, a house that sat in the middle of nowhere on a unplottable slot of land in England. Sometimes Kreacher visited to clean up before returning 12 Grimmauld Place, the home Harry wouldn't ever ask him to leave. Most of the time, Harry took care of himself. He liked it, very much, actually.
"Back from shopping?"
Naturally, he was drinking tea in the kitchen.
"Hello, Tom." Harry snapped.
Voldemort grinned viciously. "Harry, we have discussed this." He said.
"Hello, Voldie." Harry corrected himself and walked straight out the kitchen. He heard the Dark Lord set his tea down on the table and scoot his chair back. Any footsteps were completely silent, but Harry knew Voldemort was following after a single second, even before he opened his mouth.
"Better, but not perfect. Try, 'Hello, my Lord.'" Voldemort said. "What did you buy? You weren't gone for very long. Please tell me you've purchased new curtains for the living room window. They're simple horrendous to look at every day."
Harry rolled his eyes. "If you don't like it, leave. Oh, wait! You can't! Because, guess what? Mr. Dark Lord Dumb Cunt latched himself onto the Boy-Who-Lived so he wouldn't die." He made a turn at the end of a hallway to the stairway that led up to the upper floor.
"You mustn't be so rude! And we both know why I can't leave. If the world knew I was alive-" Voldemort began.
"If the world knew you were alive, they'd be trying to kill you and you wouldn't be able to plot world domination in relative peace." Harry continued. "Why am I housing you again?"
"Death told you to and you're my Horcrux." Voldemort stated.
"Right. Of course." Harry sighed, reaching the top of the stairway.
"So, what did you buy?" Voldemort asked again.
"Lotions and stuff." Harry said.
"A moisturizer, I hope. Your skin is dreadfully dry." Voldemort said.
"And you're calling me rude?" Harry questioned, coming up to his bedroom door. Voldemort quickly cast a spell over his shoulder to open it, he must have anyways, because the door swung open before Harry moved to even twist the knob.
"Not everyone is as blessed as I." Voldemort said.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Narcissistic." He chirped and placed the bag on top of his dresser before twisting around.
Voldemort smiled at him. He probably intended it to look nice, but the Dark Lord's glowing red eyes, scaly skin, and sharp teeth ruined the possibility.
"Please leave me alone." Harry said.
After a moment's consideration, Voldemort nodded. "For now." He said.
Do I know what this is? No. Do I care? No. Is this self-indulgent trash? Yes. Is self-indulgent trash my usual shit? Yes. Will I stop? No!
Idea here is basically that Harry is giving Voldemort room and board (and friendship, though he'll def deny it) due to the fact that Death told him to, and he's an Horcrux. As he was the Master of Death at the time Voldemort went to kill him, though he 'died' he came back, as did the Horcrux. There's no way for the Horcrux in him to be destroyed and, as a result, Voldemort cannot die. Only, when the Killing Curse had rebound and struck Voldemort his soul remained attached to the Earth though he momentarily entered Limbo. His body, however, remained intact as it there was no Light magical protections this time around. Since Voldemort is a total douche, Harry decides to contain him in his home until the world's repaired itself from the war. They have bonded ever since then, however, though at the same time Harry grew more and more distant to his friends to hide Voldemort's continued existence...
And, yup! Drabble, drabble, drabble!
WILL I EVER WRITE AN ACTUAL MULTI-CHAPTER STORY?
WHO KNOWS