.

.

The Riddle manor was not small, by any means. Yet, it was rather simplistic- as far as wealthy homes went, anyway- as the head of house had no desire to spend his fortune frivolously.

That simplicity was perhaps the only personality in the place, with the most personal room being the study.

The interior of the manor was dark, and the darkest, second to only the cellar, was the study.

It was the only windowless room in the house (the cellar was technically under the house, and so, didn't count as "in the house") and everything within was decorated and or painted with dark colors. Deep violet to forest green to blood red.

Any and all wooden objects in the room were hand-made of dark mahogany wood, and bore little, if any, elaborate designs- the one exception being the writing desk, which had the Riddle coat of arms carved deeply into the sides.

And sitting at this desk, illuminated only by the dim light of the candle in the corner, was the head of the Riddle family.

Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't doing anything terribly significant. Simply doing his taxes- because what a scandal it would cause if someone else did those and robbed him blind!

There was a knock at the door. Four soft knocks, as he'd instructed his newest servant to use.

Potter. An open book, that one. Not that Tom minded. Honest people held nothing from him.

"Enter."

The door opened with nary a creak, and Tom smiled as the scent of hot cocoa entered his nostrils.

"Your cocoa, sir, exactly as you requested."

Potter's voice was that of a soft baritone- lacking both the depth of a bass and the borderline nasal quality of the tenor.

His was a voice that was naturally soothing to his privileged ears.

And his footsteps, light even considering the dark green carpeting of his study against the soles of the black dress shoes he undoubtedly wore as he brought the steaming mug to his desk, were feathery light. Tom almost didn't hear him.

"Thank you, Harry."

The boy- yes, still a boy, even if his age and posture said otherwise to society- seemed surprised at the use of his first name- nay, his nickname (which was only used by those closest to him), but Tom simply smiled charmingly, and Harry's surprise vanished.

For a master to address a servant by his first name meant that servant was worth respecting. But a master would need to be especially inclined to a servant to use his nickname.

Harry stayed put- a good thing, since Tom hadn't dismissed him (that showed obedience, and that was exactly what he preferred in his servants)- and Tom leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back so dark eyes stared up into beautiful emeralds.

"….You have earned yourself a promotion. As of Monday, you shall be my personal attendant. Now, you may go. Spend till Monday with your kin. I have seen to it that a gift for them be left in the kitchens."

Harry smiled- a dazzling smile that Tom had once thought only aristocrats could possess, but had learned even his favorite servant could hold- and bowed.

"Thank you, sir. God bless you. I wish that the next three days find you in good health."

His voice was joyous and Tom was pleased. And then Harry left, his steps just a small bit lighter, and only when he was gone did Tom allow his smile to drop.

He had planned this two months ago- exactly a week after Harry had began working for him, and three days after the boy had begun asking questions about Voldemort.

Yes, this was by far the best for both of them. He could keep Harry safe from his deranged older brother, Harry would earn more for his family, and would be safe.

And he would belong solely to him.

Not the other members of his brood, and certainly not Voldemort.

Him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

.

.

XXxxXX

Hadrian James Potter entered the little shack at the base of the hill his family called home. Since last he'd been there, there had been some changes- the most notable of which was a tiny garden of vegetables. Not enough to make a profit with, but enough to keep them fed through the winter.

Harry's lips curved upwards into a small smile as he consciously felt the weight of Lord Riddle's gift against his cloak.

He entered the humble shack, not surprised to find his parents asleep. It was past nightfall, after all.

Harry smiled as he caught sight of his mother and father, asleep together on the ratty old cot they'd always had, their arms leaving enough space between them for Harry to sleep with them, as he had when he was young.

The boy gently set his package on the table and shed his cloak, then crawled into the cot, nestling himself safely between his dear, dear parents.

He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.