Well, I'll be damned, Harry thought the next afternoon. The bastard followed through.
The next morning had seen his usual copy of the Daily Prophet, as well as something extra. A steaming hot package of food for breakfast. Harry had checked it for three whole hours searching for charms, potions, curses, or anything that would harm him in the food. The entire time his mouth was watering, for not only had Voldemort sent kippers and eggs (sunny-side up, no less), but toast with marmalade, sausage links and thick bacon strips, fluffy Belgian waffles with maple syrup - real maple syrup - in a separate jar to keep the waffles crisp. And sent to drink, not only orange juice, but pumpkin juice and a variety of teas.
Also sent with was a swathe of articles from every paper in wizarding Britain, from the first Wizarding War to the most recent paper.
Settling in to the first good meal since leaving Hogwarts, he poured over the articles. There wasn't enough blood to make him lose his lunch, but were disturbing in and of themselves.
But not once, in any report of the death eater raids, were there deaths of children. Oh, there were plenty of death eaters themselves that killed children and non-combatants early on, and there were even an occasional casualty according to a spell going awry or the intended recipient dodged out of the way. But after each article that mentioned the conscious death of kids or bystanders, an article came up with the death eater in question killed in a most gruesome way.
And about the time that he finished the pile of articles, it was getting on in the afternoon. Oddly, his relatives left him in the confines of his room. He wondered why, then shrugged it off. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, after all. A tap at the window had him looking over his shoulder, to see another owl there with a package. He got up questioningly, moving over to let the bird in. He scratched its neck feathers gently while he took the mail, watching it fly off curiously. It was a nondescript postage owl. Nothing unusual.
Opening the package revealed another meal, this one not as warm as the first. However, that was welcome with the heat. He even had a bottle of Tandy's Lemonade to accompany it, a special wizarding drink that combined the sweet and sour taste of lemons with miniature explosions crackling in his mouth once he drank some. Not enough to hurt, but it was very cool nonetheless. He didn't assume it was clean, but after checking it with the same extensive list of spells, he was able to sit down and enjoy the meal.
How odd, to be receiving food from his hated enemy. And it wasn't poisoned or corrupted. How peculiar indeed.
Each night he ended up in Riddle Manor, the door open and inviting, but nothing forced him to accept that invitation. He hadn't gone in there since their first chat. After that initial day, Harry received three meals at equal intervals, plus snacks and desserts to squirrel away if he wished. His relatives kicked him out the following morning while the sun was shining down, but the owl found him each day, no matter where he was. A few times the birds even delivered books of interest to him, supplies to practice potions at night, charms and talismans to cool him down and prevent sunburn, no matter how long he remained outdoors.
It had hurt, knowing that his relatives, friends, teachers should have been doing this- sending him care packages (even if he had to cast a gamut of spells to be sure he wasn't going to be offed), making sure that he wouldn't get heat stroke, looking after his well-being.
It was daunting and depressing. Especially once his birthday rolled around.
The morning dawned hotter than the day before, not that that was a surprise. His luck kicked in, though, as the Dursley's were heading to London for the day. Hopefully they wouldn't be back until late, and while they would turn the air conditioning off, it was cool enough with the insulation of the house. For once, Harry would be comfortable and well-fed during the daylight hours.
Once he was alone, Harry settled in to breakfast. Each day brought a new variety of flavors- quiche and crepes from France, French Toast and muffin breakfast sandwiches from America, fried fish and Rice from Asia among his favorites for breakfast. He even got to try various different alcohols from around the world, though he was careful about ingesting them with food and in small quantities. He didn't want to get drunk.
For his birthday breakfast, he was sent a quiche made with asparagus, a sweet white wine called Moscato that bubbled in his mouth, fresh pomegranate seeds and apples fresh from the orchid, three kinds of cheese and a fresh baguette still piping hot. Along with it came a wrapped gift.
Harry was able to cast his detection spells within fifteen minutes from all his practice. Then he set to casting detection and revealing charms on the package while enjoying his breakfast. An hour later had him still sipping the wine, which went down like a sweet bubbling water, and examining the still wrapped present. To say that Harry had no idea of what to make of this development was an understatement. He finally just decided to get it over with and unwrapped the gift.
The book revealed was a language book. However, it wasn't just any language- it was not quite a dictionary, not quite a workbook on the different forms of parseltongue that included dragon and wyvern dialects.
Harry was flabbergasted.
A few hours later, he was shocked once more. With his lunch came a second gift. The same spells and a half hour later, and he was looking at a serpent necklace while munching on some spiced curry from India. The plum wine was delicious and complimented the hot flavor of the curry. But the necklace was throwing him for a loop. It was handcrafted from platinum and gold filigree, the details picked out painfully. Each scale was carved delicately, with a few of them made from the shell of a Chinese fireball dragon adding a red-orange color to it, and the tongue looked fragile enough to break off with the merest touch. The eyes themselves were perfectly carved garnets, following his every move in the sunlight, an inner fire glowing. The necklace itself was charmed against physical injury, burns, and spelled to adjust the body of the wearer to be able to comfortably survive in nearly any temperature.
The final shock came with his dinner. Coq-au-vin with marinated red potatoes, raspberry liqueur, steamed and salted vegetables and a delicious vanilla cheesecake with Irish cream for dessert; and a third gift. This one resided in an envelope. A third sweep of food and gift left him dazzled, for the envelope contained a small, simple note: Your final gift is located at Gringotts, vault 1032. A key was stuck to it, with muggle double-sided tape of all things. Harry wouldn't be able to get it for another two weeks, but his curiosity was eating at him.
It was that night, confused beyond belief, that he willingly went to sleep and sought out Riddle Manor.
"Harry. How nice of you to join me."
Harry took a cautious seat at the chair by the fireplace. It was a blood red color that contrasted the emerald chair that Voldemort sat in. The Boy-Who-Lived noticed the Dark Lord's eyes flicker to his neck, where the serpent pendant lay, before meeting his face again. He didn't say anything for a while, studying the man in front of him, still distrusting, still confused. "Why?"
"Why what, Harry?" Voldemort folded his hands in front of him, a small smirk on his lips.
"Why the gifts, the meals...? Why?"
"You asked, and I believe it is custom to give gifts for ones birthday." Voldemort stated simply. "I am not your enemy."
The pair dropped into silence for some time, Harry with his thoughts, Voldemort leaving the boy - young man, at this point - to his musings, not pressing for a response to his statement.
To say Harry's world was turning upside down was an understatement yet again. He had heard hide nor hair from those he cared about, and here was his supposed nemesis that was caring for him and giving him gifts. None of them had been poisoned or cursed. Not once had You-Know-Who pressured him into anything.
And he had told the truth while also keeping his word. That was more than Harry could say about Dumbledore at times.
Taking a breath, Harry settled forward, folding his hands in front of him. "So. What did you want to talk about?"
A/N: So I know this is a somewhat shorter chapter, but that's because it was a fantastic place to stop. Please find your thanks below:
Reviewers: Thank you for your words and critiquing.
Story Followers: Another chapter for you all. Thank you for reading.
Story Favoriters: I am always honored to have my story favorited. Thank you.
Readers all: Thank you for reading. If I didn't know people were interested in this concept, I would never be writing it as much as I have been.
NOTE: Obligatory disclaimer on how I don't own Harry Potter one bit. I own some concepts that will be seen in here, but even the main ideas have heavy influences from stories I read here on . If you like my story, give their stories a shot:
Stigmata by InferiorBeing
Faith by Dragongirl16
Thank you both of you for your amazing stories that influenced heavily my ways of looking at the Harry Potter world. You are amazing.
