The last couple of days had helped his recovery a lot. He could finally sit up on his own, eat on his own… He wasn't plagued by constant headaches. In fact, they'd been much more bearable these past couple of days. The only thing, he still couldn't do properly was getting up on his feet and walking. Somehow, every time he tried, his legs felt weak and lifeless and he felt dizzy.

He was just lost in these thoughts when Voldemort walked into his room and announced,

"I have something for you."

Harry couldn't stop his curiosity from seeping into his voice as he inquired,

"What?"

Voldemort grinned as he conjured a set of crutches,

"To help you move about."

Harry looked at them apprehensively,

"Aren't you worried about me escaping?"

Voldemort snorted,

"I know you will try no such thing. Now come on, let's try to get you up."

Harry took the crutches and then with Voldemort's help, managed to stand. It was an odd feeling being upright without being sprawled over Voldemort. Voldemort smiled, nodded in encouragement, and Harry swung the crutches forward, taking a step. Some sense of pride came back to him, and he smiled back, only for his smile to quickly fade when he remembered that the man that had given him back a sliver of freedom was still a murderer….

"How is the pain?"

Harry muttered,

"Manageable."

Voldemort chuckled,

"Good. It'll be nice to have an extra hand in the kitchen."

Harry had only ever been to the sunroom but he'd seen how grand the castle actually was. Voldemort led the way, while Harry got acquainted with his crutches. The castle was huge, but it seemed lonely. He couldn't understand how Voldemort lived here all by himself. Everything was perfect…from the corridors to the tapestries that adorned the walls to the carpets that covered the marbled floors. The kitchens were nothing less. They were huge and were equipped with about a thousand pots and pans along with every kind of cooking utensil imaginable…

"Do you really cook?"

Voldemort grinned crookedly,

"Is that really so hard to believe?"

Harry shook his head as he ran his gaze around the opulent counters and gleaming pots. Voldemort pointed to the kitchen table. Harry stared at the onions and the knife, then back at Voldemort,

"You want me to chop onions?"

"Yes…It is a relatively easy task."

Harry frowned at the onions,

"You can use magic to cook, right?"

Voldemort chuckled,

"I can…But doing everything by hand is far more satisfying."

Harry snorted,

"So, you are going to torture me after all?"

Voldemort laughed, and Harry couldn't stop his lips twitching into a smile,

""I've been cooking for you for weeks, so I believe it is time for you to help out."

Harry sat down at the table, then rested his crutches on the floor.

"I hate chopping onions…"

It was obvious that Voldemort was clearly enjoying himself as he spoke,

"There is a real good technique of getting it done where your eyes don't burn…I believe there is a charm for it as well…"

Harry inquired curiously,

"What is it?"

Voldemort hummed and then shook his head,

"I can't remember."

Harry huffed,

"That's really helpful."

Voldemort grinned,

"I will tell you when I do."

Harry finally asked,

"What are you making?"

Voldemort corrected,

"What are we making? Paella, but without the prawns."

Harry couldn't help but feel relieved,

"Good, I hate prawns."

Voldemort's grin grew wider,

"I have heard that if you eat anything eight times, you start to like it."

Harry scowled at that,

"I don't believe that."

Voldemort tipped his head back, laughing. Harry hated that he had a nice laugh. He was hoping for something ugly to reveal itself from Voldemort, but apart from the words that left his mouth, he appeared perfect.

Harry begrudgingly started on the onions, and within seconds his eyes were watering, and he was constantly blinking to compensate. Voldemort watched him for a few moments, then conjured the chicken.

He started frying it, and the smell woke Harry's dormant appetite.

The knife glinted in his hand, and he stared down at his reflection in the gleaming blade. He could launch it at Voldemort, stab him in the back, stop him from ever killing again, but he didn't. He sighed and carried on chopping the onions. Harry finally asked,

"Is this something you do with other people?"

Voldemort shrugged,

"I wouldn't be a very fearful Dark Lord if I did this with my death eaters on a regular basis."

Harry frowned,

"Why do you want to be a fearful Dark Lord?"

"Because that is what I truly am…"

Harry waved his arm around,

"Then what is all this?"

Voldemort shrugged,

"There is no law that states that a Dark Lord cannot cook."

Harry couldn't help but ask,

"How can you live all alone in this castle? Doesn't it get lonely?"

Voldemort laughed,

"No… I rather enjoy the solitude."

Harry sighed,

"Haven't you ever thought of being with someone? Maybe there's someone out there that shares all your desires."

Voldemort shook his head,

"No…"

Harry decided to change the topic and gestured to the chopping board for Voldemort to see,

"Done."

Voldemort smiled,

"You're a natural."

Harry snorted,

"A natural at chopping onions?"

Voldemort nodded,

"Yes… Now for the pepper."

He threw a red pepper at Harry, and he caught it one handed. His eyes were still burning, and he was surprised he'd caught it at all. But he was relieved to know that his quidditch reflexes were still sharp.

"Wait, you let me burn my eyes out first, when I could've started with the pepper?"

Voldemort shrugged, then stilled, waving his spoon,

"Wait, I remember the technique with the onions."

Harry inquired,

"Which is?"

Voldemort smiled, a big, blooming smile that lifted his cheeks,

"The key is to get someone else to cut them for you."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"That someone might just brush them onto the floor."

Voldemort laughed,

"No… If you do, I might just have to torture you for real."

Harry sighed and started on the pepper. He couldn't see what Voldemort was doing in the frying pan, but it smelled so good his mouth watered. Voldemort took the onions and peppers and added them into the pan. After a moment, Harry murmured,

"What are we doing?"

Voldemort replied promptly,

"Making lunch."

"No, I meant this,"

Harry said, gesturing at them both with the knife,

"Pretending this is normal."

Voldemort spoke in a matter of fact voice,

"I am not pretending anything. I am making lunch, and you are helping me."

Harry spoke out in frustration,

"But it's not…not right."

Voldemort chuckled,

"Paella will still taste good without the prawns."

Harry cried out in agitation,

"I'm not talking about the paella."

Voldemort smirked,

"I know… What would you prefer, me threatening you…torturing you?"

Harry ran his hands through his tousled hair,

"No…yes … I don't know."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows,

"You want me to hurt you?"

Harry snapped,

"I said I don't know… At least if you were, I'd stay hating you, not…"

He bit his tongue, shaking his head.