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.
"Not what? Like me?"
"I don't like you. You're a murderer, but this… this is just confusing."
Voldemort grinned to himself,
"You don't hate me."
"I should."
"You feel guilty because you like my company,"
Voldemort said, fixing Harry to the spot with his stare,
"But you shouldn't. What you're feeling is completely normal."
"You have no idea how I'm feeling, and it certainly isn't normal."
"Just accept it and let go. Everything will be much more easier if you do."
"You're deluded."
"So are you."
Voldemort conjured something, tucked it under his armpit, then slid onto the chair opposite Harry,
"We need to let the rice cook."
Harry eyed him, then quickly looked away. Voldemort really was handsome, especially when he smiled. He leaned back in his chair and lifted what he'd been hiding onto the table and smoothed the front page of the newspaper. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"I am a murderer, but that does not mean I act cruel and sadistic all the time."
"This whole situation is cruel and sadistic."
"You are on the side that will be end up ruling the magical world."
He took in the headline that was emblazoned on the front page and reached over the table to scrunch it up, but Voldemort tutted, moving it from his grasp,
"No, you are not going to tear it."
"I hate The Daily Prophet."
Voldemort slid the newspaper towards him again,
Harry started flicking through the newspaper page. He kept going until he got to the crossword,
"Can you do crosswords?"
"I can do them just fine."
Voldemort said, getting to his feet.
"If you say so,"
Harry pretended to read,
"Arrogant murderer who thinks he can rule the world…Nine letters, begins with V, ends in T."
"No idea,"
Voldemort said. He got a spoon, took some paella out of the pan, them came towards Harry.
"Try it."
"Why, have you laced it with poison or something?"
"No…"
Harry sighed, then opened his lips to accept the spoon. The minute it touched his tongue, his taste buds cheered, and he only just held back a moan. Voldemort was watching him seriously, eyes dark and targeted, like a predator on prey.
"Good?"
Harry nodded,
"Yeah, it's good."
Voldemort brushed his thumb against Harry's lips, and a shot of electricity went through him. The touch was lingering, soft, and Harry's eyelashes fluttered. He tried to remember the last time Voldemort had touched his lips. It had been when he was too weak to feed himself. Voldemort had fed him, always ghosting Harry's lips with his fingers after each mouthful. Voldemort whispered,
"You had a bit of rice on you."
"No, I didn't."
Voldemort smiled,
"No, no, you didn't."
He took his hand away and went back to the frying pan,
"Read me a clue, and we will see who gets it first."
Harry swallowed, then looked down at the crossword, and read the first clue aloud. "Ten letters, pleasing in appearance."
Voldemort tapped the spoon on the side of the pan,
"Got it."
"Already?"
"Yes, I think you will get it, too, if you use your head. What's the first word you think of when you look at me?"
"Murderer."
Voldemort reminded,
"Pleasing in appearance…"
Harry muttered,
"Some murderers are."
Voldemort laughed again; another laugh that made Harry's stomach feel funny.
"It's not murderer but try again."
"Killer? Deranged, crazy, heartless."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes and smiled coyly,
"I'm not sure you know how crosswords work. There's a clue, and a number of letters, neither of which you have seemed to grasp."
Harry looked down at the table, then flapped his hand, acting as if he'd got it,
"Lunatic."
Voldemort laughed again, and Harry pinched his wrist to distract himself from the flutters in his gut. The sound of Voldemort's laugh shouldn't have been alluring; it should've been like nails on a chalkboard.
"Come on, Harry,"
Voldemort said, gesturing to himself, particularly his face,
"If you had no idea who I was and I came up to you, what would you think?"
Harry's face filled with heat, and his mind filled with inappropriate thoughts. A big knowing smile brightened Voldemort's face. He laughed, linking eyes with Harry,
"After the initial thoughts about being claimed by me faded, what would you have thought of my face? How would you describe me?"
Hot, handsome, sexy, if Harry didn't know what was going on inside his head, they would've been the words to describe him. He swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat, ignored the prickling heat that had travelled from his cheeks to his toes, and whispered,
"Attractive."
Voldemort nodded, then winked,
"Thank you very much. You are not too bad yourself."
Harry glared angrily at the newspaper picking another clue,
"Here's one for you. 6 letters, make certain of a failure."
"It can't be sabotaged."
"If you're just going to list all the words it can't be, we are going to be here a long time."
Voldemort smirked,
"Okay, it's doomed."
Harry chuckled,
"Correct, as in, you're doomed to fail in conquering the magical world"
