Many Happy Returns

A/N For legal reasons, I had long ago decided to not write/post anything sexually explicit until Harry was eighteen. We have finally arrived on the happy day of July 31, 1998. Let the fun begin! Happy Birthday, Harry Potter!

Nagini rarely woke Harry in the morning. Most days, he'd washed and dressed long before she budged from her spot before the fire. On the morning of his birthday, however, he woke to the crushing weight of her body pressing him into his mattress and the tickle of her forked tongue on his cheek.

"Snakeling must wake. It is brother's hatching day. Wake up! See what is waiting for brother? Wake and see!"

Harry batted her away sleepily and tried to shove her off, with no success. A gurgled "Can't breathe" had her shifting enough off his torso that he could take in air easily once more. Once he'd found his glasses, he blinked blearily around the room, searching for what had his sister so excited.

On the table near the fire sat a series of wrapped gifts. He hurried over, with Nagini trailing closely behind him. He picked each present up one at a time, setting each down reverently. There were no tags or labels to indicate who they were from. "These are all from Master?"

"Master was in this morning. He put them here himself and told Nagini to let brother sleep in because it is brother's hatching day."

Harry glanced at the clock. It wasn't even six-thirty, more than an hour before he would normally wake. Well, he was up now, he decided. "Which should I open first?"

"The one with the holes!" Nagini suggested excitedly.

Harry picked the small square box with holes up, and nearly dropped it again when something started scratching frantically inside. He held it at arms-length as he cautiously peeled off the wrappings. "What is it?" he wondered.

"Master said that was Nagini's special treat." She had slithered to the floor and was watching every move he made with great interest.

Harry rolled his eyes. No wonder she'd woken him early. He set the box on the floor with the lid facing his sister. "It's awfully small to be much of a meal for you. I hope you're not too hungry."

"Nagini does not care how little the prey is. It smells tasty."

Harry wished he had a tool so he could safely open the box without whatever was inside jumping out at him. He didn't want to be bitten by Nagini's breakfast. Or by Nagini, for that matter; she looked ready to lunge as soon as Harry released her prey. "Don't strike me by accident," he warned.

Nagini darted a tongue in and out and hissed out as much agreement as Harry thought he'd get. As quickly as he could, he lifted the box lid and stepped away.

Nothing darted out. Harry walked over so he was next to Nagini and peered inside.

It was a tiny person, no taller than Harry's index finger. He was cowering against the back of the box. As Harry inched nearer, he saw that the man's silence must have been magically induced, for he appeared to be screaming in abject terror. In his tiny fists he held a sheet of paper, as if that would save him from his fate. Harry reached in and pulled it out; the person only let go when he realized that if he kept his makeshift shield, he'd be pulled out with it.

It was a note from Harry's Master. In Parseltongue, he read aloud : "Don't let Nagini eat this Muggle right away. Tell her to play with her food first."

Nagini hissed her agreement and so Harry gently shook the box until the Muggle tumbled onto the floor. The miniature man sat there dazedly for a moment, before looking about in horror. To Harry's disgust and amusement, a stain was spreading on the Muggle's light grey trousers. The man looked down at the wet spot for a moment, and then back up at the incomprehensibly massive boy and snake looming above him.

Harry peered more closely at the tiny figure. It looked filthy and was sporting a short but very ragged beard. Its clothes hung off of it, strongly reminding Harry of his own ill-fitting cast-offs from Dudley. This Muggle hadn't been recently snatched off the street. No, it had obviously been a prisoner for quite some time. But why would a Muggle warrant such a lengthy confinement? Why keep it alive so long? Even Vernon had been kept only long enough to—

Wait a moment…

Harry squinted at the shrunken man's face. Sweet Merlin, it was Dudley. He braced a hand on Nagini's long neck and hissed, "Don't kill him. I know this person. I want to talk to him."

"It is Nagini's treat," she argued. "It is Nagini's, to hunt and kill."

"Yes, but just wait. That can be your birthday present to me," he urged.

She slunk back behind him and hissed unhappily. It would do for now.

"Dudley?" Harry lowered himself to his elbows. "It's me. It's Harry."

Dudley looked up now, his eyes wide with terror, but his crazed expression seemed to lesson as he focused on Harry. He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but he was of course still Silenced.

"Can Nagini chase it now?"

Harry looked back at his sister, then again at his cousin. Dudley was on his knees now, and there was no mistaking that he was pleading for mercy. His hands were raised in supplication and his face was wet with tears. He shut his miniscule eyes tightly as Harry reached out. He was shaking badly, but he didn't try to move or to get away. Harry stroked his thumb over Dudley's head as gently as he could. Behind him, Nagini was squirming about impatiently.

Harry shifted to the side, granting her access. "Just chase him for a bit," he told her. "Give him a good scare but don't kill him."

"Nagini is hungry," she hissed angrily.

"And Dudley is not remotely a meal for you. You deserve a big Muggle. This one would be less satisfying than a mouse. Just play with it for now, sister."

Her tongue darted in and out, tasting the air. She got closer and closer to Dudley, until her tongue was but an inch from his face when extended. She looked very much like a Basilisk, as big as she was beside Dudley. No—at this scale, she was far larger than that. She was the Midgard Serpent herself.

"Why does this prey smell like Nagini's brother?"

"Because he's my cousin. He's Dudley. I told you about him a long time ago." After a moment's thought, he frowned in dismay. Only a few minutes ago, Nagini had said that her present smelled tasty. He nearly sniffed his own arm to see if he smelled of anything that would be enticing to a huge snake but realized how ridiculous that would be before he could make a private fool of himself.

Nagini got even closer, until when her tongue darted out it licked Dudley flat in the face. He opened his eyes and took in the great snake mere inches away.

"Yes, Nagini remembers when snakeling told her about this one. Yes, and Nagini was right. Dudley is the prey now, not brother. It is the prey—Nagini's prey."

"I think I want to keep him for a while. But he can still be your prey, sister, so long as you are careful." He stood up and smiled down at his cousin. He was a god up here; one well-placed foot and Dudley would join his mother and father in whatever hell existed for abusive Muggles.

"I think it's time for some Dudley Hunting."

...

Harry stuffed Dudley back in the box he'd come in after Nagini had grown bored of chasing him around the floor. It hadn't been as entertaining as either she or Harry had hoped it would be. Dudley had fallen badly after only ten minutes into the game and was unable to do much more than clutch at his leg and make piteous faces. He'd given up begging for mercy, not realizing how much he'd already been granted.

Harry set the box on the mantle and turned to examine his other gifts. A book shaped package proved to be the promised Kama Sutra. It was newer than Harry had imagined, and he opened the cover to read the inscription his Master had left for him:

Dear Harry,

Happy Eighteenth Birthday.

This is a newly illustrated edition published by a Wizarding press in Mumbai. Remember to keep yourself unsullied until I otherwise allow.

Lord Voldemort

Harry ran his fingers over his Master's signature. Then he opened the book to a random page and froze in amazement. Unlike with that illustration of the wizards and house-elf, there was no mistaking what this witch and wizard were doing. And as it was a magical edition, the illustrations were helpfully moving—

(No, that was a gross understatement—they were fucking)

-and it was obvious from the look on both participants faces that they were both experiencing extreme pleasure. They were naked, and the woman sat bouncing on the man's lap, facing outwards. Her breasts were on the small size, but they jiggled proudly every time she lifted up and slammed down again. The man had an arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers vigorously rubbing the topmost part of his partner's genitals. The curve of the man's cock was barely visible at this angle, but if he looked just right…

With an embarrassed flush, Harry realized that he was stroking himself in time with the animated thrusts. He pulled his hand from out his night robes and—

The hell with it. If his Master had purposefully given his what was essentially porn, then Harry would enjoy it—within the demanded parameters. So, for now anyway, he would enjoy it alone.

He turned the page to find something even more exciting. Yes, here—now he could see the action more easily. But that wasn't the right hole—and that wasn't a woman underneath the man. It was…it was a very happy man, judging by the look of ecstasy on his face. Holding the book open with one hand, Harry lowered his fingers back within his pants and trailed them down his hardened cock, his touch light and teasing. He came to his balls and gently cupped them, squeezed until they ached in his palm. Then he trailed lower still, just testing.

His pucker was dry and closed tight. It resisted the slightest prod. He brought his hand out again, and spat on his it, not having anything else handy for lubricant. Watching the men in the illustration, he again reached back and teased the tight ring of muscle with his fingers. He managed to slip the tip of his index finger in, but not only was the spit not helping that much, he wasn't finding it at all pleasurable. And it made him feel just a little dirty. He reached back up and focused on his erection instead, slowly sliding his wet fingers up from the base to the top before gliding them round and round the head in long, delicious twists. His index finger shallowly entered his slit, in and out, before he squeezed back down to the base.

All the while, he watched the men. From his vantage point he could see the man on top pull his cock nearly out of his partner's arse before ramming back in. The man being penetrated was arching his spine and pushing back against the cock lodged within him, as if to drive it more deeply into himself. One of his hands was stroking his own member in time with each thrust.

Harry's own hand began moving faster, pulling down from the head to the very base of his cock, squeezing then moving up to swipe the pre-cum leaking from his slit around the head, and then back down and up.

"Uuungh…"

Harry softly panted, clutching himself as he came down from the high of orgasm. He carefully drew his messy hands from his pants and went to wash up in the bathroom.

He took the time to get dressed, and by the time he emerged a small tea tray with a continental breakfast had joined the remaining gifts on the table.

He poured a cup of tea and breathed in the familiar scent before taking a bite of a chocolate-filled croissant. The flaky pastry seemed more delicious than normal, as if his house-elf was offering up a present of its own in the only way it could. Just when he'd polished off the last bite, another tray laden with tempting treats popped onto the table.

Harry whispered a quiet "Thank-you" to the elf before turning to the remaining gifts.

A rectangular box—this one without breathing holes—turned out to be a box of chocolates. Harry's heart fluttered when he read the label; Honeydukes. The last he'd seen of Honeydukes was on the mission to betray his friends. He took another sip of tea in an attempt to dislodge the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his gut and told himself that the chocolates were a good sign. It wasn't meant to be a reminder or his guilt. No, the chocolates were proof that the Wizarding world was being rebuilt. Businesses were opening once again; people were getting back to their lives and families. Well, those who had survived the war, anyway.

There were still three gifts left to open. One looked like another book. Harry tore open the wrappings to reveal a paperback with the illustration of a dragon on the cover. He flipped the pages, noticing at once that they were crisp and new. The Hobbit. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. An inscription on the flyleaf read:

Harry,

I received a copy of this novel on the Christmas immediately preceding my eleventh birthday. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did.

Your Master, Lord Voldemort.

Harry set the book aside, promising himself that he'd try it soon. Perhaps he'd read it aloud to Nagini every night before bed. With a mug of chamomile tea and a tray full of chocolates…perhaps his Master would make a reader of him yet!

A tiny box held a necklace. A chain of silver that gleamed nearly white slunk through his fingers with a fluid grace rivalling that of its serpent pendent. Harry held the chain up to the light and watched the snake weighed down on the fine silver links spin this way and that. Emerald eyes caught the sunlight shining through the window. It was very pretty. It was obviously very expensive.

Harry took it into the washroom and held it up to his throat. As he suspected, it looked very girlish. He'd not cut his hair in some time, and already his black curls were tumbling half-way down his neck (which admittedly, made them easier to tame). If it wasn't for the brush of dark stubble on his cheek, he could be called feminine. And to add such pretty jewellery to the mix?

"That's it, I'm growing a beard," he said to himself even as he reached for his razor and scraped the new growth away. He'd not realized he'd rushed through his ablutions that morning, though his facial hair still grew slowly enough that he wasn't always bothered with it. He brushed his teeth again for good measure, then ran an appraising hand through his hair before returning to his bedchamber.

His Master was standing over the remaining gift on the table. His red eyes narrowed as he took in the chain that was still in Harry's hand.

Harry brought the necklace up and fumbled with the clasp.

"Allow me." Voldemort came behind him and expertly fastened the necklace. He turned Harry and examined him critically. "Lovely."

Harry flushed.

Voldemort indicated for Harry to sit back at the table, then took the other seat. Harry poured a cup of tea for his Master and offered the tray of small pastries, though the Dark Lord waved it off.

Harry reached for the last present cautiously, feeling far more nervous with an audience.

"Be cautious with this one," Voldemort murmured, then sat back and watched Harry carefully peel back the silver wrappings to reveal a polished wooden box. Resting inside, cushioned in velvet, was a small silver-filled vial.

Memories.

The question was, memories of what...

Voldemort smirked. "Do you really want me to ruin the surprise? Darling, it is the false memory I had Rookwood create. You are under no obligation to watch Umbridge's defilement. I leave that up to you."

Harry nodded slowly. He wasn't sure if he was ready to watch such a violent rape, but what was the use in being a Gryffindor if he didn't valiantly forge ahead, prepared or not? Even his surrender could be set in such a light.

"Indeed," his Master agreed in response to Harry's thoughts. "I would have bargained for more, had it been me."

Harry rather thought that bargaining for his life had been sufficient. He looked down at the table, feeling unaccountably ashamed.

Voldemort reached forward and gently gripped Harry chin, forcing eye contact. "I wouldn't have granted more than what you've been allowed, regardless. Perhaps I would have given you less had you demanded more. Tell me, Harry Potter…"

His Master's grip tightened. His sharp nail threatened to rip flesh. Harry opened his mouth, trying to relieve some of the building pressure to his jaw.

Voldemort leaned in closer. Harry could make out the slight sheen of scales on the man's otherwise smooth cheeks, one more reminder that his Master was no longer wholly human. He gulped.

"Tell me," his Master repeated. "Are you happy here?"

Was he happy? Harry tugged back and, surprisingly, his Master released his hold. "More than I expected I would be," he answered. Then, "Yes. I am."

Voldemort stood and quickly stroked the top of Harry's head. "You make it easy to be a good Master to you, my dear."

Harry looked up and made a quick decision. "Master, may I ask for something? Or rather, two related somethings?"

The Dark Lord looked pointedly at the torn wrapping paper littering the floor, then sighed. "What is it?"

Harry stood and took down the box that caged his cousin. He opened it and picked up Dudley and set him on the table. "First, Master, I was hoping I could keep this as a pet. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed seeing him this morning."

"Your worthless Muggle cousin was supposed to be a treat for Nagini."

"My second request was for a replacement offering for her. She had fun chasing Dudley around, but it wasn't as if he'd satisfy her appetite, shrunken as he is."

"I could enlarge it again," Voldemort suggested, tilting his head in consideration.

"I guess…but I kind of like him small like this." Harry said with a shrug.

Maybe his Master and Nagini were right. He didn't need Dudley as some sort of pet. Why keep such a reminder of his past? And he hardly needed the company. He always had Nagini with him (even if she slept much of the time) and he spent most afternoons with Draco. Best of all, his Master visited when he could.

"You may keep it," Voldemort said after he'd considered it. He drew his wand, and moments later a collar and chain materialized around Dudley's neck. A wave of his wand and Harry's new 'pet' was lifted off the table. "Keep it in the bathroom, preferably behind the toilet. That is where filth belongs."

"Thank you Master," Harry gushed. "Will I be able to release him? So that Nagini and I can play with him? She liked chasing him around."

Voldemort nodded. "The chain's catch will be sensitive to a Parseltongue command. As for your second request, we still have a Mudblood rebel rotting in the dungeons."

"Dean?" Harry wasn't sure how he felt about trading Dudley for Dean.

"He would have been killed regardless, if that is your concern," Voldemort said with a scowl. " I might have spared him, but he and that Irish half-blood proved too belligerent to let live. I will not tolerate further dissention."

Harry nodded. That was satisfactory, then, he decided. If Dean was already set to die, then he need not feel guilty about having him take Dudley's place as Nagini's breakfast.

"This is what happened to your mum," Harry whispered to Dudley as they watched Nagini slowly swallow Dean Thomas. "My sister ate her, just like that. Served Petunia right, the bitch."

Harry had wrapped Dudley's chain around his limbs in such a way that he could dangle him by it without cutting off his air. Whenever Dudley closed his eyes in horror, Harry flicked him hard on the back.

"I think the worst part of being eaten alive," Harry mused, "isn't even knowing you're about to die. It's the idea of being consumed and digested, then finally shat out. Imagine ending up as nothing but snake shit?"

"Language," Voldemort absently reminded him from the desk, where he was making careful amendments to the parchment set before him. He withdrew a potion vial from a pocket and held it to the light, then tapped the side twice with a sharp nail. "Perfect. Severus managed to balance the viscosity as I'd asked."

"Master?"

Voldemort began gathering the parchments. "Secure your toy and be ready to leave within the next five minutes," he said as he stood up. He hid the vial within his robes.

"Fun's over, Big D." Harry unwrapped the chains from his cousin's legs and arms, then took him to the bathroom and hissed "lock" as he held the chain to the floor behind the toilet. A small charge zapped through his fingers, not strong enough to do anything but give him a static shock. Dudley, on the other hand, spasmed wildly as the pulse of magic washed through him.

Harry observed Dudley, slumped against the white tile. "I suppose I ought to feed you," he said with a sigh. He went back into the main room and fished a few croissant crumbs off his plate, then took them in to Dudley. "What do you say?"

Dudley gaped up at Harry, but when he noticed the small offering his face lit up. To such a small, starving man, it must have seemed a feast. He mouthed, "Thank you!" with as much fervour as he had once thrown into his tantrums.

Harry smiled down at his little pet and dropped the food to the floor.

...

"What is this place?" Harry asked reverently as his Master prodded him into a chamber deep within the bowels of Malfoy Manor.

His Master had been quiet as he'd led his Horcrux by lumos-light down countless stairs, far past the dungeons and their moaning inmates, into a corridor carved into the earth itself, then finally to this cold, dark room.

This place is ancient, Harry decided. Far older than the Malfoys. It gave off the same primordial energy that he'd sometimes felt in the Forest of Dean when he'd managed a few minutes alone and had the presence of mind to actually feel at peace, rather than hunted. He wondered why Draco had never brought him here on his grand tour of the manor. This was something worth boasting about, far more so than conservatories, parlours, or ballrooms.

"You feel it," the Dark Lord said to him, his voice not much louder than the rustle of their robes. "I had hoped you would. Not many still can."

"I feel something," Harry admitted. That he was one of few that could discern the raw otherness of this place filled him with unaccustomed pride. Though perhaps anything setting him apart was only due to the Horcrux within him. Perhaps it was only the piece of him that was Voldemort that felt anything.

"The prophecy chose you for a reason, Harry," Voldemort told him. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder and made him look up at him.

Harry's heart skipped as he took in his Master's intense look of possessiveness.

"And while no doubt my soul within you feels reverence for a place of power such as this, I believe that even without it you would feel the pull of magic here."

He spun Harry around and pulled him against his chest. Where Harry's heart had nearly stopped before, now it began beating wildly. "Why are we here?" he asked as he breathed in the warring aromas of musk and patchouli incense which plumed through the air.

Voldemort waved a hand, and a perfect circle of red candles flickered to life. "For the transference ritual." He brought out the vial he'd been examining earlier and held it to Harry's lips. "Drink."

Harry's lips parted and his Master tipped the potion into his mouth. It was creamy, slightly salty, the taste reminiscent of freshly mown grass. At least that was what Harry tasted before all his senses were overwhelmed by a horrible tingling sensation. It felt like ants were swarming in his mouth, hundreds and hundreds crawling all over his tongue. He nearly spat but—

"Swallow," Voldemort ordered, releasing him.

With tremendous effort, Harry swallowed all those prickling, creeping legs. It's all in my mind, he told himself. It's just a potion. Think of it as Snape's sadistic birthday present.

It seemed to take forever, but the sensation lowered and lowered down his body, inch by terrible inch. Finally, it found its destination—his balls—and Harry nearly fell to his knees.

"Remove your garments," his Master said before taking his own swallow of the potion. He gave a small grimace but gave no other sign that the brew affected him.

Harry had removed his outer robe and shirt quickly enough. He paused before he unfastened his trousers and looked to his Master. The Dark Lord's robes were simple and more easily shed, and he was already stepping out of his silken pants. Harry blushed and looked away, though it wasn't lost on him that this wasn't the first time he'd seen Lord Voldemort nude.

He was wary about lowering his own pants—what would he see? Were his testicles as red and irritated as they felt? Even the soft cloth brushing against his groin caused him to nearly lose control and begin scratching viciously.

Everything looked the same as ever.

Voldemort took Harry by the shoulder again and steered him into the ritual circle. "Kneel. Then mirror my actions exactly. Do not interrupt my chanting."

Harry carefully knelt upon the stone floor, then watched in awe as his Master followed suit. The ritual circle wasn't large, with only about three feet separating them. His Master held his eyes for a moment before reaching down to his own penis. He began to stroke it languidly, at the same time beginning to chant.

Harry gulped, as he watched; he couldn't look away. His Master, laid bare, pleasuring himself: this was something he hadn't even dreamt of seeing.

(He was such a liar).

A jolt of pain burst through his scar, and he jolted his eyes back up to meet his Master's narrowed gaze. Voldemort raised a brow and looked pointedly down towards Harry's own, unattended crotch.

Right. He was supposed to mirror his Master's actions.

Harry brought shaking hands to his own cock and began stroking it to hardness. He let his gaze fall again to watch his Master's graceful fingers at work and soon they were both moving their hands up and down and up in time with the ritual words. Every pull of his hand, though, worsened the horrific crawling sensation, until he felt he would tear his balls off to be rid of it.

Biting his lip, Harry gazed back to his Master's face. Voldemort wasn't trying to catch Harry's eye anymore. He was unabashedly watching Harry's moving hand. Harry flushed, flustered by the lascivious attention. He worried, for a moment, that his erection would flag under such pressure, but no, he was hard, so hard, the reddened skin hot beneath his tugging fingers.

He let his eyes wander to his Master's cock. It was pale, as Harry had guessed it would be, but a soft blush of pink was faintly visible, breaking the otherwise perfect expanse of pearly skin. A small dewdrop was leaking onto the smooth head now, and Voldemort's hand sped up, brushing the bead of pre-cum over the ridge of his cockhead, pulling and swirling his fingers.

Harry squeezed his aching cock tighter, the burning in his scrotum building but at the same time now irrelevant, as mixed as it was with the expected build of his arousal. He began pumping in earnest now and marvelled at how the Dark Lord followed his pace, his hand almost a blur as it chased the promised climax.

He was close; they were both close now. Already Harry could feel the anticipatory tensing in his balls; they rose as he neared orgasm and—

Spurt after spurt of come jetted into his fist, leaking out between his clenched fingers. Harry's breath came in quick pants, and he watched as Voldemort pumped his hand faster, faster, to finally come into his own waiting hand. Amazingly, through the entire erotic ordeal, his Master hadn't broken his chant; indeed, he was still speaking the same short magical phrase over and over. They weren't done, not yet.

Harry watched as his Master withdrew his come-slicked hand from his own groin and, leaning forward, brought it to Harry's. Only another flash through his scar reminded him that he must act as well.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was mirroring his Master again. And what his Master was doing was caressing Harry's balls, spreading the come pooled in his palm against the soft flesh, massaging his own quickly cooling ejaculate into the most delicate, most sensitive area of Harry's body. As he did so, the fierce crawling, itching sensation fled at once. Voldemort's come instantly soothed like a miracle balm.

Harry's heartrate, which hadn't had time to slow, sped up dangerously as he slicked his own fingers against his Master's scrotum. Voldemort had given no indication that he was similarly affected by the potion, that he was also suffering from the maddening sensation of insects, of burning. But knowing that he might be easing his Masters' torment made it much easier for Harry to smooth his semen onto his Master's skin.

Harry watched in awe as the creamy white of his own come spread over the Dark Lord's hairless balls; he could feel them roll about beneath the soft, now glistening, skin.

He finally pulled back. Voldemort's chanting changed; it sped up, growing louder and finally stopped and—

The burning was back—

—no, now it was tearing, slicing! And oh, sweet Circe, oh—

He was dying! This was—

The pain disappeared, all at once, as quickly as it came. Voldemort stopped chanting.

Harry moved to cover himself but:

"Don't move. You must let my seed fully absorb into you skin."

So they stayed like that, spread out before each other. The room—really no more than a cavern dug within the earth itself—was far too cool. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Voldemort had closed his eyes; perhaps he was hibernating like snakes do in winter. All Harry could do was shiver.

And not only with cold.

A/N I don't have a copy of the Kama Sutra, illustrated or otherwise. I know that the Kama Sutra isn't actually a book of porn, but I don't really care. I don't think Harry does, either. Also, I don't think anal sex is dirty, but the concept is fairly new to Harry and he hasn't (yet) been conditioned to find it enjoyable. I think that will change with the right partner (hint hint).

Also, I decided that Tom Riddle would have been given a small something each Christmas, along with the other children in the orphanage. The Hobbit was published in September 1937. He began Hogwarts in 1938 (not long after Dumbledore's visit to the orphanage).