"How's Tom," Hermione asked as she put another piece of the roast to her lips. She always asked, Harry thought fondly. He remembered the first encounter between Hermione and Tom, how she had threatened him if any harm came to Harry. She had, of course, at that time not known the whole truth about the situation. He almost winced as he thought back to the horrified look on her face when Harry had taken her aside after another one of their fights about Harry claiming Tom and told her the whole story. At that time, he had not known the whole truth himself, and thinking back on how much worse the truth was from what he had told her, he was almost glad he hadn't known at the time.
The hand she had pressed against her open mouth had been shaking slightly as Harry had taken her through the medical reports, what Tom himself had revealed with his actions, the interrogation reports from Robards that had interrogated both the Warden and Stanley, who both had confessed to the abuse. At the end he had trailed off and watched tears assembled at the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill. She had still argued that he would be better off in Azkaban with the new guards, but when Harry had told her about the new bruises that Tom had acquired with the new guards, she finally relented and agreed that perhaps there hadn't been any other solutions.
Then he had been forced to tell her about the complaints and his decision to use the bond to force Tom's compliance and of course that had turned into another argument, but in the end, he had asked what the hell else he was supposed to do and that if she thought it was so bloody easy to get Tom to obey then she was welcome to try herself. Of course, after that she always asked about him, apparently still afraid that the power Harry now held over the former Dark Lord would corrupt him. He didn't tell her, but the same thing worried him.
The three of them was gathered around the dining table at the quaint but homey house that Hermione and Ron had brought not far from Hogsmeade. Hermione had argued that it was close enough to Hogwarts that their children could come home to visit on Hogsmeade weekends.
Ron had argued that the kids needed to be able to be on their own when at Hogwarts without their mother always stalking them. The house had been bought.
It wasn't too large. Just enough space for perhaps a family of four plus Hermione's cat. Hermione had made it clear that she was having two children, no more, just in case Ron had been thinking about getting a large family like his own. Ron had not argued.
There was a large garden where Hermione enjoyed growing vegetables and herbs. Some she used in her own potions and others went into the food, like the roast they were enjoying. It was made just right, and with caramelised carrots, sprouts and potatoes. The gravy was thick and full of taste. She always made it when Harry came over and he was never disappointed. It wasn't that the food Kreacher made wasn't good, but there was something about a home cooked meal that even the elf's magic couldn't match, not that Harry was ever going to tell Kreacher that. He would probably be poisoned.
After taking a sip from the glass of excellent red wine Hermione had bought, he answered. "He's doing fine, I think. Not sleeping well, but I guess that's not much of a surprise," he said in answer to Hermione's question. He shrugged slightly before cutting of another piece of meat and after stabbing a carrot, he brought the whole thing to his mouth.
Ron snorted. "The Dark Lord is having nightmares, just like us regular folks?"
"Ron," Hermione scolded, her eyes narrowing as she lowered her arm that had been on its way to her mouth for another bit.
"What?" Ron exclaimed, putting his arms out, the knife nearly hitting Harry's arm. "And I still can't believe you took him with you home like some other stray that needed rescuing, mate. The freaking Dark Lord."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment and prayed to Gods he didn't believe in for some strength. Ron was having a real hard time wrapping his head around the fact that Harry had the Dark Lord Voldemort living with him, and even more problems with the fact that the man was bound to Harry as a slave for only Lady Magic knows how long. As Ron also was a part of Harry's team, he would have to come to terms with Tom rather quickly as the team now included him.
He was actually surprised how quickly Draco and Neville had accepted Tom as a part of the team. They both now spoke to Tom as if he was one of them, asking for advice or his opinion. They included him when they took turns going out for lunch, Tom not doing so for obvious reasons. To make things easier when they were in "their" office, Harry had amended some of the rules the bond enforced. Tom was allowed to speak without permission and to look both Draco and Neville in the eyes as it made their work somewhat easier. Since they were the only team with their own office it made things easier too, as no one could see how they worked together, and thus make a complaint about Tom's behaviour.
"Tom is not Voldemort, not anymore," he said in answer to Ron's statement. "He is hardly anything like Voldemort. And with his magic bound and at my will, forced to always obey me, you can't claim there is much of his power left either," he pointed out.
"I can't believe I have to work with him," Ron muttered around his fork.
"Then ask to be reassigned," Harry snapped, losing control over his temper. For Merlin's sake. Not that he wanted his best friend to do that. He enjoyed having Ron on the team after all.
Hermione sighed. "Ron, you haven't even meet Tom yet. He isn't anything like Voldemort." Her voice sounded resigned as if she was repeating words she already had said a docent of times.
"He has tried to kill us more times than I care to count!"
Well, Harry couldn't exactly refute that. "And he has been tortured for three years. I think that perhaps he has paid for his actions, Ron. You didn't see him when I brought him home from Azkaban. The condition he was in. The medical report was longer than Snape's midterm essay demands. He has been beating within an inch of his life so many times that I've lost count. He has been starved and denied every basic human need there is, and only granted those if the Warden was in a good mood. Add other forms of torture and sexual abuse on top of that – can you really say he deserved and eternity of that for the actions he took?" His voice rose as he spoke, but then levelled out as a note of steel took hold and he stared at Ron, daring him to protest.
Ron was gaping. He hadn't been present when Harry had told Hermione the true story behind why he had brought Tom home with him, and apparently, she had either not retold the story, or told another version of it. "Blimey, I thought Hermione was exaggerating when she told me about his condition." He swallowed and pushed his food around on his plate, watching the motion. "I'm sorry, mate. I didn't realise how serious his condition was. But you can't argue that it is kind of strange - you bringing home the one wizard who killed your parents and who made your life hell?"
Harry nodded. Relief swam in him. Relief that Ron finally seemed to understand the situation. "I know, but Tom is nothing like the vengeful, angry and insane Lord Voldemort. He is not like the boy I met in the Camber either. I don't know who this version of Tom is, but either way he is staying with me until Lady Magic decides that he has paid his debt. And I intend to take advantage of his skills and knowledge to help us." At the end of his little monologue, he pierced another carrot harder than necessary and ate it.
The silence stretched out for a little longer before Hermione spoke. "Perhaps we could come over for dinner sometimes? Met him?"
"That should be possible," Harry agreed. Deciding to change the topic he asked Hermione how she was doing with her pregnancy and the conversation luckily then moved over to other tropics that didn't include Harry's unwanted slave.
######
He stumbled slightly through the fireplace, having opted to Floo home in his condition, rather than splinching himself trying to Apparate. Holding on to the table for a couple of seconds, while regretting the last glass of wine, he waited for the dizzy spell to end. Once he felt sure that he could stand he started on the stairs. A quiet tempus told him that it was late, very late, but to his surprise the lights were on in the library. Frowning he pushed the partially closed door open and stepped in. The library was bathed in a warm light from both the electrical ones and from lights that Tom presumably had lithe and the fireplace. There was an abandoned plate and a glass on the coffee table so apparently the man had eaten something during the evening. Most likely something Tom had made himself.
"Tom?" He asked, surprised to find the other man awake still. "Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, stepping further into the rom. Tom rose from his curled-up position in the window seat and slid to his knees. "Master," the voice was slightly hoarse as if he had been screaming. There was also a note of something else in his voice, something Harry assumed he had misunderstood due to the alcohol, but it almost sounded like relief.
His frown increased as he stepped closer to Tom, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed to be trembling slightly. Pulling at the armchair he moved it in front of Tom and sat down. Reaching out without thinking he wove his hand into the silky dark hair and used it lift Tom's head. There was a slight resistance as if Tom didn't want him to lift his head, but as Harry insisted, he gave in. "Everything all right?" he asked, his words slurring slightly because of the alcohol.
When Tom didn't answer, Harry took that as a sign that if he did, he would be punished for lying, ergo Tom didn't want to tell him. Deciding to try another approach he asked another question, one that he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to. "Why are you sitting her, in the middle of the night, reading?"
He saw Tom swallow. "Nightmares." Ah, the usual suspect. Tom normally had a hard time falling asleep after a nightmare. Harry sighed and pushed his hand through Tom's hair before removing it. A wave of tiredness hit him, and he sighed.
"Come on," he told Tom and rose to his feet. He led the way up the stairs and out of habit entered his own room. He crossed over and into the bathroom to fill up the glass he knew was there. The alcohol was making him dehydrated, and he knew he would have one hell of a headache the next day if he didn't drink enough water. Re-entering his bedroom, he saw that Tom was lingering in the doorway, looking unsure as to how to understand the command to follow.
Harry sipped his glass and pulled of his winter cloak, along with the sweater he had underneath. Turning to Tom he nodded towards the bed. "Get in. Mine is bigger than yours and I always fear one of us is going to end up on the floor when I sleep in your bed." A slight voice reminded him once more that perhaps ordering a rape victim into his bed was not the best idea. Another voice questioned the sanity of allowing his parents killer into his bed. Tom hesitated in the doorway. "Master?" The question was filled with nervousness and wariness as if Tom was wondering if this was the point where his trust in Harry would be betrayed. If he had any trust in Harry at all. Harry wasn't too sure he did.
Harry returned to the bathroom and changed into his nightclothes. Tom hadn't moved at all he saw. "You are welcome to sleep in your own bed, Tom," Harry said to clarify that he wasn't ordering Tom into his bed. The man had a choice. Tom nodded, but the words didn't seem to register. Then he took a step backwards, almost tentatively as if he was afraid of Harry's reaction. Harry just nodded. "Good night, Tom." He slipped under the covers and the last thing he thought before sleep carried him away was that he had forgotten to close the door to his room.
######
Time had ceased to be a concept he was familiar with. The days blended into each other, leaving no clear line between night and day. The guards worked in shifts, making it impossible to use the faces to tell time. The lights in the cell were kept at a constant level. He drifted in and out of consciousness, it was like being nearly awake but at the same time asleep. He would blink and notice the straws underneath his head, then he would be drawn away into the darkness where he felt nothing.
The moments in the dark were both the best and the worst. It was the only time he didn't feel the extensive damage to his body. Stanley had been mourning the anniversary of his sister's death in normal fashion, which was taking it out on Voldemort more harshly than usual. As he moved ever so slightly to change position, he could feel the pain flair up from the soles of his feet to his neck. The whole of his back was covered in welts and cuts. His front didn't look much better. His muscles still trembled from the electrical shock. One thing that could be said about Stanley was that he was creative.
The only part of him that had been spared was his face. He did have couple of bruises and a black eye, but other than that Stanley had taken care to avoid doing much damage. Voldemort knew it was because Stanley preferred to look at something pretty when he fucked him. It wasn't the first time Voldemort cursed the idiotic idea to absorb two of the horcruxes. His good looks had proven useful in his youth when his power and status had not been enough on its own. The last year before the war, his old looks had made it possible for him to visit the magical world without being recognised. Mass panic could be fun, but only when carefully planned.
In Azkaban however, his looks were nothing more than a curse. He remembered the first time Stanley had been mourning the death of his sister. It had been at a time when the temperature turned cold, and Voldemort guessed it had to be the fall the year after his imprisonment. Stanley had given him the whole story about his sister's abuse and following death. As Voldemort had curled up on the floor with a groan, Stanley had crouched down and gripped his hair, turning his head upwards. The look on his face and in his eyes had made a shiver go down Voldemort's spine.
"You sure are pretty for a Dark Lord," Stanley had muttered, his eyes roaming over Voldemort's face. Voldemort tried not to put too much into the words, he had been called pretty lots of times, but this time it felt more dangerous and tried to pull away, but Stanley maintained his grip. His other hand lifted to trail over Voldemort's face.
He pushed the memory away and concentrated on trying to breath. It hurt every time he took a breath. Well, everything hurt, but the stabbing feeling in his chest as he tried to draw air into starving lungs was definitely one of the worst. If he counted the times Stanley had mourned his sister, then he had been in Azkaban for a little under 3 years. He closed his eyes hard. Three years of this, it felt like much longer. And there was no end to it either. He had a life sentence, which meant this was how his life would be for the rest of times. Stanley would of course disappear at some point, and hopefully by then his name and crimes would be more or less lost to history and perhaps he would be left alone.
Or someone new would come in, someone even worse than Stanley. He shivered, both from the thought and from the coldness in his cell.
If he sat up then he could try and arrange the pile of hay into a nest, which would provide more warmth, but he knew it was a futile thought. He could get up even if he tried. His body had simply resigned for the time being. The abuse and injuries taking its toll. Closing his eyes again, he allowed himself to simply drift back and forth between the darkness and the real life.
He had no idea how long he had been laying there when he heard the door to his cell open. Glancing upwards he saw that the Warden had entered. Panic gripped him and he tried to scramble to a kneeling position. The last thing he needed was another punishment for not following the rules. The panic grew as his body simply refused to follow his commands, and the best he could manage was to curl up and push himself up on his uninjured elbow, eyes on the floor. He held his breath and waited for the Warden to tell him off for not obeying. He could see the man coming closer, and the arm that was supporting his weight was trembling. It gave in and he crumbled back to the floor with a groan. Curling up, he closed his eyes and tried to just breath. He couldn't do this anymore. He was so tired of fighting, but every time he gave in, the Warden found something more humiliating to ask of him, something more to demand. He could feel tears pricking behind his eyelids. He screwed his eyes shut to will them away.
He had tortured and broken enough people in his life to know all the tricks, but with time anyone could be broken, he knew that. Even him. And after what he assumed was three years, he was coming very close to reaching his limit. A part of him suspected he had reached it already because there had been several situations where he felt like he almost had been pushed back into his own mind while his body continued to act on his own without his consent.
He opened his eyes as he heard the Warden approach. The man crouched down and seemed to be looking over the damages to Voldemort's body. A twist of his lips told Voldemort that the man wasn't happy. He reached out a hand and Voldemort didn't have the energy to even try to flinch away. He allowed his eyes to flutter close as the hand was smoothed through his hair, which was dirty and bloody, just like the rest of him.
"He did go a bit overboard didn't he," he heard the Warden mutter. Voldemort could agree. The beating and assault Stanley had settled for had been more brutal than normal. The rapes he had not exactly gotten used to, no one could get used to it, but Stanley had seemed to lose some of the interest when Voldemort had stopped fighting him, and the act was normally over pretty quickly. It still left Voldemort bleeding and hurting. Luckily, Stanley wasn't very creative in the sexual department, something to be grateful for.
"Come on, pet," the Warden coaxed and put an arm under Voldemort's left shoulder. Voldemort glanced at him in confusion. What did the man want now? The answer became clear as he felt himself being lifted to his feet. He scrambled as he tried to put his feet underneath himself, but by putting most of his weight on the Warden, who had draped his arm around Voldemort to keep him upright, he managed to find his balance. Gasping as pain radiated through his body, he still allowed the Warden to stare him out of the cell.
The pain hit for every step and Voldemort closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing through the pain. He opened them when they stopped moving and he felt himself being lowered to his knees. Voldemort hissed and had to put his right hand to the floor to avoid tumbling over. He was in a shower stall. Turning his head, he realised he probably was in the guard's locker room. The white tiles and benches and lockers looked so foreign and normal, compared to his cell and the room Stanley used to hose him down in ice cold water ever so often.
A wand came into view and Voldemort flinched, hiding his head against his shoulder.
"Easy, pet," came the soft voice. "I'm simply going to spell the cloths off you." Before Voldemort could ponder on the words, he suddenly felt his cloths disappear. Not that it bothered him, both the Warden and Stanley had seen him naked enough times. He sighed and wondered what the Warden had in mind this time. The answer came soon enough as the Warden turned on the water and after testing it with his hand moved the shower head over and allowed the water to run over him. Voldemort flinched, expecting ice cold water to hit him, but to his surprise the water was pleasantly warm. Taking a shaking breath, he closed his eyes and decided to allow the Warden to bath him like a child, simply because the feeling of the warm water against his skin was more heavenly than he wanted to admit. It was such a small gesture, something normal people took for granted, to have access to hot water. Voldemort could feel another part of him break as he allowed the Warden to wash him down like a pet.
After having his injuries treated the muggle way, he had to be helped into the new cloths and when they returned to his cell the Warden disappeared before returning with a large tray with food and for once something other than water.
The taste of hot chocolate almost made Voldemort moan. He knew this was just another tactic to break his mind, but at that moment, with the everything, he couldn't find it in himself to care, he just wanted to enjoy the small break he was given.
Tom woke with a gasp, bolting upright. He gasped and put a hand to his chest. Everything was alright. He was in his room at Harry's house. A hand reached out to his right and found nothing. Turning his head, he suddenly remembered that Harry was sleeping in his own bed. A bed he had been invited to share. The idea made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
Logically he knew that Harry was just offering because then they both might get to sleep through the night. Tom had already been woken once that night from nightmares, which had sent him downstairs to the library in search of something to distract him from his own memories. Harry had spent the whole evening with his friends, which was understandable enough, but the bond didn't like it. It wasn't an outright pain; it was more like craving to have Harry close. To see the man. Even now, in bed, with Harry in the next room the craving was there. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't know if he wanted to know.
Closing his eyes, he laid back down and tried to will himself to go back to sleep
######
The next thing he noticed was the sensation of his wards being disturbed as someone had entered his bedroom. Forcing his eyes open he had to blink a couple of times before he could focus. At first, he didn't see anyone, but when he looked downwards, he saw Tom kneeling just inside the doorway. "Tom?" he asked, sleep making his voice rough. Rubbing a hand over his face he then turned on the light on the bedside table. The light illuminated a part of the room, but not enough for him to see Tom clearly. He could see the man was fidgeting as if nervous. Deciding to put Tom out of his misery he gestured towards the other side of the bed. "Get in if you want." He then allowed his head to fall back down on the pillow and turned off the lamp.
Behind him he could hear Tom slipping under the covers and curling up at the edge of the bed. "You can move further onto the bed, Tom," Harry muttered. "Unless you want to fall onto the floor before morning." He could feel Tom move slightly further onto the bed. Good, Harry thought and allowed sleep to claim him once more.
######
With a sigh Harry put the papers he was going though down on the desk and rose to his feet. Padding over he went out onto the landing and looked up towards the bedroom before turning his eyes downwards.
"Tom?" he called, unsure where the man was. He could hear footsteps on the floor beneath him as Tom moved. "Could you come up to my office, please?" Not waiting for an answer, he returned to his desk. Sitting back down he took one the pieces of fruit that Kreacher had brought him and put it in his mouth.
"Master?" He looked up as Tom entered the room. Dressed in a high neck sweater that hid his collar and black pants, he looked like a model from one of those muggle magazines that Aunt Petunia used to fawn over. Blinking, Harry tried to remember why he had called the man. "Come over her for a moment, would you?"
Tom crossed the floor slowly, and a bit hesitantly before coming to kneel almost at Harry's chair, his body turned towards the chair Harry was sitting in.
"Here," he held out the latest financial statement from Gringotts. Tom took the offered paper with a frown and let his eyes roam over the content. "It's the monthly update on your assets," Harry explained, although he knew Tom had figured that out already. "The investments seem to be doing good and seeing as you aren't using any of your money currently the balance has gone up quite a bit due to the interest that was added to your account at the end of the year." Tom nodded.
"Is there anything you want or need?" Harry asked, waving his hand slightly in the air. "Books, cloths? I know the library here is extensive, but you have to have gone through at least one third of the books by now, considering how fast you read."
Tom tilted his head slightly. "Some books perhaps. I could write down the titles for you."
Harry nodded. "Good, do that. Is there anything you need from your vaults?" Tom shook his head. "Okay. I have sent Lucius an owl asking what he did with your cloths and things after the war. I am assuming it would be a good guess that he might have burned them, but..." he shrugged.
"I think that would be a safe bet, master," Tom muttered as he handed the account statement back. Harry smiled. No lost love between those two.
"The second is a letter from the county regarding the Riddle house. The neighbours have voiced concern that the house is a danger and could fall. The county is demanding that you do something about it. You can either sell it as it stands or fix it up and then either keep it or sell it."
On the floor Tom grimaced as if just the mentioning of the house was painful.
"Do it hold any sentimental value to you, or?" Harry ventured, wondering if Tom felt anything for his father home where he had murdered the entire family. "You know," he said, looking out the window and seeing that there were still a couple of hours left of daylight. "Let's take a trip." Standing he gestured for Tom to follow him.
######
Once Harry set eyes on the building, he could understand the neighbour's concerns. The house seemed to be tilting slightly to the side, the roof was almost gone, the little that was left of it was shattered. The windows were all broken, and the front door was laying on the ground of what Harry assumed might have been a lawn at some time. All in all, it seemed like it was minutes away from simply keeling over.
Beside him Tom shifted, pulling the dark wool coat more tightly around him along with the scarf. The slight wind tousled his black curls and in the disappearing winter sunlight he looked incredible handsome.
"Well, it has looked better," Tom commented, not tacking on the title as they were out in the muggle world and could be overheard.
"Yes," Harry sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you want to try and fix it or just tear it down and keep the property? The location alone makes it worth quite a lot according to the agent I spoke with. Even if we use house elves and their magic, the cost for renovating the house back to a liveable condition is almost higher than building a new house."
Tom started at the house for long moment more before turning towards Harry. There was a hard glint to the brown eyes as he answered. "Tear it down. Nothing good has ever come from that house." With that he turned away and started walking towards the secluded spot where Harry had apparated them. Harry took a last look at the house before following Tom. Taking him by the arm he side-appareted them to a back ally in London that he usually used.
Tom looked confused as he took in his surroundings. "Where are we?"
"London," Harry answered and fixed his own cloak and scarf to ward of the cold. "I thought a walk and perhaps a dinner would be good? We didn't get to celebrate your birthday much do to everything." Mostly, because Tom had been behaving like a brat and Harry hadn't wanted to be around the man. "It's the 31st of January today, so we are only one month behind."
The look Tom gave him told Harry that the man was wondering about Harry's sanity at that moment, but he didn't protest to the idea, if anything he looked slightly interested.
"I'll let you pick the place," he offered to sweeten the deal. A slight smile played at Tom's lips and Harry knew he had found an idea that did interest the man even if he wasn't going to show it.
"Fine," Tom said and started walking down the ally. Harry smirked. He would allow Tom his freedom from the rules for the night. He had been doing very well both at home and at work and good behaviour deserved a reward and he knew that Tom loved good cooking so he assumed the restaurant they would end up at would be expensive. Well, he could always use Tom's funds to pay for it...
######
"Have you been here before?" Harry asked, casting a look around the lavish restaurant Tom had taken him to. The tables were all round with white cloths. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles on the tables. The whole place screamed of money and wealth. The waiter that had met them at the door had given a proper bow before escorting them indoors. Apparently, they had been lucky as one of the reservations hadn't shown and they had a free table and hadn't been able to call anyone on the waiting list yet to offer them a last moment chance to come. The fact that Harry might have confunded the waiter slightly was not something either of them mentioned.
He didn't feel bad for doing it either, because there had been an eagerness in Tom's eyes and voice as he brought Harry to the restaurant that Harry didn't want to ruin, so he had used magic to secure them a table. It would seem like the restaurant was way more popular in this time than it had been back when Tom had been young and it had not been necessary to book a table several months in advance.
Harry had suggested the three-course meal they offered with the wine menu and Tom had nodded in agreement. The waiter had nodded his head too, looking pleased, which Harry could understand given the price of the food and wine.
"Yes, a long time ago," Tom answered, looking around. "Back when the Death Eaters were still Knights. I used to come here with the inner circle. It was a fancy place even back then, but not quite as popular as it seems to be now if the long waiting list is anything go by."
Harry did a double take. "You planned to take over the Wizarding World, while eating in a muggle restaurant?" Tom smirked at the disbelief in his voice.
"Well, ma-Harry, how many magical restaurants in Britian can you name?" Harry noticed the slight slip but didn't comment on it. He had cast a notice-me-not charm around them, which should be enough to stop people for actively listening in on the conversation. Of course, he could have cast a silencing charm, but the lack of sound from their table would have been suspicious. The good thing about the notice-me-not spell was that it hindered people from noticing or paying attention to them unless they really focused. As the waiter knew they were there, having taken their order, this knowledge was enough for the spell to have a lighter effect on him as he was more focused on them.
Considering Tom's question, Harry realised that he couldn't name a single one. He could name bars and smaller establishments in Diagon Ally and Hogsmeade, but he couldn't name one restaurant like the one they were at currently.
"I can't name a single one," he finally admitted thoughtfully. "Are there any?" He asked just as the waiter came back with a tray that contained to glasses of champagne.
"A glass before we start on the appetisers," the man smiled and put the glasses down along with bread and butter that seemed to be mixed with herbs. Harry thanked him with a smile and almost threw himself over the food. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until the bread had been put on the table. Tom on the other hand, with his impeccable manners, simply elegantly spread butter over one of the slices of bread and took a small bit.
"There aren't any real restaurants," Tom said between bites. "There are a lot more abroad. The British Wizarding World is rather a small community when compared to France, Russia or the US. Even Spain has a larger population than Britian. Egypt is another country with a large community, mostly because a lot of the earliest magical breakthroughs came there during the time of the pharaohs. Just look at what they managed to build – you can't tell me you think they could have done all that without magic? Most of the seven ancient wonders, that the muggle refers to, was built with the help of magic. That is why the muggles are having such a huge problem explaining how they were built considering how primitive civilisation was at the time they were built."
Harry had stopped eating. Or, he had forgotten that he was hungry and wanted food. The change in Tom as he spoke was unexpected. The whole man seemed to come alive in a way Harry hadn't seen before. His voice took on a tone that was mesmerizing as it rose and sank with the words. He was using his hand to underline his words and his dark brown eyes was glimmering with interest. A lock of his hair had escaped and every so often Tom lifted a hand to push it back where it belonged. The energy made him look younger, more human.
And at that point he realised something else as he took a sip of the champagne. Tom and he had never really had a normal conversation the 1 ½ month Tom had been living with him. They talked yes, but it had always been brief. A question or a message, but not much else. They had of course had their late-night talk after one of Tom's nightmares, and the discussions at work, but Harry didn't include that as it was hardly a normal day-to-day conversation. He hadn't realised how engaging Tom was when he talked about something that he obviously enjoyed, and apparently history was one of those things.
Tom continued to explain about the different countries and just how much larger the wizarding communities was abroad. Between his explanations he took small bits of the bread and every time he did Harry took the opportunity to ask another question which would get Tom going again. The first course arrived not long after. White asparagus with prosciutto and a hollandaise sauce. Tom took a break in his explanation as he concentrated on the food.
"I remember Dumbledore telling me that you travelled quite a lot," Harry ventured, as always carefully when it came to asking Tom about his younger years. He never knew if the question would be appreciated or not.
A dark looked passed over Tom's face at the mention of Dumbledore, but he quickly schooled his features into a natural mask as he took the time to chew his food. "Yes," he finally answered. "I've always been curious, and I wanted to learn as much as possible. Unlike what Dumbledore think, I didn't travel to just study Dark magic although I will admit it was the branch of magic that interested me the most, I also studied both healing, runes and other subjects that are perceived as light."
"Do you miss it? Travelling I mean?" Harry regretted the question the moment it had been voiced. Reminding Tom of the time before his capture, torture and then enslavement was bound to be a bad idea. His fingers clenched around the cutlery, and he almost held his breath as he waited for Tom's answer. When Tom elected to finish his food before answering it just made the nervous ball in his stomach grow. Not that he knew why. It was an innocent question really, but for some reason if felt like an invasion of Tom's privacy. As the slave he had no option but answer all of Harry's question if that was Harry's will. He had an apology on the tip of his tongue when Tom spoke.
"Yes," he said simply, his tone a matter of fact. He put down his fork and knife. "I miss it. If I had the opportunity to travel now, then it would most likely feel like I was discovering the world again, as it has changed a lot since I was young. But, as things are as they are, I cannot travel even if I wanted to, not unless you give me permission and come with me."
Harry didn't know how to respond to that, so he kept quiet, pondering.
"Don't, Ma-Harry," Tom suddenly said, fixing him with a stern look. "Don't try to find a way to reassure me of something. Things are as they are." The acceptance Harry could hear in those words surprised him and he was pretty sure Tom could tell. Perhaps, just perhaps Tom had actually decided to try and trust Harry not to abuse his power over him.
######
"Master! We are going to be late." For a moment Tom wondered if his master had managed to get out of bed. While Tom had rose with the alarm and wandered into his own room to shower and get dressed, Harry had only twisted over and slung an arm over his eyes.
Harry had been right when he had said that his bed was bigger and more comfortable for two persons. Unfortunately, that didn't help Tom's panic at the steadily rising need that came from the bond to be close to his master. The itch kept growing under his skin if Harry was away for too long, like when he had gone to eat with his friends. The only times it was completely silent seemed to be when they were touching, or when Tom was sleeping close enough to the man. As it was now, it was not only the nightmares that kept him sleepless, but also the bloody itch. It was worst if he had been alone most of the day and hardly seen Harry, on normal days he could manage to fall asleep, only to be woken a couple of hours later by the nightmares.
Harry seemed to have become tired of having to get out of bed to sooth his panicking slave, since he had invited Tom to his bed. Tom wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, or about his own lack of reservation to sleep next to the one person who had complete control over his life and could simply turn over and take what he wanted with or without Tom's consent.
He had turned the library upside down in his search for some sort of explanation whether or not this was some sort of side-effect from the bond. But, no, nothing. There was no mentioning anything that seemed related.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought him out of his thoughts. Harry yawned as he stepped onto the floor, hiding the yawn behind his hand before fixing sleeping eyes on Tom who knelt, bowing his head. After a couple of seconds, he rose back up.
"For Merlin's sake Tom," Harry grumbled, "Why in the world do we have to go to work this bloody early?"
Tom almost managed to hold back a sigh. "Master, we are expected at the Gallery for Ancient Artifacts at seven o'clock," he reminded Harry, as the appointment seemed like news to the man from the blank look Harry was giving him. "And it's currently-" Not thinking Tom twisted his hand to cast a wordless Tempus and crumbled to the ground as the bond lashed into him. He whimpered as the pain seized him, the feeling of needles and pins being pushed into his head. Then it suddenly disappeared, and he was left panting on the ground. Merlin, the pain was excruciating. He had felt it once before when he had accidently The pain ebbed away, and he felt a hand in his hair. The bond purred at the contact and without thinking, Tom leaned into the hand and allowed the feeling of safety and calm to wash over him. All too soon the hand was removed.
"Tom?" Came Harry's concerned voice. Tom forced his eyes open and pushed himself into a sitting position. "What happened?" Harry asked, still crouched on his hunches.
Tom breathed in a couple of deep breaths. "I forgot myself and tried to cast a Tempus to check the time, master." Closing his eyes, he tried to find the strength to stand up. They were bound to be late now.
"Oh," Harry said a note of something in his voice. Tom tried to push himself to his feet and managed not to flinch away when Harry reached out to help him. Back on his feet he swayed a bit before finding his balance. Looking up he saw Harry looking back at him with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Tom, there is a reason why I have restricted your magic, and I am probably not going to change my mind about that any time soon, but I don't see any harm in you using your magic to tell time, so I give you permission to use that spell whenever."
The bond registered the change in the order with the slight pain he was used to by now. The meaning however did take a bit longer to register. He was given access to his magic outside the few times Harry had allowed him at work. Sure, it was just a small time telling spell, and nothing special, but it was still magic. Magic that he could use whenever he wanted. Casting a wary look at Harry, as he still wasn't sure he believed the man, he lifted his hand and wordless cast Tempus. He could feel his magic connect this time and flutter through his hand and the time 7 o'clock fluttered above his hand in the blue light of the spell. He couldn't help the grin that spread on his face as he cancelled the spell.
"Thank you, master," he said, trying to put as much gratitude into the words as he could. Across for him Harry looked uncomfortable, not that Tom could understand why. Then he sobered and remembered the time. "We are officially late, master," he reminded the man and turned towards the table where he had placed Harry's winter cloak. He held up the red fabric and waited for Harry to step into it.
"I haven't had breakfast yet," Harry whined. Tom did sigh this time. "Well, if you had gotten up with the alarm, master," he snipped. Then he froze, scared that Harry would take offence. Harry just sighed and stepped into the cloak. As he was fastening the clamp, Tom turned towards the table once more and then held out the wrapped sandwich he had made when he had realised that there was no way Harry would have time for breakfast.
"Here, I made you a sandwich to go since there was no chance you would have time for breakfast."
He wasn't entirely sure what was going on in Harry's head at the gesture because the emotions crossed his face way to fast to pick up. In the end he smiled and took the offered food. "Thank you, Tom. I appreciate it."
Tom nodded. "We should be going."