"They look like they are thriving despite it being the beginning of September," Harry remarked as he sauntered through the garden towards where Voldemort was kneeling in front of a flower bed. Or perhaps flower bed was not the right word. Several garden herbs were growing merrilly despite the late time of year.
Voldemort sat back on his heels as Harry drew closer and bowed his head briefly. "The weather has been surprisingly good this year, Mr. Potter."
Mr. Potter. A title Voldemort had turned to instead of the sir Harry had forced him to use. Still, it was polite enough that Harry didn't bother pushing. "I can see that," he said. "Have they grown even bigger?" He asked, frowning. They looked like they were twice the size of what they had been the last time Harry had seen them.
Voldemort nodded. "Yes. They will keep growing, but I can imagine they do seem quite big to you considering that it has been almost two months since you last saw them." He took a rag and cleaned the dirt off his hands before rising to his feet. "Would you like supper, Mr. Potter?" he asked. He looked up, but his eyes did not rise high enough to meet Harry's.
Harry looked at the herbs. They looked innocent enough, but how could he be sure that none of them was deadly and would find its way into the food he ate? Perhaps because he had purchased the seeds himself from the village? Then again, he bought what was on Voldemort's list. And did it matter at all? He could not die.
"They would keep going through the winter if you shielded the garden. Most wizarding families do have, if not the whole garden, then at least a part of it shielded so that they can grow vegetables and herbs all year around."
It sounded like a magical version of a greenhouse.
"There is a book about the tropic in the library."
Harry snorted. "Of course there is," he deadpanned. Not surprised in the slightest that Voldemort would know that.
Voldemort made a gesture with his hand towards the house, inviting Harry to take the lead before he followed behind about a pace. Harry led the way to the kitchen and to his surprise he found that there was a pot bubbling away on the stove already.
"Sit, it should be finished," Voldemort said as he brushed past Harry to check on the food. He stirred it a couple of times before tasting it. Nodding to himself he picked a bowl from the cabinet above. The bowl was placed before Harry before the man himself stepped back and started washing the counter.. Some kind of stew he assumed. Voldemort had no way of knowing that Harry would arrive that evening so he did not suspect that the man had done something to the food.
"It looks good, pet. What is it?" He asked as he took a bite.
"Lamb stew. I found some lamb in the freezer." There was an annoyed tone to the voice that probably came from the use of the nickname.
Harry nodded. He tried to make sure that the house was well stocked with food, well, he had started doing that after it had become clear Voldemort was going to have access to the whole of it. Harry had somewhat assumed the man would cook, not that he had any idea if the man could cook, but apparently he could.
He ate a couple of spoonfuls before realising that Voldemort was still cleaning the counter and putting things away that had clearly been used to make the stew. "Are you not going to eat?" he asked in confusion, turning in his seat.
Voldemort stopped what he was doing before turning back and leaning against the counter. He opened his mouth, but closed it again and Harry assumed that whatever he had been thinking about saying was something that would displease Harry.
"The master of the house normally eats first," Voldemort settled on with a neutral voice. His arms were crossed over his chest and from the way he was holding himself, Harry could see that he was tense. Waiting for something.
Ah, Harry thought. The whole arrangement with Voldemort having the full run of the house and the garden was new to both of them. On previous occasions, before he had given Voldemort the ultimatum, whenever he had been feeling annoyed, Harry had demanded that Voldemort knelt at his side and accept being hand fed if he wanted something to eat. Outside those incidents Voldemort had been given his normal bowl of porridge to be eaten when he wanted to. There had never been a situation where Harry had expected Voldemort to eat with him at the table, but it was a bit strange to be sitting at the table, eating the meal the man had prepared for himself with the man hovering around in the room.
For a moment Harry considered praising Voldemort for behaving, and then making him wait for Harry to finish his meal and leave before he was allowed his own. Or, demand that he kneel in the corner and wait for Harry to finish eating instead of stalking around behind him. On the other hand, the man had been well behaved so far and what harm could it do if he gave the man a chance to eat at the table with him? Probably a lot, the dark voice in his mind whispered.
"You can eat at the table with me if you want, Voldemort," Harry said, turning back to his food. Belatedly he realised that it was the first time in all the years he had actually called Voldemort by his made up name. That was bound to have consequences with a master manipulator as Voldemort somewhere down the road. He was already risking much by allowing the man the run of the house and the garden.
"It would not be proper, sir." The man replied to Harry's surprise. Well, then, if the man wanted to wait then by all means. "As you wish," he replied in a neutral tone.
The food was good though. Apparently Voldemort had learned to cook at some point and he was not bad at it. Better than Harry himself he was being honest.
Once the bowl was finished he rose to his feet and with a quick thank you he left the kitchen and went to the bedroom he normally used. It was warded and even though Voldemort had access to the whole of the house, he did not have access to the bedroom Harry normally used.
As he walked down the hall and upstairs he looked into the different rooms and was surprised to notice just how clean and tidy they all were. Apparently Voldemort was cleaning as instructed. He paused by the library and was not surprised to find that the whole of it had been reorganised.
Once he entered the bedroom he undressed and headed for the shower. As the warm water descended on him he allowed his thoughts to drift.
Voldemort had needed two weeks in the cell to consider his choices. Harry had put him there after giving him the ultimatum along with a charmed coin with instructions to hold it for ten seconds when he had made up his mind. Two weeks later, he had felt the counterpiece in his pocket burn. Voldemort had made his decision.
Harry had waited two more days before going to him, simply to make it clear who was in charge.
That Voldemort had chosen to behave in order for more freedom hadn't come as a surprise. It was more of a surprise that it had taken the man 14 days to come to that conclusion. Harry had accepted and led him through the wards before leaving him alone. The wards had been adjusted with some quick work. It had taken him a bit longer to figure out how to make sure the house contained food. In the end he had used one of his newly acquired house elves to make sure the fridge and pantry was stocked and refilled when needed. The house elf was ordered to only do so when Voldemort was sleeping. Considering Voldemort's past when it came to house elves it seemed prudent not to allow him in contact with one.
Then real life had caught up with him and he had not had the energy to slip away and check on Voldemort for two months. The house elf had reported that the house was still standing and that it seemed to be in good condition which meant that Voldemort was not actively trying to destroy it.
He exited the shower and dried himself off with a towel.
Something had changed though. Harry couldn't justify simply beating Voldemort for his own amusement anymore, not when the man was behaving and obeying orders. And if he misbehaved then Harry would have to stick to his own promises and banish the man to the basement. And for some reason, that was not something he wanted to do. He was starting to enjoy having Voldemort out and about in the house. Someone to talk to whom he did not have to pretend to be anyone else then himself. Someone who knew about his dark sides and who in return had a soul that was even darker than Harry's.
He dressed and pulled out the papers he hadn't had time to finish before leaving for the weekend. Taking them with him, he went down to the sitting room. The fire was burning merrily and Harry assumed Voldemort har lit it. From the sounds coming from the kitchen it sounded like Voldemort was cleaning the dishes.
Harry sighed and sat down at his usual working table where he also had a view of the garden through the open doors. The curtains moved slightly in the breeze and the smell of flowers drifted in.
Yes, flowers. His thoughts drifted to the herbs Voldemort was growing. He had never seen Voldemort as someone who would enjoy gardening, but apparently he did. Perhaps it was just something to pass the time. At this point Harry assumed he might have read through all the books in the library.
"How long are you staying?"
Harry jumped. He had been lost in his own thoughts and had not heard Voldemort enter the room. The man had stopped just inside the door and was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
He was wearing a simple brown turtleneck jumper and black trousers. The colour of the jumper complemented the brown eyes that were currently fixed on Harry. A hand came up to move a lock of hair that had fallen down in front of his eyes. Harry's eyes followed the movement. For a moment he wondered where he had found the clothes. He couldn't remember buying them.
Voldemort had gained some much needed weight during the last two months, and from the looks of things he had also been training. Harry knew there was a gym in the house, but as with several other things, he had not expected Voldemort to use it. There was also a swimming pool that Harry had never used.
For a moment he looked like any other twentysomething youth. A very handsome youth though. Harry allowed himself to simply enjoy the sight. There was no denying that Voldemort was handsome. He had that tall, dark and handsome vibe going for him as well. Unfortunately he was also dangerous, deadly. Violence in his smile and murder in his eyes. Harry was not sure where that quote came from, but it fit.
"Eager to get rid of me, pet?" He asked, his voice teasing.
"Yes," came the completely serious reply.
Harry smiled. At least he was honest. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I needed a break". He gestured towards the papers on the table in front of him. "Work is taking up more time than it should and I keep getting disturbed at work and at home. This is the only place I can get some space to think."
Voldemort gave a curt nod, but his eyes were fixed on the papers and Harry could see the burning curiosity in them. He probably wondered what had happened in their world since his capture several years ago. He was isolated in the house with no access to any news of how the world was moving on. Harry decided to dangle a carrot in front of him.
"I was thinking of allowing you to have the Prophet delivered if you are interested?" he said casually. Voldemort's eyes narrowed but Harry could see the interest in his body language as he stood up a bit straighter.
"To what cost?"
Ah, yes. Everything between them seemed to come down to deals. What harm could it do? Harry asked himself. It was not like Voldemort could do anything with the information, locked up as he was.
"No cost, pet," he said. "I'll order a subscription to this house tomorrow." He turned back to his papers and ignored Voldemort. After a couple of seconds he heard the man leave. With a sigh Harry rubbed at his eyes.
"Pet, get back here!" he ordered. The sound of footsteps in the hall stopped. A couple of seconds passed without anything happening. Harry didn't bother to repeat his order. Voldemort could choose to come or not, but the man knew the consequences of not obeying.
He heard the sound of Voldemort returning to the room, but waited a couple of seconds before acknowledging him. "What do you say?" He asked, not looking up from the papers.
Silence followed. Harry finally turned in his seat and fixed Voldemort with a stern look. "Pet," he warned, his eyes narrowing.
Voldemort looked away, anger and fury on his face. Then he swallowed and looked back. "Thank you, sir," he forced out through clenched teeth.
Harry nodded. "You are dismissed," he said, turning back to his papers.
######
Harry caught Voldemort staring at the bookshop in the small village near the house. They were out shopping for food, or Harry was, but he had invited Voldemort to join him if he wanted. The man had access to the garden but Harry assumed even that would get boring after a while. Especially for someone like Voldemort who was always plotting and planning. He assumed the isolation and the nothing to do aspect of his captivity was as much of a punishment as the physical punishments.
"You want to take a look?" Harry asked. Because, why not. What harm could some new books do? Voldemort had probably gone through the whole library two times by now.
Voldemort looked away, clearly he did not appreciate being caught wanting something. Too used to information like that being used against him.
Harry didn't bother to wait for the man to come up with some sort of excuse, instead he simply headed for the small boutique.
The bell over the door chimed as they entered. A woman looked up from where she was organising a new shipment that looked like it had arrived the same day. "Good day, sirs, do you want help finding something?" she asked in a heavily accented voice.
Harry smiled. "Oh, don't mind us, we just want to take a look if that is okay?"
"Of course, take all the time you need. Please call if you need any assistance!" came the predictable answer.
The doorbell chimed again as Voldemort followed him inside. "Let me know if you find something you want," Harry said and headed off to take a look for himself.
Half an hour later he had found a couple of fiction books that looked promising that he wanted to keep at the house to read when he actually got to retreat there for some much needed rest.
Voldemort had disappeared off somewhere. Not that Harry was worried, the proximity spell made it impossible for him to move too far away. Looking around he spotted the man as he came sauntering towards him. In his hand he held a stack of books.
The dark part of Harry wanted to ask Voldemort why he thought Harry would buy any of those books for him, simply to punish the man, but Voldemort had done nothing wrong so Harry pushed the feeling down. Then he caught sight of the titles of two of them and he frowned. Then he was trying to stifle a laugh, but his amusement must have been easy to read on his face.
Voldemort gave him a dirty look, but Harry decided to let it go as Voldemort sighed and looked defeated for some reason Harry could not understand and bowed his head.
"May I have these?" The man asked under his breath to make sure the owner of the establishment did not overhear. There was some tension in his voice and the words sounded forced. Apparently Voldemort was expecting the answer to be no.
"Yes," Harry simply answered and turned towards the shop owner who had shown up to ring them up.
As they were walking back towards the house, Harry looked over at Voldemort who was walking a couple of steps behind him. "Why the cooking books?"
Voldemort looked away, a resigned look on his face that Harry knew was fake. "If you are expecting me to cook dinner then I need some inspiration. It had been a good 50 years since I had to cook for myself."
Harry barely managed to stifle a laugh. The thought of the Dark Lord Voldemort needing instructions on how to cook was somewhat laugable.