The kitchen countertops were massive marble tiles. Fire-baked ovens and enchanted ice boxes were lining the back wall, with huge pantries on the other two. The countertop opened up into a small dining area, but the table was currently filled with meals for breakfast.

Soft music filtered through the room at Harry's request. Harry scooted past the house elves as he gathered ingredients. They prepared the window counter for him to cook whatever he was making.

And today, he was feeling brownies for breakfast.

Hips swished around as he hummed, mixing the bowl of chocolate batter. Tom hopped down from the counter and walked behind Harry.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked. Tom wrapped his hands around his waist.

"I'm thinking about how good these brownies are going to taste." Tom rested his chin on Harry's head.

"You can taste in this form?" Harry asked, scooping a small spoonful of batter with an extra spoon.

"Yes, dull, but yes."

Harry offered the scoop of batter above his head. Tom lunged for it.

"Mhh, tastiest thing I've had so far, love."

A smile stretched across Harry's face. He continued to cook, adding some chocolate chips here and some flour there, until he was satisfied with the batter. Tom helped him until they had four large pans of batter.

"Perhaps I made too much." Harry stated. Tom laughed.

"Maybe present it as a peace offering? Death Eaters would really like some brownies." Tom said sarcastically, though Harry did seriously consider it.

"Maybe."

Fresh from the oven, Harry and Tom munched on the soft brownies. They were still so soft, practically falling apart in their hands, but they were more than happy to continue eating them. Tom cast a glance at him.

"You got a little something there." Tom reached out and wiped away a streak of chocolate from Harry's mouth with his thumb.

Then he licked it.

Thoughts swirled in Harry's brain.

"Tasty." Tom moved closer to him. "Wonder what else tastes good?"

A fire blossomed across Harry's face. He could feel Tom almost on top of him now. The warmth from him was intoxicating, ushering him in like a moth to a flame. Tom leaned in closer, his gaze fixed on Harry's.

Harry's mind whirled. It was a bit sudden, no? Or, or did Tom feel the same way the entire time and only now was acting? Did he enjoy his presence just as much? Or was Harry just misinterpreting the situation? Tom placed a finger under Harry's chin and tilted his face up.

"Mind if I try a taste, love?" He asked softly, a crooked smile on his face.

"I wouldn't mind." Harry tried to tease, but it came off as an odd stutter.

Tom leaned in, his hot breath on Harry's face. Harry's eyes fluttered closed, unable to keep themselves open. He could just barely feel Tom's lips brushing against his own. So soft.

The entrance door to the kitchen slammed open.

Harry yanked away in alarm. Tom looked up, hurt, but followed his gaze.

Standing in the doorway was, a very much alive, Barty Crouch Jr. It took him a few moments of surveying the room to find Harry and Tom, but his eyes narrowed as he looked at them.

"Harry Potter," Barty Crouch spat.

"Barty Crouch Jr.," Harry hissed. How dare he, of all people, interrupt them?

Tom nodded to Harry, then to the brownies.

Harry sighed.

"Want a brownie?" Harry offered one of the plates.

Barty stared at the plate sceptically. He glanced at Tom, who had taken another brownie from the plate.

"All right," Barty said, hesitantly walking forward.

He snatched a brownie and nibbled on it. A surprised expression lit his face, and a questioning expression crossed his face.

"Which house elf made these?" Barty asked, taking a full bite.

"This house elf," Harry said, motioning to himself.

"Really?" Barty asked, reaching for another brownie.

"Obviously." Harry rolled his eyes. "I enjoy baking."

Barty didn't reply and chose to eat more of Harry's brownies. Tom gently slid one of the other plates to a house elf, and they pressed a finger against their lips and popped away.

"Such a common thing to do." The man commented.

"Do you enjoy being a foul person, or is it just a hobby?" Tom asked, throwing the last piece of brownie into his mouth. Harry snorted.

Barty drew his head back, a snarl on his face. "And who may you be?"

Harry stared at Barty. Was Voldemort always Snake-Face to the Death-Eaters, or was he handsome at some point while he commanded them? He'd have to ask at some point.

Tom cackled manically. "Who am I? I am a shard of Voldemort's soul. I split from him when he was sixteen. We are one in the same person; we share the same past, the same memories, and the same ambitions." He monologued. Harry thought it could have a little more malicious glee.

Barty's eyes went wide. He threw himself to his knees and stared at the floor.

"Pardon me My Lord, I was unaware of your presence. How may I atone for my transgressions?" He pleaded, not daring to stare at them.

Tom raised an eyebrow at Harry. Harry shrugged.

"For now, I'll just give you a warning. Any other transgressions will be met with punishment." Tom commanded with just a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Of course, My Lord. Is there anything else I may do?" Barty stayed on the floor.

"He trains them well." Tom hissed, sending a glance at Harry.

"As much as I hate to agree, I do." Harry hissed and nodded.

"When you pass them, warn the others that there will be consequences to your rudeness." Tom crossed his legs, glaring down at Barty.

"Of course, My Lord. Is there anything else I may do?" Barty repeated.

"No," Tom waved him off.

Barty stood, stared at them for a second, and walked off stiffly. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Sure, he knew that living with Death-Eaters would have their problems, he just didn't know they'd be easily solved. Tom was an amazing deterrent.

Harry gave Tom an appreciative look. Tom smirked and shifted closer to him. He snaked his arm around his waist and pulled him in.

"Now, where were we?" Tom asked, tracing Harry's jawline with his index finger.

Harry opened his mouth to tease, but the door slammed open again. Harry hmped as Tom drew away with an angry expression across his face. A moment of fear passed through Harry as he remembered that same look on his face as it had been in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom growled, snatching Harry's wand off the table.

"Stupefy!" He growled.

A bright red light streaked through the room. A short scream belted from Bellatrix's mouth as it made contact with her, blasting her to the floor. Harry smirked. It was always a good time to see Bellatrix hurt.

"Who are you, and why does no one here know how to knock on doors?" Tom spat at them. Harry leaned over and saw two other men he didn't recognise, though they looked similar. Behind them, he saw more shadows dart away.

"It is true," Bellatrix said through laboured breathing. "It feels like the Dark Lord's magic."

"Reveal your names!" Tom shouted. His irritation was only growing.

"Lady Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black." Bellatrix rose to her feet and bowed.

"Lord Rodolphus Lestrange." The man with the middle part said

"Rabastan Lestrange." The man with the side-part said.

"Lestrange? By whom your parents?" Tom jabbed his wand at them.

"Corvus the sixth and Berleta Lestrange." Rabastan and Rodolphus answered at the same time.

"Cygnus Black the third, and Druella Black nee Rosier." Bellatrix answered, not taking her eyes away from Tom. Harry bristled.

Tom's nose crinkled at Rabastan and Rodolphus's answer. Harry sent him a questioning look. There was a moment of silence, then Tom relented.

"Berleta and Covus were first cousins." Tom explained. "They resented each other and nearly killed each other when they found out they were betrothed. I assume they were glad when the heir and the spare were born at once."

Harry felt a cold shiver take over his body at the heir and the spare comment.

"That's super gross." Harry commented, trying to sound lighthearted.

Tom picked up on his discomfort, but didn't say anything. Tom twirled Harry's wand, contemplating.

"Continue with your business." Tom instructed them, keeping Harry's wand on him.

The three of them snatched a few trays of breakfast and scampered away. Bellatrix lingered, but Rodolphus pulled her away.

Tom grabbed Harry by his wrist and guided him back to their room. He locked the door with a quick spell and hoisted Harry into bed.

He knitted a hand through Harry's hair and used his other arm as a pillow for Harry's head. Harry blushed into his shirt collar, not quite sure where things were going but excited nonetheless. Harry wrapped his arms around Tom's waist and snuggled deeper. Tom's muscles were tense, and irritation was deeply embedded in his bones.

Slowly, Tom relaxed. It took a while, but he finally stopped clenching his jaw and lost the stiffness in his biceps.

Tom cupped Harry's face and pulled him close. Harry could see every inky-black eyelash on Tom's face and every speck of gold in his chocolate-coloured eyes. He breathed, smelling like fresh brownies, and parted his mouth.

"Now, can we finally continue?" He asked, wetting his lips.

"Finally," Harry inched closer.

Tom closed the gap. Their lips pressed together firmly. But their kiss still remained soft, enough to stir the butterflies in Harry's stomach. Electricity filled his body, racing up and down his spine. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he could feel heat beating down on his face.

It was short. But sweet. Tom drew away, still cupping his face.

"Would you like more of this?" Tom asked, lingering close to his face.

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry reached up and pecked his lips.

Tom took hold of his face and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. There was more force behind it—more emotion that sent tingles throughout Harry's body. He tried to push through all of his enjoyment, all of the healing nights, and all of the wonderful touches, into it. Harry carded his hands through Tom's hair, desperate to have any hold on him.

They drew away for a breath, a thin trail of spit breaking from their lips. Harry wiped his mouth; his face was surely on fire. Tom himself had a peachy streak across his cheeks.

"You know," Tom pulled him into his chest and coasted his hands along his side until they reached Harry's waist. "I thought this would make these... feelings stop."

At that moment, a small piece of Harry broke.

"But," Tom continued. "I think it only solidified them."

"I mean," Harry fidgeted, "I'm okay with it if you are."

"You seem very forgiving of someone who tried to murder you." He rubbed circles into Harry's back.

Harry laughed. "I mean, it's a regular occurrence for me." Harry held Tom closer. "Join the club."

Tom tensed. "It shouldn't be."

"Well, it should happen less now. Voldemort doesn't want to kill me. Death Eaters shouldn't try to kill me. You would have killed me by now. I don't have much to worry about." Harry stopped for a second to think. "Okay, Dolorus Umbridge may want to kill me. I have the Ministry to worry about."

"Who's Dolorus Umbridge, love?" Fingers dug into Harry's waist.

"Oh, where do I start?" Harry said exasperatedly.

Harry stared into crimson eyes. Another occlumency lesson.

"So, what did you do during your fifth year?" Voldemort said, setting down his teacup.

There was a small itch in his eyes. The memory of a Dumbledore's Army meeting appeared in his head. He changed the path, re-directing it to a memory of Snape berating him in Potions.

Voldemort nodded. He reached over and grabbed a biscuit. He dipped it in his tea and nibbled a bite.

"These are good. When did you learn how to cook?" He took a larger bite. Another itch, this time deeper and deeper into his brain.

The memory of Vernon pressing his small hand into a hot pan, still on the gas stove, bubbled up in his mind. Harry shoved it away, trying to think of something else. Him and Tom in the kitchen, Harry still making the batter while Tom held him close.

He shoved it away before it could play for longer. Harry brought forth a memory of him in Grimmauld Place helping Mrs. Weasley cook a pie.

Voldemort broke eye contact. He hummed to himself, jotting down a few notes on a piece of parchment. Harry sighed. He didn't know what he would have done if the baking memory went on for longer. Did it speak more to Tom's character that he came onto him, or to Harry's that he complied?

He would never attend another occlumency lesson if it did happen. Hell, he'd ask for life imprisonment at that point.

"You did okay today. You stumbled four out of ten times and only failed once. It is better than I would have thought for your elementary level of shields. Next time, I expect you to be perfect, then I will increase the difficulty." Voldemort crossed off a few lines on his list.

Harry sighed. "Got it."

It wasn't that he hated occlumency lessons; it was just that they made his brain hurt. And his body—he was constantly tense during the sessions, fearing that he might stumble across a more personal memory.

Voldemort would uncover those memories eventually; he knew that, but he wanted to prolong the unknown era until then. He focused back on the present, only to see Voldemort staring at him, but not meeting his eyes.

"I will say, I may have been a bit…harsh last duelling session. I will try not to be as reactive in the future." He breathed.

Was this an apology? It was the closest thing he'd heard from him so far. Frankly, Harry was taking it. He never expected an "I'm sorry" and was glad there was at least a little acknowledgement. Not that it made up for it, but it eased his paranoia for the next session.

Voldemort finished his tea and biscuits.

"What did you put in these?" Voldemort snatched another biscuit.

Harry thought for a moment. "The usual. I added more butter and cinnamon. I changed the ratios, and I cooked them for a shorter amount of time. I also used duck eggs; I'm not sure how that could have changed the chemistry of it." He rubbed his chin, thinking again.

"Why duck eggs?" Voldemort asked.

"Oh, I saw green eggs, and I thought they looked nice, so I added them." Harry admitted being a little embarrassed at his childish explanation.

Voldemort paused. "Would you mind giving the recipe to the house elves?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you want more, just ask. I cook far more than I can eat."

Voldemort furrowed his brow. "Are you certain? I would ask for these at least every other day."

Wow, he really liked them that much.

"Do I have anything better to do? I'll ask the elves to keep the ingredients stocked." Harry shrugged.

But a thought brewed in his mind. If Tom's senses were dulled, were Voldemort's? It would explain why he was so cold; if he couldn't sense the temperature, he wouldn't know to dress warmer.

Tom really liked his cooking as well. Did the fact that Harry baked it make it better for them? He'd have to investigate.

He ruminated on his thoughts as Voldemort escorted him to his room. Voldemort opened the door for him, but Harry froze in his place.

There was not one Tom in his room, but two.

The second was taller; his hair a bit longer, his skin quite a bit paler, and he wasn't wearing a Slytherin cloak. He wore a dark green wool sweater vest with a grey button-up rolled up to his forearms instead. There was a little blood splatter at the end of his vest, just barely visible.

He leaned against Harry's desk, his arms crossed. Tom sat on his bed, and they both seemed to be in the middle of chatting. Harry's eyes narrowed. Tom looked duller than before.

"Why hello," Other-Tom spoke, a smirk on his face. "You must be Harry Potter. He's told me loads about you."

His voice was deeper, smoother, and had a more confident undertone. Like he knew he was a handsome, intelligent bastard and was going to make the most of it.

Harry could already feel the light blush on his face.

Voldemort sighed hard. "How?" He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Hm, same as him. Got some blood, took some magic. He gave me some of the siphoned magic once he knew I was sentient. Now, I'm physical. Mostly corporeal would be the better term." Other-Tom explained.

Voldemort groaned. A spike of pain hit Harry's scar.

"Just don't cause any trouble." Voldemort practically pushed Harry into the room and closed the door.

Harry was still in shock as Other-Tom approached him. He stalked up to him, lacing their hands together. He smirked down at him.

"I do know we'll be getting along quite well. He—you call him Tom, right? Hm, you can call me Riddle, yes? I've heard you're quite close." He winked and brought Harry's hand up to his mouth. He kissed the back of Harry's hand. "We will get acquainted as well, I presume."

"Uh, um, of course." Harry stuttered. Riddle was very direct—much more than he would have thought.

Riddle tugged him over to the bed and pushed him on it. He laid down next to Harry and positioned him on his chest. A hand was placed on Harry's hip, gripping at his trousers.

"Tell me more about yourself now," Riddle stroked his cheek.

Harry's morning began better than ever before. He was at complete peace, but there was a hint of happiness peeking within him. Feeling well, but some tiredness persisted in his veins.

Tom had tucked Harry under his chin, his arms wrapped around his chest. Meanwhile, Riddle was curled against his shoulder, arms belted around his waist, his breath tickling his neck.

Harry couldn't imagine a better morning.

Well, his arms were trapped under both of them, but otherwise, perfect. He basked in their presence, loving every second of it just as much as the first. The brief thought of how the two managed to work this out ruminated in his mind.

He glanced down at Riddle. He, like Tom, looked more peaceful while he slept. Less bosterling with confidence, gone the manipulative smirk on his face, and the way he cocked his smirk.

Harry wasn't sure which one he preferred.

A knock sounded from his door. Harry tried to move his limbs but found himself stuck. He didn't want to wake either of them. They were both sandwiched too close for him to shimmy out of his tight situation.

"Uh," Harry called out, "I'm a bit stuck at the moment."

"What?" Voldemort saidspoke from outside the door.

"I'm - "

The door opened. Dammit, if he could only lock his door.

Voldemort stared at him in the doorway. His crimson eyes flickered from Harry, to Tom, to Riddle. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again as his forehead creased.

"Get up," Voldemort said in a commanding tone.

"I can't." Harry tried to wiggle free again, but he found himself unsuccessful.

In fact, it only made it worse. Both of them clung to him tighter, drawing him close enough to feel their heartbeats. If Harry could have stayed like that, he would have blown off their session. Voldemort's anger be damned.

"Aculeus." Voldemort spat, pointing his wand at the group of them.

The spell split in half as it reached closer. It struck Tom and Riddle simultaneously. They instantly awoke, yelping in pain. They rolled off of the bed, landing in a pose ready to strike. Even once they realised that Voldemort was the one to attack them, they stayed in position.

"Now you are not stuck." Voldemort said, putting away his wand, "Duelling practice in five minutes."

Harry groaned. He was too tired for duelling practice. But he got up anyway. The staicy tingles ran up and down his arms as he shook the sleep from his arms.

Digging around in his wardrobe, he plucked out a white button-up and dark brown trousers. He had just finished dressing when he felt a presence behind him. Riddle gently grabbed his wrists.

"Arms up," Riddle said.

Harry complied, and he felt something slip over his head. Riddle's dark green wool sweater vest was on him, reaching down to his mid-thigh. A smooth laugh came from Riddle's mouth.

"I think it looks great. Maybe…" Riddle took Harry's wand from the side table and waved it over him. "There."

The vest shrank, fitting him as it should. The bloodstain still maintained its size, stretching to his midsection. But Harry found that he didn't mind it. In fact, it complemented the ensemble. Though he still wondered whose blood it was.

"Who bled on this?" Harry asked, pulling at the stain.

"Ah, Morfin Gaunt's. He was my uncle. Do not worry, he wasn't a good man." Riddle reassured him.

He killed a member of his family.

Would Harry have it in him to murder his uncle?

He searched inside himself for the answer, but he couldn't find one.

"Okay," Harry answered, a bit perturbed.

"Let's go. I want to see what your duelling practice looks like. Perhaps we could duel in our free time, no? I'd need to acquire a wand, but I'm sure I could find one." Riddle lightly placed his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Alright. Tom? Do you want to come with us?" Harry glanced over to Tom, who looked lost in thought.

"Hm? Yes, I will." He shook his head and joined the two as they walked down the hall.

Voldemort's jaw clenched when they all walked in. He took interest—or disgust, he couldn't really tell—in Harry wearing Riddle's vest. He jabbed his wand at the nearby couch, which both of the horcruxes took.

"Today," Voldemort circled him, "we will put your shield charm to the test." "How fast you draw it, how strong it is, and how well you direct it."

A light stinging spell hit Harry in his stomach the moment Voldemort ended his sentence.

Harry groaned; he was already exhausted, and they hadn't even started.

Voldemort was tired.

He was tired of having to control his Death Eaters every moment of the day.

He was tired of having to reorganise every single day because of the incompetence of his followers.

But most of all, he was tired of Harry Potter.

The boy never seemed to be out of trouble. Correction: Everything seemed to circle back to Potter.

A raid on Malfoy Manor?

Well, it was because Potter was missing.

His inner circle pestering him with questions about his corporeal horcrux?

Well, it was because he was seen baking with Potter.

Two of his Horcuxes came to life?

Well, it was because Potter bled on them.

But Voldemort couldn't be mad at Potter. The boy mostly stumbled into these situations and would fight tooth and nail to get out of them. This new trouble must be some form of karma for him.

How many times had Voldemort interfered with Potter's life?

Too many to count, he concluded. He tried at least once a year, and countless other attempts failed throughout. How stressful it would be to fear for your life every day of your existence! Himself aside, Potter had many, many foes.

Voldemort was immortal; Potter was not.

He sighed.

Was this what Dumbledore dealt with? Was that why he tried to kill him all the time?

Voldemort had certainly done his fair share of harm to Harry. He's tried to murder him constantly and has maimed him frequently. Hell, he'd even ripped apart his hip recently. Occlumency and general training wore hard on Potter's body. The boy frequently collapsed in bed after the sessions.

And every time he thought back to that, a feeling overtook him. It wasn't the burning that happened when Potter's uncle attacked him, and it wasn't the sting when he discovered his young horcrux and Potter cuddling, but it was a sinking lowness whenever he looked at him after those incidents. Like he was pushed into water and weighed down by stones.

Voldemort rubbed his temples.

He needed to think of a better plan while he ignored those feelings.

Maybe he should work opposite of Dumbledore.

The man obviously concealed a lot from Harry, only revealing information when it was dire. Even then, sometimes not. Would exposing Potter to more information and more plans lessen this blowback?

Potter wasn't the most academic. But his instincts were in the right place. They were correct most of the time, and even when they were wrong, they had some basis in truth. His gut feelings were better than almost all of his Death Eaters', even if they'd been through war.

Yes, Voldemort concluded.

Potter would be knowledgeable of his actions. He could stay out of harm's way that way. Voldemort didn't want him on a stroll through Diagon Alley the day they'd attack. And, knowing him, he would fight back against the Death Eaters.

It would raise suspicion when the Death Eaters wouldn't attack him.

Potter would leverage that to his advantage. He still hated the Death Eaters with a passion, and with good reason.

A smirk lit Voldemort's face as he stared at the parchment in front of him. Another meeting with all of the Death Eaters would be due in two days time. There, Potter would make an appearance.

Bad idea.

Potter would be there, just not visible. Voldemort shook his head. He'd figure it out; he always did in the end.

Tom: Why is everyone interrupting our kisses?
Harry: idk, smooches

Voldemort: I was a bit harsh.
Harry, after having his hip shredded: You think?
Voldemort:...bake me biscuits.

Riddle: Let's get... acquainted.
Harry: :D