2. Tea with Lord Voldemort

It took Harry's eyes a few moments to adjust before he could finally make out his lover, standing just on the edge of the shadows. With his braced shoulders and straight spine, Tom looked more like he was marching into battle than inviting guests into his home.

For a moment, Harry forgot all about his friends. The past day and night had been the longest Harry had ever been away from his lover. He could do little but stare, grinning stupidly.

Then he realised that Ron and Hermione were still standing on the doorstep, staring as well. Harry turned quickly back to them. "Er – come on inside! It's much warmer in here, isn't it? Tom, you… remember Ron and Hermione…?"

"Of course," Voldemort murmured, his narrowed crimson gaze taking in Harry's friends, lingering a little longer on Hermione. Long, gloved hands motioned the three of them inside, ushering them into the sitting room. The temperature hit Harry in a swell of overpowering heat. A fire danced and crackled in the hearth - with the curtains drawn it was the only source of light (Voldemort forgetting other people couldn't see in the dark again) - and the upholstery was saturated in Tom's powerful warming charms. It was like walking into an oven. "Please," his lover said softly, "be seated."

"It's a very nice place you've got here," said Hermione with a high, false note in her voice, even though Harry knew she could hardly see anything but the fireplace. "How long have you been staying in London?"

"Only a few days now," said Harry, crossing the room so he could quietly adjust the blinds and make the place a little less intimidating. He was careful not to let in so much light as to hurt Tom's sensitive eyes. "We only left Brazil about a week ago –"

Ron gave a rather loud squeak. "Harry - it's... it's the -"

He realised too late that his fiddling at the window had illuminated the sleeping form of Nagini at the foot of the couch – where Ron had just been about to sit.

"She won't wake," Voldemort reassured him, lowering himself regally into an armchair, pulling off his gloves, and holding his hands close to the fire. "Nagini has eaten recently and she will rest for some time yet, I assure you. She detests this cold as much as I." Tom gave one of his soft, hissy sighs. "Might we not have come in summer, Harry?"

"I think we've quite made up for it, haven't we? You've turned the place into a hothouse since I've been away." Now that the room was a bit brighter, Harry tugged off his scarf and began working on his coat. He thought he might be starting to sweat.

"Forgive me," Voldemort's red gaze returned to Harry's friends. "I am sure you have no interest in the weather or our domestic arrangements. We do not have much to offer by way of refreshments, since dear Harry has been away and I eat very little. But there is tea and we still have most of the chilli cocoa blend Harry brought back from Salvador." Voldemort reclined as though the armchair was a throne, but Harry wasn't fooled by those intimidating blank eyes, still face, and coldly formal voice. He could feel the nerves, the irritation humming beneath Tom's mask of composure. He was as out of his depth as Ron and Hermione.

"We've just had some breakfast, but tea would be lovely," Hermione said, still with that thread of high, unnatural civility in her voice. Ron, who had gone bug-eyed at dear Harry and hadn't yet seemed to have recovered, said nothing. Harry noticed that both of them had seated themselves as far away from Tom and Nagini as possible.

"Right," said Harry, clapping his hands together, and fled into the kitchen.

What had he been expecting, anyway? That Ron and Hermione had simply forgotten about all the chaos Voldemort had caused in their lives? That Tom would actually want to have anything to do with his friends? Harry put the kettle on the stove and tried desperately to think of ways to cut through the awkwardness.

When he returned to the lounge, however, Voldemort and Hermione were already talking: "-read the article you sent Harry on the magic of House-Elves. I found it extremely informative. Certainly more work ought to be done on the powers of lesser species and, indeed, on wandless magic in general."

"I would hardly call them lesser-" Hermione replied hotly.

"Hermione," Ron hissed, tugging on the arm of her coat, not looking at Voldemort, "you can't talk to - to him about spew!"

Though Harry thought that Tom might benefit greatly from a lecture on social equality, he wasn't sure Tom's reaction to such a conversation would get everyone off on the right foot. "Hermione loves researching magical creatures," he said, desperately trying to change the topic. "Voldemort loves researching things as well, don't you, Voldemort?"

Voldemort raised a hairless brow in Harry's direction and the slit-pupilled eyes blinked a few times. To Harry's considerable relief, Tom was starting to lose his imperious Dark Lord expression and beginning to loosen up. "Well, yes," he murmured, shooting Harry an odd look.

"And - and Ron! Ron might be an even more brilliant chess player than you! The two of you ought to, y'know - go at it sometime."

Ron's face seemed to lose several shades of colour at the idea of going at anythingwith Lord Voldemort. "He… plays chess?"

"Yes," Voldemort nodded. "I understand you and Harry played at great deal of chess at Hogwarts, though I must say I have not seen this reflected in his game. He usually ends up attempting to exploit our connection in order to read my thoughts."

"Hey! I do not!"

A shocked bubble of laughter escaped from Hermione. Ron, on the other hand, looked scandalized. "You - you can read his thoughts! Does that mean... you remember that one game you beat me, Harry? Was he just telling you what to do the whole time?"

"Of course not! I'm a perfectly good chess player on my own! And I've come very close to beating him myself without any of his help, I'll have you know!"

"Very true, my dear, you have been improving," Voldemort smiled up at him thinly, and Harry's indignation faded for a moment. "Your game of late has been adequate rather than dismal."

He perched himself on the arm of Tom's chair, trying and failing to look angry. "I just know how sore you get when you've lost! Something else you and Ron have got in common."

"Oh?" Voldemort stroked a pale hand down his arm, "if I understand correctly, you have had little opportunity to observe either of us in the act of losing a game of chess."

"Well I'll certainly get to once Ron's had a shot at you," said Harry, grinning, and then, to his friend, "You'd better not let me down, mate."

Ron was gaping at them, his eyes flicking constantly back to where Voldemort was touching Harry's hand. "Er… well… I'll do my best…"

"Perhaps when myself and Ronald are better acquainted, Harry. I should hate to be an imposition." His fingers continued their gentle caress, sending warm tingles up Harry's spine. You are trying too hard, dear. The poor boy can hardly breathe.

I think he really likes you! Harry thought back vehemently, even though, if his wide eyes and paling face were anything to go by, Ron did not seem to be too keen on the thought of getting better acquainted with Harry's lover. Harry was just about to open his mouth to insist the same when the kettle began to whistle from the kitchen.

"Ah!" Voldemort's mouth twitched as he gestured elegantly with his yew wand, which always seemed to just appear at will in those long, white fingers. A beautifully filigreed silver tea service spun delicately into existence on a side table, complete with cups, a jar of honey, milk, spoons, a pot of steaming tea, and a jug of Harry's favourite cocoa.

Hermione stared at the tea service, her brown eyes wide. "Did he - I mean - did you," she looked at Voldemort with nervous curiosity, "just nonverbally combine a Summoning Charm, and Argentamenti, with improvised Transfiguration?"

"No," Tom smirked at her, "that would be far too complicated. I merely invented a spell which achieved a similar effect."

"And you invented it just now? To serve tea?" Hermione looked a little flushed. "That's incredible! I mean - of course I've read about spellcrafting, but it's an extremely complex process - just the matter of developing a wand movement that complements the appropriate incantation -"

"Show off," Harry muttered under his breath as he gave his friends their teacups the Muggle way - by hand.

Voldemort, predictably, ignored him. "After so many years, it is largely a matter of intuition." He shrugged, accepting the tea Harry offered, and pressed the thin silver cup appreciatively against his flat nostrils for a moment. They widened, quivering. "Mm…"

"So is this honestly what you do together then?" Ron blurted out suddenly. "Drink tea and argue about chess?"

Harry, who had been rather distracted by Voldemort's dilating nostrils, forced himself to look away before he started talking about all the other things they did together - none of which, Harry was sure, either of his friends would want to hear about. "Well, we argue about quite a lot of other things, too... but, er, yeah - I s'pose that's the gist of it."

"Your friend is a great comfort to me," Tom voice was silken. "I would go mad if he were not with me." He let out a high, awful titter. It was a bitter, mirthless thing and, under his skin, Harry felt a stirring of the murderous hysteria that always lurked beneath the surface of his lover's mind. It sounded like a cruel joke at his expense but Harry could sense the underlying fury, loneliness, and helplessness. He'd been away since yesterday morning and Tom had missed him. His lover did not do well alone.

"Sometimes I think I drive him mad more than anything else," Harry murmured, slipping an arm around Tom's shoulders. Magic curled and tingled at his touch - long, warm, psychic fingers reaching for the aching sliver of Voldemort's soul. He let Tom taste how miserable Harry had been without him last night, how little sleep he had gotten trying to fall asleep alone for the first time in years. I missed you too.

Voldemort leaned into his touch with a sigh of pleasure. He smiled - a real smile - and the red eyes glittered."Do not be ridiculous, Harry." He breathed softly. "You are a treasure."

Harry was suddenly burning with the desire to kiss that thin mouth, but he caught himself at the last moment. That would almost certainly throw Ron over the edge. He took a long sip of the scalding cocoa instead, but it did nothing to dispel the ache in the front of his teeth.

How strange it was, to smother such natural impulses of affection. It hit him for the first time that he and Tom had never really interacted with other people as a couple before. How were couples supposed to act in front of other people, anyway?

As if in answer, Hermione reached over and took Ron's hand between them on the couch. "It's clear that you're very happy together," she said, and Harry could see, with warm delight fluttering in his stomach, that she really meant it.

"We are. He means - everything to me." His fingers squeezed Voldemort's shoulder.

Did he truly? If he was everything to Harry, then why were they here? Did his Horcrux not understand the shame Voldemort endured in returning to Britain? Harry had such a large heart and it fit a great many people, whereas Voldemort cared only for his Horcruxes. He could not help but be jealous of every scrap of affection the young wizard gave to anyone other than himself. The thought of celebrating Yule, let alone with a brood of Gryffindor blood traitors, gave him no pleasure.

The Dark Lord reached up and put his long, skeletal fingers over the hand on his shoulder in a wordless communication of need. Nothing was more important to him than Harry, for whom he had sacrificed everything. The strength of Harry's emotion, still so shockingly intense even after all this time, washed over him. Balm for the long, lonely hours when his thoughts had turned to pitch and he questioned his decision to forsake the legacy of Lord Voldemort. His hairless eyelids fluttered and he turned away from the Mudblood and Weasley, so that they might not see his scant lip tremble.

Just a little longer, Harry's voice murmured within him, buzzing with promise. Aloud, his Horcrux began speaking to his friends about the upcoming holiday, but Voldemort was hardly listening, too beguiled by that fierce alchemy of spirit which Harry always aroused within him. He looked across at the face of his Horcrux, talking happily with his friends. He was very much like James Potter on the night of his death, Voldemort reflected. A tall young man, broad-shouldered and lean - fit from Quidditch - and, as always, bravely thoughtless. There were differences, of course. Harry's skin had darkened in the southern sun and there was ever something wild and a little unkempt about him. He could never quite be bothered shaving properly, and Voldemort suspected he was trying to grow a beard and failing.

"And Hagrid said he'd be coming by as well," Granger was saying with great enthusiasm. "They're all really excited to see you, Harry." That half-breed oaf, as well? Delightful.

"I think it'll be great for everyone to see us together," Harry said cheerfully, but Voldemort could feel the anxiety thrumming in the warm, small fingers beneath his own.

"Harry," Voldemort interrupted carefully, his grip tightening on his young lover's hand.

"It will be," Harry went on firmly, some of his panic edging into his voice, "because they all care about me very much, and I know that everyone will be glad to see me so happy!"

"Harry," Voldemort tried again, attempting to bring some semblance of reality to his Horcrux's fantasies.

"Tom," Harry snapped, finally turning to him.

His lip curled at the continued use of his Muggle father's name, especially irritating in front of others. "You must consider the fact that, in all likelihood, none of what you plan will transpire as you intend. I may be amoral, but I am not insensible," or stupid, he held back from saying, "to the effect Lord Voldemort inspires. Are you truly so certain that their affection for you is greater than their hatred for me?"

"Harry's part of the family!" Weasley cut in fiercely, his ears bright red in the dim light. "There's nothing that will change that, even - even -"

"Ron!" Granger hissed at the blood traitor, and then she turned back to his Horcrux. "Harry - listen to me - he's got a point. You've got to be realistic about this. When it comes down to it, there are certain - things, that have happened, that are… that are going to be difficult for people to simply -" her voice hitched, "forget, and it's - it's possible that everything might not go as smoothly as you're hoping for."

"Well, this is my life now," Harry said hotly, fingers flexing against the Dark Lord's shoulder. "Voldemort is my life, and I love him with everything I've got, and if anyone's got a problem with that, then they've got a problem with me!"

"I'm not saying anyone's got a problem," Granger said patiently. Weasley snorted. "I just think it would be good for you to - to prepare yourself. Before you get let down."

"Precisely," Voldemort said quietly, "think on how long it took us to reach an equilibrium, my precious one. Much as I appreciate such a passionate declaration of faith, I am…" he searched for the right words, "I am simply… ill-suited to such company."

Harry gave him a soft smile; his anger appeared to be dissipating. "Don't think you can get out of this now. Everything's going to be fine. Perhaps not right away," he added quickly when Granger opened her mouth again, "but - it will be. You think you're ill-suited to a lot of things… but if we'd let all that get in the way before… well, we wouldn't even be here right now, would we?"

Voldemort gave a slightly theatrical sigh. "And here was I hoping that your friends would assist me in persuading you out of this ludicrous plan." Nagini was stirring. Voldemort called to her sleepy mind and, slowly, she drowsily ascended the armchair and curled onto his lap, heavy from feeding. He stroked her head idly, humming to her under his breath.

"I don't think we've ever had much luck with that," Weasley muttered.

"And you all should be happy for it," Harry replied, grinning smugly. He ran an affectionate hand across Nagini's scales, and Voldemort felt the shadow of the warm fingers ripple across his own body. "It turns out that I may actually know what I'm doing once in a while."

Voldemort laughed.

Harry looked genuinely offended. "What? I do!"

The Dark Lord patted his arm in a gesture of false reassurance. "You never plan, Harry, you merely force everyone else to improvise with you."

"I simply - give myself a little room for the unexpected," Harry said defensively, and at the incredulous looks on all their faces, he added, "All right... a lot of room... but you never know what's going to happen, do you? Plans aren't always such a great thing! When things don't go the way you think they will, you're completely out of your element!"

"Harry," Granger burst out angrily, "we're talking about people's feelings!"

Harry withdrew instantly, looking injured. "I - er - but - he's... promised to be nice," he finished lamely. "Yeah, I get that it might be - difficult, at first, but he's such a large part of my life... it's only natural that I want to share it with my friends, isn't it?"

"Well of course we understand that," said Granger, "but that doesn't change the fact that he's Lord V-Voldemort and that he's killed a great deal of people! People that many of us cared very deeply about!"

"You think I don't know that?" Harry demanded, and Voldemort could feel the familiar argument raging in his Horcrux's thoughts. But when he spoke again, his voice was small with hurt. "Look, if you just came here to tell me that it's not going to work, I wish you'd just come out and say it."

Granger looked on the verge of tears. "That's not what we're saying at all, Harry, please - you just - you need to go into this with a bit of sensitivity! You're not the only person who's lost something, you know!"

There was a brief silence in which Harry stared fixedly down at his lap. Although his Horcrux's face was tight with anger, it was dejection and frustration which flooded across the link connecting their minds.

"Everyone is mostly just excited to see you again," said Weasley softly, when Harry didn't respond. "Mum hasn't shut up about it all week. It's been five years, mate."

Soft, reassuring, white fingers lifted Harry's chin. It will not be easy, my treasure, but nothing truly rewarding ever is. Aloud, he said "May I speak to Miss Granger in private?"

Weasley clutched tighter to the Mudblood's hand. "Anything you need to say to Hermione you can say to me, too!" he declared, though his voice cracked in the middle. Gryffindors.

"Ron." Harry squeezed the Dark Lord's shoulder - thank you - and stood up, taking the warmth of his body with him. "C'mon. I've got my own room upstairs. I'll show you the magic carpet we picked up in India."

"I'm not leaving her alone with him and that - that snake!" Weasley whispered, gesturing furiously at Nagini, still curled on Voldemort's lap.

"Thank you, Ron, but I can handle myself," Granger said quietly from the lounge.

Weasley looked back at her, aghast. "But… Hermione…"

"I'll be fine, Ron," she said firmly.

"C'mon," Harry said again, more gently this time. "We'll just be upstairs." Weasley gave the Dark Lord one last look of terrified suspicion, and then Harry ushered him up the staircase.