.
.
The doors to Voldemort's room creaked open. Unlike every other set of doors in the house, the hinges on these were not as immaculately oiled, and it was no secret that Voldemort preferred them so. It was easier, like this, for him to hear when someone entered.
And enter someone did. Not just any someone, but his new personal servant. Hadrian was a quiet boy. A good boy. Oh, what fun it would be, if such goodness joined him in his world of darkness.
Thin lips curled into a smile as muted footsteps approached him cautiously. Oh, yes, he'd almost forgotten about that…
The pale man waved it off.
"Dress me, Hadrian."
"Yes, My Lord."
Soft hands quickly unfastened his dress coat and gently slid it from his shoulders before doing the same to his waistcoat.
Thin fingers undid his tie with a practiced precision and quickly slid it from round his neck before those same fingers undid his shirt, sliding that off, too.
His black trousers were undone, leaving him in only his undergarments.
He could physically feel Harry slip away from him for a bit before he felt the silken fabric of his nightclothes brush against his shoulders. Voldemort obligingly slid his arms into the appointed sleeves and allowed Harry to button up his front. Cool fingers just barely brushed against his chest and his throat tightened.
Robbed of speech, Voldemort stood, half-naked, and used Harry's boney shoulders for balance as he slipped into his trousers.
Harry stepped back, just a couple steps, and straightened his posture.
"Is there anything else, My Lord?"
Voldemort thought for a moment before answering, in a manner that was somewhere between full-hearted and half-hearted.
"Kiss me."
"My Lord?" That voice held an air of cautious inquisition. He decided to elaborate.
"Was I unclear? You've been all this night with my brother, so grant me this one, at the very least!"
He kept his voice level, but towards the end he caught sight of an elf- damned creature!- and accidentally snapped.
"As you wish…"
That soft, subservient voice carried with it a tinge of guilt, and if he listened right, he could hear a bit of wry humor shining through. But he understood the possibility of his corrupt mind playing tricks on him was also high.
Muted footsteps drew closer to him, and small hands cupped his cheeks with a tenderness that the owner surely would've possessed had they been holding a chick. And then slightly chapped lips brushed against his in a chaste kiss, and the innocence in the act was almost palpable.
The feeling left almost as quickly as it came, and an unbidden feeling of loss welled up in Voldemort's lips. He wanted that warmth- that innocence and softness- to stay with him.
"Good night, My Lord."
And Harry left before he could say a word more.
The doors shut with an ominous creak, and Voldemort settled into his bed. When he awoke the next morning, he briefly toyed with the idea of demanding a goodnight kiss every evening.
XXxxXX
The next morning, the manor was abuzz with gossip. Everyone wanted to know who the mysterious "Lady Harriet" was, and why she was with the younger Lord Riddle all night. Naturally, they couldn't just ask.
"I hear she's the daughter of a French business partner!"
"Perhaps she's a mistress!"
"Oh, how scandalous! I bet whoever she is, Lord Riddle will get rid of her soon!"
"Ohohoho!"
"Hush, ladies! Such petty gossip is quite unbecoming!"
The young maids scurried off at the sound of Lily's authoritative tone. They didn't know who she was- who she used to be (they were too young, after all), but perhaps if they had, they would've been more careful. Back then, everyone knew Lily Evans- ne Potter- absolutely hated gossipy maids.
Sighing at days long gone, Lily adjusted her hold on the broom. It didn't look like those maids were coming back any time soon, so she decided she may as well clean up this area on her own. It would be better for everyone, lest Lucius punish them for an uncleansed carpet.
XXxxXX
Tom very rarely drank. As a result, he rarely ever got hungover, but when he did, it was unpleasant for everyone. He didn't drink enough to induce vomiting- for which Harry was secretly grateful- but he was snappish.
"Hurry up and dress me, Potter."
He did so quickly, silently. He'd seen hungover bums before, and quickly surmised- on previous witness-experience- that any excess noise would only make his master more irritable. He didn't even bother reciting the day's breakfast menu, and instead just handed Tom a cup of blue lotus tea. He sipped it carefully, unused to the taste, and felt exponentially better afterwards. His migraine had subsided, and he felt noticeably calmer.
"Thank you, Harry."
Harry bowed and took both cup and saucer from Tom's hands. "Of course, My Lord. Will that be all?"
"Yes. Meet me in the study in two hours."
"Yes, My Lord."
He left, bringing the dishes with him.
XXxxXX
"I'm going out."
"Shall I accompany you, My Lord?"
"Naturally, Harry. I have business with the potions master. I trust you will assist me."
"Of course, My Lord."
XXxxXX
Harry never enjoyed visits with Severus Snape. Part of it was because the man loathed him and his father, and was only afraid to show it around Lily, whom everyone knew he absolutely adored as much as he hated Harry and James.
It was fortunate that Tom saw someone else for such things.
Horace Slughorn was a jolly sort of man, and Harry just knew that he'd be good with children. How on Earth he got along so well with Tom was anyone's guess.
"Oh! Lord Riddle- what a pleasure it is to see you again! How may I be of service?"
"Snake venom, please. And an anti-contusion cream."
Slughorn easily handed him a phial of a yellow-ish liquid and a small container of an off-white paste, and accepted the small pouch Tom slid over in exchange. Then, Tom handed the two items to Harry, who held them carefully in his hands.
"Come along, Harry. I still have more errands to run."
Tom didn't mind using his nickname in public, and every time, Harry was left wondering. Was it a display of power? Of the intimate relationship between master and servant? Or was it just on a whim? He supposed he'd never understand, and left it at that as he stuck closely behind his master.
XXxxXX
They stopped at the church, and Tom put a firm hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Stay put. I'll just go to have a chat with Father Dumbledore, and I shall call on you only if I have need. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, My Lord."
Tom seemed to struggle with something for a split second before he abruptly turned and strode into the church, leaving Harry in the courtyard.
XXxxXX
Draco Malfoy wasn't generally an unlikeable person. He was the son of the head man of Riddle's estate, and that was all there was to it. He didn't much care for either Tom or Voldemort, either way. Nor did he care a great deal about the Potters, who'd once owned the place. However, once he'd gotten wind that the Potters' son had become Tom's personal servant- and in a household like that it was impossible not to find out sooner or later-he'd taken it upon himself to make friends with the boy.
How else did Tom know to get cream for that bruise?
And this was how he'd ended up there. Part of it was to make sure Tom held up his end and kept Harry safe- can't very well befriend a dead man, after all- and part of it was to run an errand for his father.
The blond clutched both parcels close to his heart, as he would a deeply held secret.
He'd followed his instinct and bought a little something extra with the change he'd gotten from his purchase, and now that it was time to give it to its intended recipient, he was suddenly apprehensive. He forced it down and entered the church courtyard. Malfoys don't get nervous. That was a fact of life. Especially concerning silly little items like this.
"Afternoon, Potter," he greeted smoothly. The boy, startled out of his wits, turned to face him.
"O-oh goodness! Hullo Draco," his voice was cheerful, albeit a little bit shaky, "what brings you here?"
"Oh, nothing at all, really. You just looked a little bit…lonesome. Did Lord Riddle abandon you, after all?"
Harry shook his head. "Oh no- he's just talking with Father Dumbledore. That's all." His tone was a tad defensive, and Draco decided to lay off a little.
"Hm. Well, now that you've mentioned it, I suppose…there is something I've been meaning to take care of…"
This is it…
Draco presented one of the parcels he was holding, practically thrusting it into Harry's arms. The other boy noticed it was soft, or at least malleable.
"Don't you dare open it till you're in your room- or else there'll be consequences!" Draco warned in a hissing manner.
Harry nodded.
"Understood."
Draco caught sight of the doors opening, and quickly scurried off. Tom approached Harry with a questioning look, and didn't even need to speak for Harry to explain.
"Draco gave this to me. Said not to open it till I'm inside."
"I see. Very well. I'm spent for the day. Let us return to the manor, Harry." He started walking off, and Harry silently and obediently followed.
XXxxXX
That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Harry quietly opened Draco's gift to him.
It was a silvery cloak that shimmered brilliantly in the moonlight creeping through his window.
He made a mental note to thank him later.