Hello lovelies! Thanks to my bètas being quick, I can manage to still put this up before my holiday. If you can speak German, please consider having a look at the fics of Riafya on Ao3 :)

Enjoy!

Chapter four - The Nanny

Harry wiped some sweat off his brow as he added several small roots to the potion, stirring it quickly as instructed to prevent it from bubbling over. The brew should nearly be complete, and he was very glad for it. While it had looked easy on paper, it was trickier than he'd thought it would be. He put the fire lower, the potion needing to simmer for the next hour before Nagini's venom would have to be added. He got up, cracking his back, slowly sauntering to the other room.

Last night and today had not been very exciting. Voldemort was still ill, and the day had looked much the same as yesterday. He'd fed the man and himself, took him to the toilet two times and had started cleaning the house just to have something to do. The kitchen was spotless now, as well as the pantry next to it which held several supplies and tools. He still thought the living room was creepy with all its dusty sheets, and as he didn't think he'd use it anyways he'd left it as it was. He found a bedroom, but did not know what Nagini would think of it if he left Voldemort alone during the night, and he certainly wouldn't want to share a bed with him.

His sense of privacy and embarrassment was lessening however, and while the toilet-part was still uncomfortable, he didn't have any problems anymore with feeding the Dark Lord. It had become something necessary, something routine now he made sure the man got something to eat three times a day. The next meal would be the sixth time, the second dinner, and it was made considerably easier for him now Voldemort had gained enough strength to swallow by himself. He was also talking more now, still seeming to think that he was Regulus, though the betrayal that had happened hadn't come up and Harry was trying his best to answer correctly, not knowing what would happen if Voldemort, in his feverish state, would think Harry was an impostor.

As he entered the room, he noticed the man was awake, eyes still unfocused and a trembling hand reaching out to him. A tad hesitant, he grabbed it, spiny fingers curling around his. "Regulus…" Voldemort whispered, and Harry was surprised to find that the word had been spoken in English rather than Parseltongue.

"I'm here," he said, feeling rather foolish as he kneeled down.

"Regulus," Voldemort whispered again, smiling that strange smile of his that he only seemed to reserve for when it was accompanied by that name. "Beloved…"

Harry tensed up, his eyes widening impossibly, trying to comprehend what Voldemort had said. His mind raced while the man closed his eyes again and sunk back into the blankets, and Harry got the sudden urge to shake the small hand off. Instead, he carefully pried the fingers loose, scrambling backwards to create distance. Beloved? Regulus… Regulus had been Voldemort's….

~Nagini?~ He asked, the snake giving a slight hiss to indicate that she'd heard him. ~Sorry that I start about this again but… Regulus… what exactly was he to… to master?~

~Didn't I tell you?~ the snake replied. ~He was Marvolo's nest mate. That's why his betrayal was also such a shock to him.~

~Do I look like him? Even a bit?~ Harry said after he laughed nervously and his stomach had recovered a bit, still revolted at the thought.

~I wouldn't know,~ she replied on a surly tone. ~Why does everyone always think I can distinguish humans? Besides, I told you I never met him personally,~ she complained. ~From master's descriptions, I know he also had black fur and green eyes, but that's about it.~

Black hair and green eyes… so that was why Voldemort probably mistook him for his long-dead… what, lover? Harry's stomach turned again slightly. He hadn't ever thought of the possibility of the man having had lovers, or even about what Voldemort's sexual preference was… He recalled Tom Riddle's stares in the Chamber and felt a whole lot more uncomfortable now he could finally place the look he'd been given as Riddle had sized him up. It was ridiculous how vividly Harry could remember that look… and even more ridiculous that he was spending thoughts on whether or not Riddle had liked what he saw or not. Or was he reading too much into that stare? Just because Voldemort liked men didn't mean he instantly wanted every man he came across, right? Right?

Harry honestly didn't really know, the Dursleys had always made snide remarks about 'People Like That' and while Harry didn't agree with much the Dursleys said, he'd found the same attitude to prevail at Hogwarts. Or at least in the Boy's Dorms, the topic hadn't come up outside of there. Harry hadn't known what the fuss was about at first. Up until now he hadn't really experienced a romantic pull to anyone, but he was certain that he had to be straight. Otherwise he would have felt something for any of the other boys, wouldn't he have? Once again, he shook his thoughts from his head when an image of Oliver Wood in the Quidditch showers came to mind, and quickly put the vial down which he'd held in his hands.

Concentrate, he told himself angrily. The only missing ingredient now was Nagini's venom, and he was very glad for that he could actually speak to her, because he had no clue how to collect snake venom.

~Nagini? I need to… to milk you,~ he said, slightly embarrassed at how much it sounded as if she were a cow. She slithered up to him without a word and hovered above the vial.

~Well, hold it then,~ she suddenly snapped, and he hurried to grab the vial, not sure what was going to happen. She carefully put one of her fangs in it and suddenly bit down, the venom trickling down the glass as she released it. It surprised him that the venom only dripped from one fang, and wondered if that was normal or if she could magically control what fang or fangs she released her venom from. When the vial had trickled full with the hazy substance, she retreated, her tongue flicking forwards.

~Thank you,~ he hissed softly, putting a cork on it. She did not reply, instead moving to check up briefly with Voldemort before returning to the fireplace, which was flickering merrily. Having an hour to kill, Harry thought it best to leave the two and make some dinner. His stomach had started rumbling violently about thirty minutes ago, but he hadn't been able to leave the potion as it had needed constant attention. He went down to the kitchen, starting the mundane task of peeling potatoes, feeling very much like he was still at the Dursleys. At least he would last a while with all the chopped vegetables in the cabinets. He hoped that he could bring his letter to the post office tomorrow and that it would then arrive soon… Hedwig would make far nicer company. Now he just needed to convince Nagini of that Hedwig wasn't food…

He hadn't made a very difficult meal, and was done in just over thirty minutes, deciding to clean up after eating so the food would still be hot. Since he'd found out that Voldemort had teeth, he left some chunks in it, although he'd still chosen minced meat because he didn't think the stumps would be able to chew through anything else. He sure as hell wasn't going to pre-chew it. Not feeling like kneeling again, he just sat down and pulled Voldemort on his lap to spare his own back. Only the second after did he realise what he'd done, and he felt slightly uncomfortable with that he hadn't given it much thought at all. To get his mind off it, he started the feeding process. Only when Voldemort had had enough and snuggled up into his blankets again, did Harry take his own plate, looking thoughtfully at the face of the other as he ate.

He looked far too peaceful to be so evil, Harry thought. A murderer shouldn't be allowed to sleep like this, completely at ease. It made it much harder for Harry to keep his previous image of the man, especially as those small hands reached out and only stilled when the fingers were wrapped snugly around Harry's hands. He sighed deeply as Regulus' name was once more uttered, and he started rocking the man slightly back and forth so he'd fall asleep.

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, very glad that they were in a Muggle house for once, as he'd never understood the wizard clocks with their planets and no numbers, and he was not able to cast a tempus right now. Briefly, he wondered if Wormtail had been the one to get the old mechanical clock running again. Harry had always had alarm clocks or watches with batteries, not knowing how to operate a clock like this, with weights that somehow got the mechanism running. He saw there wasn't much time left until he had to attend to the mixture, around five minutes, and he carefully shifted Voldemort, placing him in his usual spot again.

~Have to go finish that potion,~ he said, notifying Nagini before she would accuse him of leaving her master without a good reason. He took the venom-filled vial and once again retraced his steps towards the adjoining room, pleased when seeing that the potion had the same mint-green colour as the recipe said it had to be. The alarm clock he'd took from the kitchen for timing cooked eggs still had about four minutes left on it, and he already prepared the wooden ladle, cleaning it so no additional dust would mix with the potion before he opened the flask with venom. As the shrill alarm sounded, he quickly poured the venom on the ladle, adding two spoons of it to the brew as described, and stirred it counter-clockwise quickly until the colour changed to a cloudy green.

He had to lean back to avoid the steam that rose from it, not knowing if it was poisonous or not, and using a towel, he lifted the cauldron from the fire onto a metal grid and put the fire out, thinking that he'd better brew it above the fireplace next time. While he liked having an excuse sometimes to get out of the room in which Voldemort slept, it was highly impractical to constantly walk back and forth, and once the man got to his senses, he didn't want Nagini informing him about 'Harrison Black' when he was out of the room. Of course, it was possible that that would happen while he was in the kitchen or at toilet, but the chance of it happening lessened slightly if he didn't spend so much time brewing potions in the study.

It was a pity that the cauldron was so small… he wouldn't be able to get more than two-and a half vial out of it, so he would need to brew it again if Nagini's calculation had been correct. He could still last four days without making new, but he preferred to not run out of his stock in case he'd fail to make it once. He didn't want to stay here longer due to Voldemort's illness getting worse from failed potions. He hoped the man was recovering… It seemed that way. Even over the past two days, his appetite had grown with each meal, and that he spoke English again now, even if it had only been two words, had to be a good sign.

Pouring the potion in some empty vials, he watched the cloudy green substance, fascinated by how the venom kept swirling around in it instead of sinking to the bottom. He glanced back at the cauldron, scrunching his nose as he remembered that he had to clean it, the chore reminding him far too much of Snape's punishments where he'd had to scrub hundreds of cauldrons without magic, usually because someone had sabotaged his potion or because Snape had been unfair once again. If he had to choose between who he disliked more, Snape or Voldemort, his mind was made up quickly. Somehow he was convinced that he would have been able to slit Snape's throat without feeling a single twinge of pity even if the snarky man would have turned into an adorable puppy, fallen horribly ill and would have been paralysed from head to toe. Harry seriously doubted that he had his own priorities straight somehow, as he found a bigoted, horrible teacher far worse than the murderer of his parents.

He left the cauldron for what it was for the moment, not wanting all of his thoughts to spiral down to Snape and potion lessons and dampen his mood even more, so he put all the new vials on the desk and took an old one to feed to Voldemort, not knowing if they had an expiration date or not. Better safe than sorry.

He crossed both rooms and, as he'd found that it was actually easier to feed Voldemort this way, once again pulled the man on his lap before carefully feeding him his potion. Thankfully Voldemort gave no indication as to having a need for the toilet yet, as Harry didn't feel like getting up, merely curiously unfolding the blankets to get a better look at Voldemort's current body. The first and only time he'd seen the man fully naked, he had been more repulsed by the form and the fact that it was Voldemort to really study him. Now, in the light of the fireplace, he noticed things he hadn't seen before. Fascinated, he saw that he could actually see the heart slightly through the skin, and the quick movements it made against fragile ribs.

The skin wasn't exactly translucent, instead being so white that, apart from the heart, several other dark shapes could be seen underneath the skin of the stomach, bluish veins shimmering just beneath the surface, the only thing he'd noticed before as they also ran over the man's back. "Cold," Voldemort mumbled, shivering, and Harry quickly adjusted the blanket, a strange feeling of guilt coming over him.

"Sorry," he replied softly, and the head turned, eyes opening, again slightly less hazy than before. Voldemort didn't say anything more, just seeming to take in whatever his feverish eyes could see, and Harry worried about the other recognising him. "Do you… do you need to go to the toilet?" he asked, a tad nervous about having an actual conversation with the man, but his fears seemed to be unfounded as Voldemort just gave him a non-understanding look. "Toilet?" Harry repeated, finally getting a hesitant nod. Sighing, he rose from the couch, making sure of that Voldemort wouldn't slip from his grasp.

They returned soon after, one more awkward episode over, and Harry started to feel a bit like a nanny, though he was very glad for that Voldemort actually used the toilet instead of being incontinent and needing diapers. But honestly, his days now merely consisted of caring for Voldemort and trying to not piss Nagini off, while trying to pass all the time in between with sleeping and reading incredibly dull books. He didn't dare venture into the village again, not wanting to make a novelty of himself that people could talk about, so all that left him with was the house itself.

The search for Voldemort's wand had been fruitless, sadly. Wormtail had probably hidden it until Voldemort could use it again or, and that was actually more likely as Harry could vaguely remember seeing the wand being used in his dreams, Voldemort had ordered Wormtail to put it safely away every night. Perhaps it hadn't left its hiding place since Hedwig had caught the rat as Voldemort couldn't get it himself.

Harry picked up Shakespeare once again, but closed the book after reading about a page, deciding that deciphering the meaning behind the poetic words really wasn't for him. Why didn't these people have something better, like thrillers or detectives at least? Was it so much to ask for? How had the people living here before passed their time?

He was curious about the Riddles, but he had not really come across anything personal. Most likely, everything usable or valuable had been sold when the inhabitants had died. It made him wonder again to whom this house really belonged. Was it Voldemort's, or had the house been sold as it apparently hadn't been known that Riddle Senior had had a son? Were they really here legally, or trespassing on private property? The living room with sheets over old furniture indicated that there was no-one who used it, but it could also be that it was used as a holiday home, or just property of some collector.

It was a pity that there were no old photographs, letters or anything else that linked back to Voldemort's family. That would at least having given Harry something to do. The only other thing he could do to find out more about the family would be speaking to locals. He didn't particularly like Frank though, and it was probably not a good idea to randomly speak to old people in the streets without even having a good reason. And more than that, he still didn't want to leave the house if not absolutely necessary. Having nothing else to do, Harry pulled his legs up and propped a pillow between the armrest of the couch and his head, though he had to keep his knees bent to not suddenly kick Voldemort off the couch. He might wake up with Nagini chewing happily on his feet… Slowly, he nodded off, his day having been filled with all sorts of small tasks to keep himself busy.

When he woke up again, it was to chirping birds and the sun shining in his eyes. He carefully moved, his back and neck aching horribly from having been folded up on the couch for far too long. He wondered how Voldemort coped, not getting any exercise at all, just lying there in his blankets. Harry felt cold, having spent the whole night without something covering him, and he also felt dirty.

He hadn't changed clothes in a while, and also hadn't brought anything else than what he was wearing. However, he didn't have enough money to buy new shirts and certainly no pants, so he would have to find out today if he could wash them somewhere. As it was an old house which hadn't been lived in the last forty-fifty years or so, he highly doubted anyone had installed a washing machine here. He wasn't sure, as he didn't know when washing machines had been invented, but even if there was one, it would not work without electricity. It was time to visit a room he hadn't seen before, the bathroom, and he grumbled when realising that he wasn't the only one who needed a good wash.

For now though, he was quite content with sitting here, unmoving. The day brought only more chores, and he didn't look forward to them. In his mind he checked off a list: Clean the cauldron, clean the kitchen from yesterday's cooking, make breakfast, put Voldemort on the toilet, go to the post office, clean the bathroom which undoubtedly was dirty, shower, somehow wash his clothes, wash Voldemort, make lunch… and then nothing till he had to make dinner, toilet again, and sleep… His days were now even more filled than when he'd lived at the Dursleys', where his days consisted of a string of chores too. The only pleasant note was that despite her threatening appearance, Nagini made for more pleasant company than his own family, which was incredibly sad now he thought of it.

After a few minutes, he groaned loudly, as he couldn't put work off any longer. Rubbing his eyes, he collected the cauldron and brought it to the kitchen, his mood growing worse with each passing second as he saw the mess he had to clean up there.

A long, long day later, he finally sank into the clean, warm water with which he'd filled the tub. In the end he'd had to put it off until after dinner, because the bathroom had been far filthier than he could have ever imagined, and he was a perfectionist who wanted it spotless once he started cleaning. He didn't mind mess… hell, his bedroom was chaotic at best, but he hated it when a room was filthy. He scrubbed his back and carded his hands through his hair, sighing deeply, fully content for the first time he'd been here. He pushed the thoughts of having to use this tub to bathe Voldemort after he himself was done to the back of his mind for now, wanting a few moments of ignorant bliss. It had been a miracle that there was still running water in this house. Perhaps a separate storage? Or a mistake on account of the municipality?

When he finally had to emerge, he felt both clean and a bit stronger, ready to go through this week and kill a man. Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror, fierce green eyes staring back at him. It surprised him how much older he looked than most people his age, despite his height. There were lines in his face that shouldn't have appeared until his mid-twenties at least, a full decade too early, and there was a weariness in his eyes that betrayed how much he had seen already. It was very strange to see himself like this, even stranger that the source of most of his anguish was in the very building he stood in right now.

It was about fifteen minutes later that he lowered that source of pain in the same bath he had found such relief in before, and it occurred to Harry how easy it would be now to just hold him under a few seconds too long and flee the house. But he knew that he would never forgive himself for killing someone who had no chance of fighting back and who was still in the delirious state of fever.

He did not thoroughly clean the man, just held him in the water, hoping the caked filth would come loose after Voldemort had been in the water for long enough. He did not wish to touch him any more than necessary. He was thankful for that the water distorted the view a bit, and tried to make waves with his hands to distort it even more. The white, naked flesh was not something he took pleasure in seeing. He averted his eyes once more when he deemed that Voldemort had to be clean enough after a good twenty minutes, instantly wrapping the man up in a musty towel he'd found in a cupboard. He'd only had to brush a couple of spiders off of it. Good as new. He grinned slightly at the thought of what Ron would say about using a towel that had served as a spider nest before.

Voldemort started muttering something, a mixture of Parseltongue and English that was no more than incomprehensible syllables, so Harry made shushing sounds until the other calmed down and snuggled into his chest. ~Nagini, he called out, feeling as if he might go insane after not speaking to anyone again in more than a day.

~I'm here, is master alright? Does he need me?~

~I think he always needs you,~ Harry answered, surprised by how true that sounded. The snake seemed pleased with that answer and slithered up to the both of them, raising the upper half of her body in the air to push her snout against the bundle of cloth.

~You understand much better than that rat,~ she decided. ~I do not know what would have happened if you wouldn't have come here.~ Her words made Harry pause. Initially, he'd come to kill Voldemort, not knowing that the man was ill. Would his nemesis have died on his own if Harry hadn't arrived? Could all of this perhaps be solved if he just... left? And could he live with that thought now that he'd tried to nurture the other back to health? Probably not, if only because of the uncertainty that would forever gnaw at his conscience... Hadn't he rejected this exact line of thought already at the start? What if Voldemort would miraculously survive on his own? What if he would just revive again, somewhere else?

Not that that last option couldn't still happen even if Harry did the deed. He hated that such a large part of his plans would count on luck and speculation. He was only an awkward teenage boy trying to do what was right and failing miserably whenever he was faced with even the slightest inconvenience such as Voldemort's illness, which made him unable to do what was necessary. He lay the bundle on the couch again and left Nagini to take care of it, getting up to find another potion, sincerely hoping that Hedwig would come find him soon so he was not all surrounded by enemies. Nagini might like him now, but that was bound to change fast if he would ever slip up. A precarious position indeed.

Please read and review! Thanks again for all the comments ont he last chapter, they made my day!
The next update should be regular on fridays again after my holiday, so on the 20th :)