Hot tears streamed down Harry's face. Riddle was shaking his shoulders, and Tom rubbed circles into his back.

"Shh, shh, what's wrong?" Tom asked him, lightly patting him.

"Did you have a nightmare, angel?" Riddle brushed away his tears.

Harry buried his face into Riddle's chest. He clung to him, digging his nails into his shirt until they ached. Riddle brushed his hands through his hair. Tom hugged him tight around the waist.

"I - I saw - " Harry tried to get out, but his chest was tight.

"What did you see, love?" Tom hummed in his ear.

"Sometimes," Harry managed to catch a breath, "I can see your memories as if they were my own."

Silence. They froze, daring not even to breathe.

"Which one was it? You don't have to say if you don't want to." Riddle spoke softly.

"The… " Harry wasn't sure what to say. "The Morfin memory."

Riddle's hands knitted into his hair. He gripped him hard, not letting Harry move at all. Harry could feel his breath hitch, his breathing abnormal. A flicker of fear sat deep within Harry. He never thought Riddle would hurt him, but would that memory fuel a hidden hatred? Harry felt wetness on the top of his head. Pressed against his chest, Harry strained to listen for anything. The faintest gasps for air could be heard, a little tremble of a whimper, but they were basically inaudible. He recognised it as practised breathing.

A melting feeling filled him. It burned at his chest like his organs had caught fire. He sobbed into Riddle's shirt, the new feeling overwhelming his every sense.

They stayed there, with Harry's crying the sombre song of the night.

"Potter," Voldemort entered the room after his knocks weren't answered

He took a step back as he noticed Potter still snuggled up with his horcruxes. Snuggled up may not be the best word—more like clinging.

Curled together, the older one pulled Potter into his chest. Potter's side was used as a pillow by the younger, his arms belted around his waist. All of their legs were tangled together. Voldemort could hardly see Potter at all.

He sighed.

If time was on his side, he'd leave and pretend he never saw anything. But time was not and he needed him within the hour.

He raised his wand.

Why was this so difficult this time around?

He decided to use a gentle awakening spell on them. It roused them from their slumber, their movements slow and clumsy. The older horcrux stayed wrapped around him even as his eyes blinked open. The younger one raised his head, yawned, and then lowered it.

Voldemort cleared his throat loudly.

Three sets of eyes turned to stare at him. All of them had redness in their eyes. Voldemort stiffened.

"What do you need?" Harry yawned, stretching as the horcruxes released him.

"I've finally set up the ritual to solidify the horcrux within you. The ritual is time-sensitive, and I need you there as soon as possible." Voldemort tried not to look at his horcruxes.

"Okay, okay, do I need to do or wear anything?" Harry shimmied himself out of their grasps.

Voldemort nodded. "I will provide everything. Just come with me."

Harry crawled out of bed while the two horcruxes hesitantly fled into their containers on the desk, disappearing. Harry was led past Voldemort's personal office and bedroom to another room with a white door.

Entering the room, there was a bathtub in the centre of a circle with runes running around the inside and outside, with lines connecting some of them. The white walls were covered top-to-bottom with more runes. Voldemort reached over to a hook behind the door and pulled off a white silk robe.

"Undress and wear this. Preferredably, I'd have you naked, but I presume you would object." He handed it over to Potter.

The boy's cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. Voldemort dismissed himself from the room to let him get dressed. When he finally opened the door, clothes folded in his arms, Voldemort couldn't help but think how small Harry was.

Too thin, even after the month of constant meals.

"I will have Narcissa check you over again so you can get to an average weight. We may need to induce more exercise as well." Voldemort stared at the visible sternum bone that crept through the V-shaped neckline.

"Anything else you find disgusting about my body?" Potter snapped at him. Voldemort was almost surprised at the hostility.

"I did not say it was disgusting. I am merely… concerned for your health." He replied, reaching out and taking his clothes, placing them outside the door.

Potter didn't say anything.

"Now that you are dressed, you will lay in that bathtub. Make sure to get the solution all over you, from toes to hair, and stay as low as possible in it. When there comes a blue flash, you need to go under the solution and hold your breath. It should only last ten seconds."

Voldemort needed him to do exactly that. Without his complete compliance, the ritual would fail. Voldemort didn't know what would happen if it did. He banished the thoughts that intruded.

"I don't have to drink any blood, right?" Harry expressed his optimism.

Voldemort handed him a vial. It was a light orange, slightly pearlescent.

"It only contains a few drops."

It wasn't a complete lie. There were much more than a few drops, but he wanted to ease Potter's mind. He didn't want him to be distressed.

"Great." Potter rolled his eyes, taking the vial.

"You can drink it now, it just makes sure the ritual has more success." Voldemort wasn't sure if he actually needed to, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Potter downed it in one gulp. He bent down and gagged at the floor, but managed to keep the potion down. He looked up, a bit of spit spilling past his lips.

"That was the foulest thing I ever drank." He hissed.

"You can have whatever you want—no alcohol—after." You can choose a reward as well." Voldemort wiped away the spittle with his sleeve.

Voldemort had deliberated for some time on what he should do for Potter's cooperation. The ritual may cause him pain, even if Voldemort did everything in his power to redirect it onto himself. Potter needed something as a treat.

"Get in the tub; I will start the ritual. If anything goes wrong, no matter what you hear, what you see, or what you feel, you must stay in there." Voldemort imposed the gravity. "While you are in there, you are safe."

Potter's face paled. "I understand."

"Good," Voldemort said, nodding. "You can get out once there is a yellow flash and the runes turn blue."

Potter precariously stepped through the maze of runes until he made it to the bathtub. Voldemort sat himself at the main rune on the outer circle. He placed his hands on the red sand that formed the lines and breathed out.

Hope was a fickle thing. Voldemort never hoped for anything. He simply did it, or he failed. There was nothing to hope for because he knew exactly what he could achieve. But this was an act of hope. He didn't know what would happen when he finished the ritual. He hoped it would be the right decision. He hoped.

"Why is the red stuff warm?" Potter asked, lowering himself into the bath tub.

"For your comfort, I assumed that you didn't want it cold?" Voldemort kept control of his breathing. The first line was long, and he needed all the air he could get.

Potter didn't respond, and Voldemort watched as he lowered himself into the bathtub. He disappeared and reappeared with red liquid running down his face.

"What even is this?" Potter asked, examining his hands.

"I will tell you afterwards. Stay quiet. Be still."

Harry Potter was the source of many of his headaches.

Potter stayed silent as Voldemort breathed in a large breath. The words flowed out of him like a river. He practised for hours and hours until he attained perfection. His lungs burned by the time he ended the first line.

Aches covered his body at the second line.

Cold, stabbing pains pricked at his brain at the third line.

Fire courses through his veins as he stated the fourth line.

Blood leaked from slashes in his skin at the fifth line.

Acid burned down his throat at the sixth line.

Ripping, scratching pain plucked at his soul on the seventh.

A strangled scream came from his mouth as his soul reached out. Panic flew through his mind, but pain was all he could think of. He tried to hide it under occlumency shields, but he could feel them buckle under the power of the magic.

The pain slowly dissipated. He collapsed onto the ground as soon as his blurry eyes could see the runes turn blue—the ritual was complete. His breath came out shallow, and he could still feel the fire progressing through his body. No longer contained in his blood, it bubbled to the surface of his skin.

"Voldemort?" Called Potter. Voldemort's ears rang.

"Voldemort?" Steps.

Potter turned him onto his back. He still dripped red, some of the droplets getting onto Voldemort's face. Voldemort didn't even flinch.

"Voldemort? What do I do?" Potter waved his hand in front of Voldemort's face.

Voldemort found his mouth unable to form the words. He just groaned, flipping onto his side and curling up into a ball of misery. Potter shook his shoulder. Voldemort could hear the constant repetition of his name but couldn't respond.

He laid there for a minute while Potter simply fretted over him. He heard his house-elf being called, but she similarly didn't know what to do.

"I'm going to get you to your room. Can you try to walk? I can help. I can. With a bit of magic I can." Potter's voice grew in pitch and speed as he talked.

Voldemort muttered a short, "Yes."

His ego took a massive blow as he had to be hauled up and swing an arm around Potter's shoulders. Voldemort leaned on Potter, almost crushing him. Potter hissed a spell, and Voldemort could feel himself become lighter.

Wandless, Voldemort noted.

They slowly crept to Voldemort's room. Potter tried to hurry them along, but at one point he paused and continued at a more reasonable pace. He tried to open Voldemort's door, but it was locked.

"Amaranth." Voldemort hissed.

The door clicked.

Potter struggled to open the door. He staggered into the room, his strength likely diminishing. Voldemort surveyed his room to make sure nothing was moved as Harry dragged him to his four-poster bed.

He was laid on silken green sheets. Voldemort fought the urge to curl up again but instead clenched his hands. Not that it did much; he could barely muster the energy to do anything.

Potter paced around, constantly glancing back at him. He called for Pipskey once again.

"Here, you're a bit hot right now." Potter placed a cold cloth over Voldemort's forehead. It did soothe the fire inside him, just a bit. He could think a little clearer now.

"Pain reliver. Fever reducer. Energizer." Voldemort managed to get out.

Pipskey retrieved the potions. Potter had to help him sit up in order to take them. The combination of all of them was vile, but the energy slowly started to seep back into his bones, and everything became clearer.

A fretting type of emotion that tore at his chest and made his heart race consumed him.

That's what he felt. No, it wasn't him feeling it. It was different. Like it was coming from the outside. Voldemort glanced at Potter's contorted face, and it clicked.

Voldemort could sense Potter's emotions.

The idea made him uncomfortable. He couldn't manage his newfound emotions; how was he going to manage another person's? Anytime Potter felt something, it would bounce back to him.

What if he was in pain?

Voldemort didn't want to think about the random bouts of second-hand pain that could appear at any time. It would be disastrous to start writhing during a raid or a meeting. Potter needed to be guarded at all times.

But Potter would hate that.

And that hatred would return to him. Voldemort almost wanted to scoff. Now he had to manage someone's emotional wellbeing. Potter's happiness—whether he liked it or not—would be his top priority.

He was good at manipulating someone's emotions. But Potter's would have to be long-term, which he hadn't done before. The longest had been his Hogwarts years, and a little after that, while he worked in retail.

Voldemort would have to genuinely try to make him happy.

"Do you feel better?" Potter's voice cracked.

"Yes," He responded. Harry sighed, and the tightness in their connection faded.

"Do you need anything else? Food? Water? Do you need to be moved? Ah, you have cuts. Would you like a potion? A salve? Bandages?" Potter rambled on, pacing again.

"There is a shelf in the bathroom. Grab a set of clothes. They are pyjamas, and I would like to change into clean clothes before I sleep." Voldemort gestured to the door opposite the bed. "I can bandage my arms on my own."

"Okay, okay. I'll do that." Potter assured him.

It was an awkward matter getting dressed.

Voldemort shook too much to button his shirt and needed Potter to do it for him. It was humiliating to need help with such a simple task. But Potter did not feel anything in that moment aside from a tightness in his chest that Voldemort couldn't place.

He tried to bandage himself, but his arms were shaking and too weak to pull them tight. Potter took over without another word, carefully applying salve over the clean cuts, then wrapping them tightly.

Potter even had to help him with his shirt. Voldemort was unable to properly shove his arms through the shirt holes and needed Potter to tug them through. Though he felt nothing but tightness in his chest. He wouldn't know what to do if Potter pitied him.

He had to muster all his strength to put on his bottoms by himself.

"Thank you," Voldemort said through clenched teeth.

"No problem, did you need anything else?" Potter knelt down to his level, green eyes glistening.

"No," Voldemort sighed. "I just want to sleep."

"Okay, I'll check up on you in a few hours and see if you're still hot." Potter rose from his position and walked out of the room, looking back once more before leaving.

Harry attended to Voldemort for the next few days. The man was feverish, practically burning from the inside out, and had a plethora of pain relievers shoved down his throat. But he gradually became better under Harry's constant supervision.

It was odd to see the Dark Lord in such a weakened state. Riddle assured him that making a horocrux made him sick for a short period of time. The degree of his sickness was higher, but they theorized that it was the re-opening of the wound on the soul to establish the connection that did it in.

There was the bonus that it no longer hurt when they were in contact for a long period of time. Harry tested it out one day by holding Voldemort's hand while he slept. The electricity travelled past his scar, but instead of the agonising pain, there was warmth that calmed him to his core.

Tom and Riddle provided great support during that time. They showered him with plenty of cuddles and kisses. In the meantime, Harry received training lessons from Tiberus. Though the lessons were often interrupted by Harry's anxiety surrounding Voldemort,

He entertained him during the day and watched over him at night. The other horcruxes grew concerned for both of them, but Harry insisted he had it covered.

Harry needed to return the favour, after all.

" Amaranth the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, right?" Harry asked one day.

Voldemort glanced over at him, the cloth falling from his forehead. "Yes, she was." Voldemort answered.

Harry replaced the wet cloth on Voldemort with a new one. Voldemort shivered, his relief flooding over their connection. Harry smiled at him, his touch lingering.

"I'm sorry about her. Kinda stabbed her in the face." Harry apologised.

"It's nothing. I understand she was trying to kill you." Voldemort waved him off. He paused, then looked in him directly in the eye. "How did you and the diary… make up?"

Harry's face grew red.

"Well, uh, he extended the olive branch first. I'm not sure what changed with him, but he was a lot nicer after I murdered him. Tom comforted me, even if I couldn't see him, at night at the Dursleys. He was the one that administered the potions to me and helped me heal." Harry tried to avoid directly talking about how Tom comforted him.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "He allows you to call him Tom?"

"Yeah," Harry looked away, "He didn't mind, and the ring horcrux asks that I call him Riddle, so we don't get confused."

"How did… that happen?" Voldemort, too, seemed to be avoiding what he wanted to say.

"Well…" Harry tried to think of a way to say it: "Tom put in a good word for me, and Riddle thought that the siphoning method was effective and joined us."

Harry was aware that his situation was unusual, but he chose to accept it as such.

"Do you view them as separate people?" Voldemort turned to his side, facing Harry.

Harry answered immediately, "Yeah. I mean, I know they share most of the same memories and all, but they're different. Riddle's a lot more forward and will directly ask me to do something, while Tom will ask me in a roundabout way or will be softer while asking."

Voldemort held a pensive expression. "I see."

Silence.

"Do you want to know what happened when I blew up Aunt Marge?" Harry asked, trying to break the stillness.

"Yes," Voldemort replied, pulling the covers up to his chin and listening intently.

The day Voldemort was strong enough to use magic again, he asked the question.

"What do you want as a reward?" Voldemort stabbed his eggs.

Harry bit his lip.

"I - it I can - I would like to go out." Voldemort opened his mouth, his expression disappointed. "It doesn't need to be anywhere magical."

Voldemort closed his mouth, and had a pensive look about him.

"Would you be okay with muggle London?" He inquired, his gaze fixed on him.

"Yeah. I would be." Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Sure, he was happy to have Tom and Riddle, and even Tiberius and Voldemort, but he wanted to walk around. To wander around in an area.

"I will accompany you. I know just the place, if you don't have a certain place in mind." Voldemort had an almost fond smile on his face.

"I'd love to go." Harry was about to request that they go somewhere with a food court, but he couldn't turn off Voldemort's small light.

"Brilliant, let's go tomorrow."

Both under heavy glamours, they apparated to muggle London. Harry heaved at the floor but regained his composure quickly.

Tall, old buildings were all around them. The streets were narrow, and shops were peppered between people's homes. Even with everything depressingly grey, he could feel the bustling energy in the area. Harry looked to Voldemort expentantly.

"I discovered this little hole-in-the-wall when I was a teenager. It's still active and alive, even now. I still visit occasionally." Voldemort gestured to the alley.

"It reminds me of Diagon." Harry said as they began to walk. "I feel the same."

Harry could feel the nostalgia that dripped from their connection. He could no longer just feel Voldemort's anger but also his small scraps of joy. It wasn't too often, but he could sense it.

"We can go shopping, eat, or just walk around. Whatever you want, we can do." Voldemort flashed him a thick stack of paper notes. Harry's eyes grew wide; he had never seen that much muggle money in one place before.

"Shopping first." Harry was already pulling Voldemort into a store.

Amusement bled through their connection.

Harry bounded around the clothing shop. It was small but filled with hand-printed shirts, coats, jeans, purses, and so many other little items. Harry found a knitted red scarf with grey stripes running through it and tassels at the end and decided it would be his.

A stylish beige overcoat made its way into the cart. As well as a green shirt that had mountains on it and a red flannel. He excitedly made his way to the checkout.

The next shop was a charity shop. It had many odds and ends, but Harry scavenged for something to get. He found a mostly new black leather messenger bag with many pockets on the front and inside. With some enchantments, it should be perfect.

Voldemort had an extra spring in his step as he entered the next store. An ancient-looking stationary store with many different journaling supplies. The wallpaper was extremely outdated and faded, but the supplies looked new.

Harry was left to his own devices as Voldemort toured the shop as well. Harry went a bit overboard and filled his basket with sticky notes, binders, gel pens, and whatever else he couldn't get at Hogwarts. Honestly, they needed to have more organisation materials, even if he wouldn't have used them. But this time he would.

"P - Harry?" Voldemort glanced around the shop.

"Yeah?" Harry bounded to him.

In his hands was a familiar black journal with golden edges. The front was bare; there was no name. But a sign by the other piles of multi-coloured books said, "Personalised Journals". Voldemort looked down at the book, almost fondly.

"I got my diary from this shop. I am surprised to find that they still sell them." He touched the cover fondly.

"Do you think your, uh, other halves would want one? I kind of destroyed one." Harry cringed, not knowing how to refer to Tom and Riddle without saying "horcrux."

"Perhaps. What would they write in them?" Voldemort reluctantly sat down the journal.

"Their feelings?" Harry shrugged. Voldemort scoffed.

Harry ignored him and grabbed a green and grey journal. He paused, then grabbed a red one. He stepped away, but stopped.

"Y'know, you also lost a diary. I don't think he'd feel betrayed if you got another one." Harry walked away, letting Voldemort ruminate on his thoughts.

Harry tossed a rainbow of coloured and scented inks into his basket. Combing around the store, he finally rediscovered Voldemort, still staring at the journals. The man picked up a brown one and nodded to himself.

"Hey!" Harry almost said Voldemort's name, but stopped himself. "I'm done if you are."

Voldemort sighed. "I am finished."

The young woman behind the counter scanned their items. "Would you like to personalise these journals?"

Harry looked at Voldemort. Voldemort nodded.

"Er, yes." Harry's mind flew.

"One moment, let me gather my supplies." The salesperson disappeared behind a door.

Voldemort hissed lowly, "You can put your name on them. There are no magicals around; I just checked."

"Thanks."

Harry J Potter was foiled with gold on the red journal, Tom on the grey one, Riddle on the green one, and Voldemort on the brown one. Harry's eyes bulged at the total for all of them, but Voldemort didn't flinch as he forked over the notes. Stationary was expensive.

"Let's get food." Harry tugged Voldemort along as he gathered shopping bags.

"Hm," Voldemort observed, "there's a diner there, ice cream down the road...

They ate quickly as they were both hungry and stopped to get ice cream. They toured more stores but didn't get much else.

"Have you done what you wanted to do?" Voldemort asked, guiding him to the back of the alley.

"Yeah. Does that mean we're leaving?" Though he wanted to run back and give Tom and Riddle their gifts, he also liked the bustle of the city.

"No. I want to go to one more place before we go." Voldemort spoke softer this time.

They wound their way until they reached almost the end of the alley. They took an abrupt turn into what looked like a first-floor apartment. A bell rang as Voldemort opened the door for him.

Before him was a nail salon. There were seats for pedicures with a soaking basin and three desks with lights for manicures. Bottles of nail polish covered the walls on clear shelves. An ancient-looking old woman sat by the check-out.

"Hello, Tom. Back again?" She got up from her chair and hobbled over to them.

"Yes, I brought… another person." Voldemort gestured to Harry.

"Ah. A son? A son-in-law? A spouse? Someone else?" She interrogated them, waving them over to the manicure stations.

"Hm, an acquaintance." Voldemort settled on.

Harry hummed, content with his answer.

"I see, I see. Do you want a colour? Something blue? Red?" She waved at the shelves.

Voldemort looked at Harry expectantly.

"Erm," Harry really didn't want any colours. "Something light? I'm not looking for anything bold."

Voldemort cracked a smile. "I normally do a milky white, number 002, Adeline."

"Ah, can't convince you to make a statement?" Adeline laughed, pulling out a mostly unused bottle of a white polish.

"Um, I'll do the same?" Harry honestly didn't know what he was talking about.

Voldemort nodded and sat in one of the chairs. Harry hesitantly sat in the one next to him. She busted out many different sharp tools that looked more like torture devices than something to use on nails. Nail files, some with pointed ends, were also placed on the desk.

Adeline flipped on the light. "The usual? Nothing special?"

Voldemort thought about it for a second. "The usual."

Adeline shook her head and grinned. She began to sort her tools and started by wiping a wet cotton ball over his fingers.

"When I was young," Voldemort began, "My nailbeds were half-crushed in an…incident. No potions were working, and it happened just as I got back from Hogwarts. They grew to crack, peel, and bleed."

"Adeline saw me and offered to fix them, free of charge. She carefully filed down and removed the dead pieces, then placed a layer of nail enamel over them to protect them while they healed. I've been seeing her ever since." He finished, hissing.

Harry pondered his story for a second. The comfortable silence sat still in the air.

"Does she know you're…" Harry hissed back.

"No. She believes me to be a demon. I will continue to let her think that." He hissed lowly. "She will most likely think you are as well."

"Why is she so nice then?" Harry watched, in horror, as she clipped away the stray skin around his cuticle.

"Would you be cruel to a demon?" Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Maybe she believes in karma. I do not care enough to investigate."

Harry nodded; it made sense. He watched as Adeline clipped, filed, and then painted a layer of nail polish on Voldemort. It hardly looked like polish, only making the nail look a little cleaner, and it reflected a little bit of light.

"Now you." She rolled her chair over to Harry.

Harry watched, helpless, as she brought her sharp instruments over to him.

Adeline quickly wiped his hand with a strange liquid and waited only a second before moving again. She brought a curved spatula closer to his nails, and he drew back ever so slightly. Adeline forcefully pulled his hand back and began to scrape at his nailbed. He couldn't escape.

Voldemort lightly nudged his shoulder with his shoulder. He gave an encouraging look. Harry stayed pressed against Voldemort, letting the warm electricity overcome him.

Adeline was over sooner than he realised. Another coat of paint was added to both of them. Just when Harry thought it was over, Voldemort spoke.

"Pedicure time!" Voldemort said it excitedly.

Harry sighed.

The pedicure went better than the manicure. They began by soaking their feet in warm water, which was relaxing, to say the least. She rubbed a rough scrub on their legs that left Harry feeling clean.

When she brought out the sharp tools again, Voldemort held his hand to further calm him. Again, she coated them with the milky-white polish.

They stayed after their pedicure. Voldemort let Adeline gossip with him, and Voldemort, in turn, gossiped back. He altered some of the details and names, as well as the lack of magic. But Harry could connect the dots nonetheless.

As soon as another customer entered the room, she shooed them out. Voldemort maintained a slight smile on his face as they left.

Voldemort offered his arm.

"Do you have a swimsuit?" Voldemort asked as Harry took his hand.

"Yeah. Why?" Harry asked.

A sly smile stretched across Voldemort's face.

"No reason."

Soon after landing back at the manor, Harry returned to his room with Voldemort trailing behind him. Harry had to "wake up" both of them.

Harry handed both of them their wrapped presents. He wasn't sure if they would like them, but if they had gotten them once, surely they'd like them again? He hoped. Voldemort sat his bags on the floor and watched the group with interest.

Tom and Riddle unwrapped their gifts carefully. They smirked at the names on the front.

"I kind of damaged yours, so take it as a gift of redemption?" Harry said it awkwardly.

Tom merely patted him on the head. "No hard feelings."

"None at all." Riddle continued.

"Oh! And these as well!" Harry dug around until he found the other packages.

They were both slow with undoing the twine around the packages. They lit up at the sight, and they had a nostalgic expressions on their faces.

"I envied these when I was younger." Tom held up the scented, multi-coloured inks.

"By the time I could afford it, it was too childish to use." Riddle complained, miffed. He examined the calligraphy pens.

Harry smiled. "Well, now you have it. And it's not childish."

Tom drew closer to Harry and kissed him on the cheek. Riddle was more forceful, tilting Harry's face up and firmly pressing their lips together. Harry waited a moment, savouring it, before stepping away.

The door loudly shut behind them.

"Whoops."

Harry: Omg are you okay?
Voldemort, slowly dying inside: Yep.
Harry: It's okay I take care of you 3

Voldemort: Mani Pedis
Harry: (is terrified)

Harry: gifts 4 u
Tom and Riddle: Kisses, my beloved
Voldemort: (slams door)