After school one day, Harry, upon exiting the school gate, attracted the attention of everyone around. A red convertible Ferrari was parked in front of him, and the car door swung open. To Harry's astonishment, the driver was his father, and his jaw nearly dropped.

"Get in," Voldemort, behind the wheel, was dressed casually in Muggle clothing, looking incredibly elegant, his face as charming as ever.

Harry hurriedly got into the car, taking the passenger seat, still in shock. "You... how do you even know how to drive?"

"Oh, my dear Harry, I know more than you think. Haven't you forgotten I'm almost a hundred years old? Time gives you the opportunity to learn a lot." The man seemed to enjoy Harry's surprise. "Buckle up, Harry."

"I mean, why did you drive here..." Harry began but was interrupted.

"Of course, I came to pick you up after school. Since I'll be accompanying you to the Muggle world, isn't it interesting?" Voldemort steered the wheel with one hand, the car making a turn towards their home. "The pretext for the war is pureblood ideology, that's just deception. You've always known the truth, haven't you? I don't harbor any hatred for Muggles."

"Yeah, you hate all of humanity equally," Harry quipped.

Voldemort seemed to find this quite amusing.

The next day, a classmate asked Harry who had been driving the sports car yesterday, and Harry said it was his father.

Then the rumors started: Harry had gotten himself a sugar daddy.

Classmate: "Harry is such a naughty boy, he even found a sugar daddy."

Harry: ...

Harry thought it might be because his father looked like a young man in his thirties and didn't appear to be of the same generation as Harry... well, he couldn't blame them.

On the following Saturday afternoon, they sat together in a café by the roadside, listening to soft blues music playing in the background. Harry and Voldemort sat on the same side of the table, engrossed in a smartphone.

This was a gift Harry had bought for his father using the money he had earned.

"In recent years, Muggle technology has advanced rapidly, and this is one of the things that have changed the world recently," Harry enthusiastically explained.

"It's good; they've finally gotten rid of all those wires. Muggles can finally carry their phones with them," Voldemort remarked.

"Yeah... and they can also access the internet. Does Father know about the internet?" Harry blinked uncertainly, questioning. The internet was a technology that emerged in the 1970s, and Voldemort seemed to have focused on the wizarding world during that time, ignoring the changes in the Muggle world. Besides, the internet had truly demonstrated its power only in the past decade or so.

If the Death Eaters found out later that the Dark Lord himself was the first among them to use a smartphone and access the internet, Harry wondered how they would react.

These recent days were the happiest time of Harry's life. He thoroughly enjoyed his time with his father; he had always loved him.

At times, Harry was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of guilt. Who was he, after all? He was a sinner. Why was he allowed to enjoy such happiness? Did he deserve it?

But then he would think again, his father's immortality magic was irreversible and flawless; he couldn't be killed anymore. Advising him to end the war was the only way to possibly bring peace. Harry was doing it for the sake of peace; it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? This thought, on many occasions, overwhelmed the overwhelming sense of guilt, allowing him to secretly enjoy it all.

In the following days, they acted just like a typical Muggle family. During the day, Harry went to school, and in the afternoon, the red Ferrari convertible would arrive promptly at the school gate to pick him up.

The tall, handsome man stepped out of the car and asked Harry to take him for a stroll around the Muggle campus. However, they overheard passing students gossiping about them, "Is that really his father? Rumor has it that they have a sugar daddy relationship..."

Worried that Voldemort might take offense, Harry quickly explained, "It's not like that; he's really my father—"

But the person in question had already walked away.

"A sugar daddy? That's not a bad idea, Harry. How about I become your sugar daddy from now on?" Voldemort teased, taking advantage of the situation.

"Ah?" Harry turned suddenly, only to meet his father's amused eyes.

"What's wrong? Are you concerned that I don't have enough wealth to support you or that I haven't given you any candy?" Voldemort inquired.

"Father..." Harry blushed deeply.

"Hey, Harry!" Fortunately, Jess arrived at that moment to rescue the situation. Harry was immensely grateful for Jess's timely intervention.

"Are you Harry's friend? I'm his foster father," Voldemort introduced himself. Harry felt a great relief that he didn't use the sugar daddy notion.

Jess, a wizard who still retained his memories, knew that Harry was from the Potter family. This clarified things for him. "Oh, so you're his foster father. I was wondering; his real father shouldn't be—"

Jess paused when he saw Voldemort, seemingly trying to put his thoughts in order.

"...Have I met you somewhere before?" Jess looked uncertain, studying the man. "No, that can't be. Maybe you are so handsome, just look like some stars..."

Voldemort smirked without confirming or denying anything.

The conversation took an unexpected turn, and Voldemort managed to inquire about the stage play Jess had directed in the past. He even asked for the audio file of the song Harry had recorded, which he stored on the phone Harry had given him.

Harry was internally agonized, wondering why they had to bring up this embarrassing stage play. He hoped his father wouldn't mind the awkwardness.

"So, how does the stage play end?" Voldemort, in a refined manner, asked.

"Oh, don't even mention it. It's all Jennifer's fault. I wanted to stop her, but she insisted on writing it that way—" Jess rambled on, disorganized.

"What did she write?" Harry, who hadn't seen the play at the time, was curious.

"She wrote something outrageous. The Dark Lord confesses his love to the Dark Prince, can you believe it?"

"What?!" Harry's voice drew the attention of passersby.

Harry tried to quickly steer his father away, not wanting these bizarre things to pollute him and risk him becoming angry and murderous. However, when he turned his head, he met his father's eyes, filled with playful intent, and blushed again. In any case, Harry realized that his father didn't seem to be angry, at least Jess wasn't in immediate danger. That was good, he told himself.

"Let's go back now. There's nothing special about an ordinary campus," Harry began. He didn't want his father to ask any more awkward questions, although his father seemed to be reveling in it mysteriously – at least Harry thought he hadn't misread him.

Later, Harry found himself in the passenger seat of the convertible once again, driving back to their temporary residence.

"I really don't understand why they called you a sugar daddy. Maybe it's because you look young and not like my real father..." Harry muttered.

"Or perhaps it's because I look handsome and wealthy. They made the right guess," Voldemort replied without humility. "Don't you think so?"

"Father is, of course, very handsome..." Harry admitted softly, turning to see the sharp lines of his profile. "Like a work of art created by the gods."

"Oh, my Harry, you're handsome as well. Have any young girls or boys confessed to you? I know hormonal teenagers are like that. Back in my Hogwarts days, I was quite the ladies' man, receiving several love letters every week."

"There have been some..." Harry began to say.

"Really? Not surprising. My Harry is exceptional. So, how did you reject them?" Voldemort inquired.

"Well...?" Harry blinked. "Why are you suddenly interested in this?"

"Hmm, if you don't want to say, it's okay," Voldemort replied, but he was secretly pleased. It was almost as if Harry had heard the unspoken words. He felt a little more comfortable, and they continued driving without saying much more.

That evening, Harry nestled on the couch, leaning against his father's shoulder. Voldemort's arm encircled Harry's slender body.

"Sometimes I have the feeling that the war has already ended. If we could just continue like this, it would be wonderful..." Harry murmured.

"Perhaps," Voldemort replied without rejecting or confirming, giving a vague response.

Harry still pondered the possibility of persuading his father to end the war, considering that his father was now immortal and no longer needed it. So Harry cautiously continued, "Father, could you... stay with me and continue living like this?"

"What's wrong with that?" Voldemort replied casually.

"But about the magical world..." Harry tried tentatively.

"Hmm... let's leave that for now. I don't want to discuss it at the moment," Voldemort's tone was somewhat lazy, and the atmosphere remained pleasant. Harry felt that his father was no longer as determined as before.

Perhaps he did have a chance to convince his father to end the war. Harry's heart leaped with excitement, and he couldn't help but smile.

Lord Voldemort used his phone to search online for a list of a hundred things to do on a date, such as cooking together, visiting an amusement park, getting drunk together, or shopping together. He created a To-Do List and efficiently planned their schedule, combining activities that could be done on the same day, like going to the beach and watching the sunset. No detours allowed.

"I brought you flowers," Voldemort handed Harry a bunch of roses.

Harry accepted them with surprise, his eyes shining brightly as he hugged the flowers to his chest, inhaling their fragrant scent.

This was the first time his father had given him a gift, and Harry cherished it. However, he knew that freshly picked flowers wouldn't last long. Harry decided to plant these roses in the outdoor garden bed, using magic to help them take root again, and he even used a watering can to give them a drink (he had initially wanted to use magic, but his father had advised against it, saying he should use magic sparingly due to his damaged magic core). Harry hoped these flowers would stay vibrant and beautiful.

They spent time together, talking about the past, discussing science, and delving into magic. Sometimes Voldemort would ask Harry for his thoughts on certain magical topics, and Harry would carefully share his insights with his father. Harry felt that his father enjoyed these discussions.

One evening, Voldemort announced that he was going to make cheesy baked rice for Harry.

Harry was once again shocked. "What... Father, you can cook?"

"Of course, I can do everything," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. He remembered his years of living alone and traveling extensively when he was young, facing hardships that others couldn't understand.

"I'll help you, and Father has never tasted my cooking before," Harry said, putting aside his homework and following him into the kitchen.

"You can cook too?"

"Well... I used to do household chores when I was younger."

"Younger? But I brought you home when you were only five."

"Yeah, before I was five," Harry said casually, using magic to dice the potatoes.

During this dinner, they lit some candles and enjoyed cheesy baked rice and small cakes. "You're too thin; you should eat more," Voldemort said, pulling out his phone. "The atmosphere is nice; let me play some background music."

Then Harry heard the theme song from the stage play he had sung for.

"Hey—" Harry tried to protest.

"You sang it quite well. I thought you like it."

"Jess made me to do that... I... it's not like I... it's just..."

"Oh, you reminded me. In this stage play, the Dark Lord confesses his love to the adorable Prince. Do you think this could be considered our love theme song?"

Harry wanted to crawl under the table in embarrassment. How did his father manage to discover this?...

Voldemort, on the other hand, found teasing Harry to be quite entertaining. Why hadn't he realized it before?