Chapter Text
Harry was surprised to find that Voldemort actually stayed in the house when autumn approached.
He had left for London and work, and his real life, had kept him away for a month. He had somewhat expected Voldemort to disappear in time, using the money Harry had left him, combined with whatever he could manage to steal.
As it turned out, Voldemort had stayed.
It shouldn’t be such a surprise seeing as you control his access to his magic, a voice whispered in his head. That was true, and if there was one thing Harry had learned about Voldemort, it was that he would do almost anything to gain something he wanted. Like access to his magic. That, apparently, Included letting Harry hurt him.
He had felt a bit wary about returning to the house. The latest development and Voldemort’s change of behaviour had given him the feeling that he might not be as in control as he would want to. He could alway subdue Voldemort with magic if necessary, so it was not his own safety he was afraid of.
In the end curiosity won out and he returned one evening. He wondered what Voldemort was up to now that he had freedom to come and go as he pleased.
As he entered the house he saw that it looked impeccable from what he could see from the hallway. There was no sign of dust anywhere. Everything seemed tidy and organized. Apparently Voldemort wasn’t the worst housekeep in the world. Then again, was the man bad at anything?
The sound of soft music from the living room drew Harry and when he stopped in the doorway he saw Voldemort, on the floor with a book. The fireplace was burning and there was a glass of wine on the floor beside him. He was sitting on a large pillow that seemed to have been pulled from one of the couches.
In theory the man could have been seated on the couch and moved down into the floor when he heard footsteps in the hallway, but something about the way Voldemort was lounging on the floor gave Harry the impression that it wasn’t so. Interesting. That ment he had chosen to use the floor even if Harry wasn’t there.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps and, as he noticed Harry, he gave a polite bow of his head. “Mr. Potter.”
Harry almost snapped at him to kneel simply because he knew it would annoy the man but he held back. There was no reason. Voldemort was behaving perfectly and there was no reason for Harry to get his blood pressure up and become nasty.
“I haven’t made dinner yet,” Voldemort continued, “but I was planning on salmon, unless you would like something else?”
He was hungry. It had been a long day and he had left work late, not bothering to stop by home before coming to Ireland. “Salmon is fine, thank you,” he said and tried to hide a yawn.
The last weeks had been terribly busy and sleep had not been easy to find. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but here in Ireland with Voldemort and nothing pressing to do, he felt it. The exhaustion that pulled at him. How tired he really was.
Voldemort tilted his head slightly. His eyes moved over Harry before settling on his face. “You look tired. Would you like some tea or a glass of wine?”
Both sounded good, Harry thought and put his briefcase down by the floor. “Tea, please,” he said and settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.
Voldemort nodded and rose. He took his own glass with him and returned some minutes later with a cup of tea for Harry and wine for himself. He settled back down on the floor and picked up his book.
“Thank you,” Harry muttered absentmindedly.
It was strange. Sitting there with Voldemort. Drinking tea in a house far away from England. Almost homely.
“Everything okay here?” He asked. .
Voldemort glanced up and gave him a small smile. “Yes, I believe so. Unless you see something to complain about?”
For all Harry knew the rest of the house looked terrible but he doubted that. “I am sure everything is in order,” he said with a sigh and blew at his tea.
“Good,” Voldemort said.
They sat like that for a while until Voldemort looked at the clock and rose. “Excuse me. I will call when the dinner is ready.” He gave a polite nod of his head and left Harry feeling slightly of kilter.
He drank the tea and lost himself in his thoughts for a while, trying to sort through the week that had gone by. At some point Voldemort’s voice called him back into the real world.
As he entered the kitchen Voldemort made a gesture towards the table and looked at him. “Do you mind?” he asked.
It took Harry some seconds to understand the question.
Voldemort was politely asking if it would be okay for the two of them to eat together, or if Harry would prefer to eat alone as the master of the house. The whole thing was really becoming more and more surreal.
“Sit,” he said and waved a hand towards the table.
That earned him another polite nod before the man turned and put the food on the table.
Harry sat and pulled the plate towards him. It looked good, and smelled even better.
“Thank you,” he said as he picked up the knife and fork.
The food tasted as good as it looked. Who would have thought the dark lord would turn out to be such a culinary talent?
“Everything well in London?” Voldemort asked, taking small bites of the fish.
It was the first time he had ever asked about their world back in England. Harry had not cancelled the subscription to the Daily Prophet and as such Voldemort knew a bit about what was going on in their world. At least the things the newspaper reported on. The quality of the paper could, of course, be discussed.
“There is no war at least,” Harry said, sarcastically.
Voldemort smiled, but it seemed a bit forced. “I can imagine that is a relief.”
Harry found himself taking pity on him. “Hogwarts has been rebuilt and the Ministry is back in working order. Everything is mostly back to its old self. There are a couple of vacant seats at the inherited side of the Wizengamoth, due to the current heads of houses being followers of yours and as such several of them are imprisoned.”
“Malfoy?” Voldemort asked and there was a flicker of anger in his eyes.
“Got off scott free.”
That seemed to make Voldemort angry. His hands tightened around the cutlery and he drew in a deep breath a couple of times before being able to loosen his hold.
“Of course he did,” the man muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Just like he did the last time.”
Harry waited to see if he wanted to ask more about the war, but Voldemort concentrated on eating.
“How are the days here?” He asked, feeling foolish the moment the question was out of his mouth.
Voldemort gave him a look. “Better than they used to,” he said flatly.
Yeah, that had been a really stupid question.
Silence fell over the table.
“I am sorry,” Voldemort said with a sigh and Harry almost choked on his food. Was the man apologising?
The man continued. “I have been into the village a couple times. The people are friendly but the Auror keeps watching me.” The tone implied that he was almost insulted at being watched like some common criminal.
“I imagine having a presumed Death Eater here makes him a bit more vigilant,” Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the thought of the insane scheme Voldemort had concocted about his own situation. He shook his head in amusement.
“Still,” Voldemort muttered.
“They did catch you stealing,” Harry reminded him, which earned him a glare.
Voldemort dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Simply bad luck.”
That made Harry wonder as to how Voldemort had been making due in the three weeks he had been away, before he had been dragged back to Harry.
***
Harry was surprised to find that a letter had been delivered to the house the muggle way. It had been pushed through the letter opening in the main door and was laying the floor inside.
There had never been a letter delivered in all the time Harry had owned the house.
Frowning, he picked up the innocent looking envelope. It was addressed to Harry Miller. The fake name Voldemort had given.
Getting curious he broke the glue that held it together and peered inside. What in the world?
He pulled out the check and looked at it. It was a paycheck for work done for the local bookshop. It was written out in Harry’s fake name. Only Harry had never worked a day in his life at the bookstore.
But, of course, someone else might have.
Turning he headed towards the living room.
“Voldemort!” He called, looking around. He knew the man was in the house, just not exactly where. He called again, this time letting his annoyance at being left waiting into his voice.
Voldemort appeared in the doorway, a book in his hand. “You called,” he said sarcastically. At the annoyed look on Harry’s face however he dropped his eyes.
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you like to explain why I, or rather you, have received a paycheck from the local bookstore?”
What looked like something, Harry wasn’t sure, passed over Voldemort’s face.
“Ah. Well, the nice lady who owns the store offered me a part time job if I wanted it. It is mostly organising the store. A couple of hours one day a week.”
Harry blinked in confusion. “You got a job? In a muggle store?”
In front of him Voldemort shrugged and crossed his arms. “I have worked in a shop before. I like books.”
Harry opened his mouth but couldn’t quite figure out how to address the current turn of events.
“Don't the muggles require some sort of paper on people working in their store? And didn’t you tell the whole of the village that you are a slave?” Or had Harry misunderstood the Auror?
Voldemort shifted and Harry got the sense that he didn’t want to answer. “Yes.”
For Merlin’s sake. “And how did you get around that little detail?”
“She wanted a written permission from you.”
“Which I haven’t given so again, how?”
More shifting.
“You might have done so,” it came in the end.
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “For the third time, how?”
“I might have faked a signature on a permission slip.”
“What?!”
Voldemort held up both his hands, palm towards Harry, in a calming manner. “It really wasn’t faking. I used your fake name, not your real one.”
“You faked a signature of my fake name?” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. That was a very Slytherin way of looking at things.
“Yes.” Voldemort didn’t look too happy about the admission.
Harry closed his eyes. Merlin. It was like having a teenager.
“Why?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his still closed eyes.
“She would let me work unless you, the master, agreed.”
“That I get,” Harry said, opening his eyes. “I mean, why did you want to work in a shop?”
Another shrug. “I like it. It helps fill up the days.”
Who would have thought, the dark lord enjoyed working in a shop. Still, that didn’t settle the part about Voldemort faking his albeit fake signature, but still.
He sighed. “Fine.”
Voldemort eyed him. “Fine?” he repeated, looking sceptical.
“Yes,” Harry nodded. “If you want to work then by all means. I’ll cash the check and give you the money.”
“Just like that?” The voice gave away the suspicion the man was apparently feeling.
“Yes, but you are grounded for a week for faking my signature.”
Voldemort blinked owlish at him. “Grounded?” He repeated, uncertain.
“Confined to your room,” Harry clarified. He assumed that perhaps grounding had not been a part of Voldemort’s childhood. “Without books,” he added, looking pointily at the book in Voldemort’s hand.
“What?” Incredibility this time.
“It is a punishment, pet.”
Voldemort looked like he had a problem understanding what Harry was telling him. “I am not spending a week locked up in my room,” he snarled.
Harry shrugged.
“Fine, then I can give you ten lashes and we are done. You are not getting away with this. I don’t care if you faked a signature of a fake name. You either accept the punishment or you know where the door is.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Voldemort.
The man seemed torn between his pride and the want to stay. Harry just waited. Voldemort was the one to put himself into the whole mess and now he could either deal with the consequences or leave.
A part of Harry feared that Voldemort’s pride would win and that he would leave, but he couldn’t take back the ultimatum now. Another part wondered if this was the right thing to do. Forcing him to accept a punishment in order to stay.
I have to, otherwise he will walk all over me, he thought to himself. Ever since that night, everything had been tilted on its head and he had not felt less in control than he did at the moment. Voldemort knew Harry was not going to torture or rape him, but that didn’t mean that he could, or would, let Voldemort do whatever he pleased. There had to be some boundaries and rules.
Voldemort could simply have asked Harry for his permission if he wanted to work at the shop that badly. Instead of going behind Harry’s back.
After what felt like forever, Voldemort’s shoulders sagged. “Fine. I take the punishment,” he spat bitterly.
Harry nodded. “Good. Which one?”
Voldemort glanced away before looking back. When he did he swallowed hard. “I’ll take the lashes.”
That was a surprise, Harry thought. He had assumed that after so many years in isolation, a week would be nothing for Voldemort. Well, in for a penny in for a pound as the saying went.
He walked over to the wall and beckoned for Voldemort to follow. “Kneel.”
Voldemort hesitated and Harry half expected him to back out of the deal but he did come and he did kneel. The movement was a bit forced but still.
“Take off the sweater,” Harry instructed and conjured up a long riding crop. It would be effective but would not inflict too much pain. This was meant to be a punishment and not torture.
Voldemort did as told and put the sweater on the floor beside him.
“Hands,” Harry said and when Voldemort lifted both hands, he took them and used magic to chain them to the wall. He felt an urge to stroke his hand through Voldemort’s hair but managed to refrain.
“Ten lashes. I expect you to count them.”
Voldemort gave a tense nod. “Yes, sir.”
Harry began slowly by stroking the whip up and down the skin of his back. “Try and relax a bit. It will hurt less.”
Then he lightly tapped the whip up and down the back with small swats to warm the skin. It would make the whole thing easier. He increased the pressure slowly.
“Ready?” He asked.
Another nod.
He raised his hand and let the whip land. Hard, but not hard enough to break the skin. He was in no way putting all of his strength behind the hit.
Voldemort ducked his head and breathed in hard. “One,” he said.
“Two.” This time through gritted teeth.
Harry didn’t bother wasting time and quickly delivered the other eight blows.
The skin in front of him showed a criss cross of stripes but he had not broken the skin. The pain would linger for a while but there would be no scars.
“Ten,” Voldemort said, his tone breathless.
Harry vanished the whip and released the bonds holding Voldemort’s hands. They fell down into the man’s lap. There was a light shine of sweat on the body and Voldemort was breathing a bit on the hard side.
“Easy,” Harry said and let his hand slide through the dark hair. “You did good, pet.”
“Not requiring an apology as well?” Voldemort muttered and reached for his sweater.
“You did your punishment, that is enough,” Harry said with a sigh. “Why didn’t you just ask me for the permission slip?”
Voldemort looked up at him as he pulled the sweater over his head. “Would you have said yes?”
Harry shrugged. “I said I would go along with this scheme of yours, so if this was something you wanted to do then yes.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “I am used to having to take what I want.”
That was a surprisingly honest answer Harry thought surprised.
Silence fell between them until Harry spoke. “Why don’t you take half an hour and then come down for dinner. I’ll cook.”