Chapter 4

"Tell me, Harry, what do you know of Horcruxes?" Voldemort murmured almost seductively.

"Come again?" Harry almost did a double-take there. "Horror-what?"

"Potter, did you wash your ears just now?" Voldemort growled annoyed. "Or is it purposeful – twisting my words the funny way? Because I want to remind you, it is very serious issue. Live or die situation. And that's not me who could be dying, I want to remind you."

Harry shook his head.

"It's the first time I am hearing this word."

Voldemort looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at that. He sighed exasperated.

"It is highly advanced and the Darkest magic of them all – the Horcruxes. It's banned, of course. Almost forgotten, too. In simple terms, the Horcrux is the piece of one's soul, enclosed in an object for safe keeping, ensuring the immortality of the owner of that soul. Even if one's body is destroyed, his soul lives on in that object and serves as a means for resurrection, should the owner of the soul cease to exist."

Harry frowned pensively.

"What this has to do with - ?"

"To split one's soul in order to create a Horcrux one should perform a special ritual, but the main point is to kill, as killing splits one's soul anyway."

"I still don't understand -"

"You are my Horcrux, Harry."

"Wha-what?!"

"Fifteen years ago I've killed your parents. I'm afraid, this kill allowed me to involuntarily, accidentally create a Horcrux out of you. The ritual demands one to be on the edge, life-wise. To be almost dead. That night my own Killing Curse rebounded off of your mother's shield, almost killing me. If not for you -"

"It's rubbish! It can't be! I am not an object!"

"Is it the only reason for your denial? I can assure you living beings are perfectly fit to be Horcruxes as well. This can be proved by both you and my snake familiar, Nagini, as she is yet another Horcrux."

"Another? How many did you make?"

"In your own words, that's none of your business, Harry," Voldemort smirked in satisfaction.

"Are you sure it is safe to tell me about your snake being this Horror- Horcrux?"

Voldemort snorted.

"You don't seriously think I will let you go, now that you are here and I know what are you to me?"

Harry shrugged.

"Never hurts to try. So, what's now? You're going to wrap me up in cotton and hold to your chest, so that I won't shatter, thus ruining your soul-piece?"

Voldemort scowled.

"I should punish you for your cheek," he muttered darkly.

But Harry thought, that he'd hit the bull eye there, rightly guessing the Dark Lord's plan for himself.

"I don't think I'll agree to this, you know. I don't fancy being treated like a piece of furniture again, thank you very much!" Harry narrowed his eyes. "And I am not into this "let's kill all the muggles and mudbloods" stuff either, so don't bother dragging me into your ranks as well."

"Who said anything about 'dragging you into my ranks'?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "And nobody asked what you 'fancy' here, Potter, it is not a matter of choice."

"Choice?" Harry snorted bitterly. "What is it? Never heard of this thing. Everyone just assumes I am their bloody mercenary, or their treasure or whatever!" Harry pointed accusing finger to Voldemort's chest. "You are going to put me in your treasure box, are you not? Dumbledore wants me to fight for their stupid Order of the Blasted Ostrich! I had never had any choice!"

Voldemort spared him with another calculating stare.

"And what would you choose, given the chance? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Harry gave a shrug in response.

"Never had time to think either. Don't know. Maybe Quidditch, or teaching DADA at some school, Hogwarts or maybe even Durmstrang. Don't think I'd go to Beauxbatons, this Veela business is kind of freaky."

"Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Durmstrang? Hmm, that would be entertaining," Voldemort chuckled. "You do know, they specialize in the Dark Arts themselves?"

Harry snickered.

"You're right, I didn't think of that. But anyway this sounds like fun – teaching at Durmstrang! Maybe I can learn some Dark Arts to later teach it there, eh?"

"Are you not averse to the idea of the Dark magic?" Voldemort sounded genuinely interested. "With you being the Golden Boy -"

"But that's the thing! I am not! They never questioned, remember? Never asked how I feel about the Light or Dark -"

"And how do you feel about them?" the Dark Lord inquired suavely.

"Again, I don't know. Hadn't had the opportunity to look into it, or even to think over properly," Harry responded nonchalantly.

"Hmm. I'll see what I can do about it."

"Eh? Hadn't you just now given me no choice?"

"Potter! Knowledge is power! You may not act upon it at times, but it can be of use, nevertheless."

"Isn't it like secret motto of Slytherins or something?" Harry snorted. "Know thy enemy, eh?"

"That too. Though I'd advise against using it to fight me," Voldemort smirked. "I have more than sixty years on you, in terms of experience and time for learning."

"You don't look like this," Harry noted. "By the way, I remember last seeing you all snake-like just recently. How did you manage to become human again?"

"Ah, Harry, I was always human – to a degree, of course." Voldemort smiled sweetly.

"That's not what I meant! I've seen you at the Department of Mysteries: all pale, bold and with snake features. And now you're absolutely normal. Well, except for your eyes. And you look way too young for your age. How old are you, again? Seventy? Eighty?"

"Potter, wizards age differently from muggles. And we have way more harmless means for sustaining our bodies in fit form. Not counting such extremes as Horcruxes, I mean."

"Magic can do that?! But what about Dumbledore? He looks like grand-grandfather! And he shouldn't be too much older than you, no?"

Voldemort shrugged.

"Beats me. When he was my Transfiguration teacher, he looked around fifty. Should be around hundred-something now, judging by that. Quite possibly he dabbed in some of the more Dark magic rituals at his times to age so visibly."

"Dumbledore? Dark magic?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Why not? He is not averse to hypocrisy. Waving the banners of Light and meddle with the Dark magic is usual of him."

"Do you have proof?" Harry questioned with curiosity. "About the Dark magic, I mean. He is definitely the bearer of the Light banners, that's true."

Voldemort waved a hand dismissively.

"We are not talking about Old Fool and his shadow ways now. You, on the other hand -"

"Why are you so determined to learn what had happened to me?" Harry changed the subject abruptly. "It should not matter. With me being your Horcrux, shouldn't you be more concerned in swaying me to your cause, that ostracizing me in any way?"

"In what way this is ostracizing you? You need to address the issue, so that it will not arise again in the future. I will not have you kill yourself over some insignificant nonsense."

"I am not some 'damsel in distress' to revert to suicidal actions at every corner! I say you leave that wall in my mind where it is. I don't think I want to know what's there, seeing as my own mind conjured such a wall obviously to protect me from some huge accident."

"You contradict yourself, Potter. Who just an hour ago was hysteric because he could not remember what happened?"

"I decided I don't want to remember." Harry grumbled. "It's not like it could affect anything anyway. Whatever happened, it's in the past."

"Denial? Potter, is that it?"

"It would be denial, if I could remember at least something. And seeing as it's not the case -"

"It looks like you begin to remember. And don't want to."

"Yeah! Don't want to! So sod off, will you! We've already learned that you can't do a bloody thing with it!" Harry's angry outburst ended as quick as it started, he slumped in his seat, deflating. "It's too much," he mumbled in harsh whisper.

"Potter, if you're truly beginning to remember, there is still the option of Legilimency. Maybe your mental wall is shattering and I can look beyond it."

"Don't." Harry hunched over, covering his face with his hands. "Just don't. Please -"

Voldemort blinked in surprise. Did Potter just say 'please' to him? He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and pursed his lips.

"What do I hear, Harry? Are you begging me?" with no small amount of mockery inquired Voldemort.

Harry just glared at him sullenly.

"Okay. Enough of that. I am willing to let it slide for now, but this issue will be addressed at some point in near future. How are you feeling?"

"What?" Harry looked at him incredulously.

"Your wounds. How are they?"

"Fine, actually," Harry responded surprised. "My throat's sore, but aside from that, I'm more or less okay."

"No pains in your backside or, well, below?"

Harry shook his head.

"Tiredness? Suicidal wishes?"

Harry let out an angry hiss.

"I have already said, that was an accident!"

"Then we will dine and afterwards you will return to bed for your rest." Voldemort stood up and held out a hand to Harry.

Harry stared at this hand for a full minute before gingerly accepting the help without a word.

Voldemort led him to the next room on this floor. It was the kitchen, so small, that one could reach anything while sitting at the table – stove, cupboard or sink were squeezed close to each other with barely enough space for walking between or in front of them.

"Sit," the Dark Lord commanded.

Harry obliged, taking one of the two seats available. Voldemort took some vegetables out of the cupboard, along with the sauce-pan, cutting board and knife.

Harry expected him to use his wand, or maybe to order Harry to do the cooking. Instead Voldemort got to cutting the vegetables himself. As in "with his own hands". Harry barely managed to refrain from gaping at this. The Dark Lord proceeded with putting everything in the sauce-pan and lighting fire under it, finally using his wand, added some water and spices and turned to Harry, who was still staring.

"It's impolite to stare like this," Voldemort calmly remarked. "Meat or fish?"

"Wh-what?"

"What do you prefer, meat or fish?"

Harry blinked.

"Fish it is," Voldemort decided, when Harry still gave no answer after about a minute. He turned back to the stove, stirred the stew in the sauce-pan and once again looked inside the cupboard. "Alas. We don't have fish. Okay. This will do, I suppose." He procured a can of meatballs in some sauce.

Harry was feeling like gaping again. Voldemort cooking? Eating muggle canned food? Not using magic at every turn? Not ordering his cohorts to get him food or house-elf for perusal? Harry shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

"I think I'd gone mental and now actually lay in St. Mungo's", he muttered.

"What are you mumbling there, Potter?"

"I'm mental. You're mental, too. We both are in 's, maybe I am even on the bed next to you. This is just some very strange dream of a crazy psycho."

Voldemort chuckled.

"What brought this on?"

"You can't seriously think I'd believe that's like you actually live? In small cottage, cooking by yourself and eating canned-food? The greatest Dark wizard of our time?"

"Add to it "the most wanted criminal of our society" and you'd hit the bull-eye there," Voldemort snorted. "It's called paranoia, Potter. Of course, I have big mansion, three house-elves and loads of gold and other valuables, but those exist only for my people to see. I'd said already, nobody knows of this place. And it is not safe to bring a house-elf here, too. Circumstances force me to do everything by myself. As for canned-food, I do not often eat here, and don't see the necessity of keeping any substantial food here, which could deteriorate quickly."

"Why not accio it from your other place? Or bring with you?"

"The less magic going through the wards, the safer."

"What of these veggies? They could get bad quickly, too."

"I've bought them in the nearest market on my way here yesterday. I didn't of course expected anyone else, so didn't buy any meat. I don't eat too much of it anyway."

"Voldemort – vegetarian?" Harry squeaked, loosing it completely, and burst out laughing. "No way! No bloody fucking way!"

"Language, Potter."

Harry just laughed harder after this reprimand.

After a while he calmed a bit, enough to start another round of questions.

"So why don't you eat meat? Do you pity poor animals, or something?"

Voldemort huffed.

"I don't pity anyone. It's just not very healthy to stuff oneself with animal fat all the time. I am perfectly able to consume a steak once in a while without pouring tears over it."

"And how're canned meatballs healthy in your books?" Harry retorted.

"They are not. But I don't have too much options here."

"You could have charmed that cupboard as a freezer of some sort, you know. Aren't you a genius?"

"The less magic in this place the safer."

"Paranoid maniac," Harry snorted.

"That I am," Voldemort responded in kind.

While they talked, he opened the can and emptied the contents in another sauce-pan for heating.

"You've mentioned the nearest market. Is it far from here?"

"Several miles away."

"Wow. That should be a special level of paranoia. Several miles! Why I get the feeling you walk them by foot every time?"

"Because I am. After Apparating here and there to confuse any one who be following me, then use untraceable Portkey to the village some healthy paranoid distance away and finally walk here on foot."

Harry winced almost sympathetically.

"Now I got how you're so fit," he snickered. "So much exercising!"

Meanwhile Voldemort retrieved couple of plates and glasses for them and served the food.

"Sit properly and eat, Potter."

"Is that wine?" Harry looked at one of the glasses, which was filled with some red-colored liquid. The other glass was empty.

"I'd offer, but you're still on potions. So it's water for you," the Dark Lord smirked. "And I don't need drunken suicidal teenager here."

"I can hold my liquor, you know," Harry muttered. "And I am not suicidal!"

"What you are is in denial about it. So shut up and eat your food, Potter!" Voldemort growled, finally loosing some nerve.

The rest of their meal went in silence.

Harry was not surprised when afterwards Voldemort got to washing the dishes. By hand, of course. Harry was ordered to drink his potions and sit in the kitchen during the time the Dark Lord put everything in order there and made the dishes.

"You will now rest, Potter."

Once again Harry was led back up to the bedroom.

"You may sleep or read, but stay in bed. I need to step out for a while, but will return in couple of hours. I hope I will not find you cold body here upon my return."

Harry just sighed exasperatedly. He was tired of telling that he was not suicidal. Just the same, Voldemort was not believing it. So he simply followed the order and got to bed, with intention to sleep for a while.