Howdy y'all. It's VOID. :D I'm so happy I get to introduce myself like that now.

(For those of you who don't know, I just recently changed my name from Vickironica to VoidRealmer. Don't worry y'all, it's still meeeeee.)

Also, I'm falling asleep where I lay and I also have classes tomorrow morning and homework to finish before then, so, like, here's a new chapter. Tom is so stupid, but Harry is almost just as bad. At the beginning of the chapter, I was like "ah yes, a very specific stopping point" except it took me FOREVER to get there.

So that's why this is a 14,600 word chapter. Nowhere near Dragon's, but listen, Dragon has to be some sort of forgotten diety at this point. I don't understand how they can write so much in such a short amount of time. It's killing me.

Anyways, the chapter. Enjoy!

If any of you want the link to my discord server, either check out Ch2 of this on Ao3 (posted under VoidRealmer) or PM me!

Chapter Name: Those Who Are Lost

Chapter Summary: In which Tom's wisdom is only matched by Harry's obliviousness.

Harry stretched, groaning while he did so. Perhaps staying in the same position for hours on end wasn't the best thing to do, even if the cushion was soft and comfy. He'd gotten quite a bit of studying done, though not as much as he would've liked, thoughts still half on his slave, who was no doubt holed up in the library. To be completely honest, it was a miracle he was able to study at all.

For a moment, Harry vaguely wondered if Tom was actually following his order, or if he was using the time to read something of his own choosing. He wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter, though then he'd have to do the research himself since Tom obviously wasn't going to.

He made his way to the kitchen, intending to prepare a dinner for the both of them. It's been hours since the sandwiches earlier, and Harry's stomach was slowly trying to dissolve itself in a fit of rebellion for not having eaten. Harry, in return, wanted to remind his stomach that they'd gone much longer without food before, but as his stomach was part of his body, and one that wouldn't understand exasperated thoughts at that, he refrained.

He whipped out ingredients and pans, deciding on, well.. pot pie sounded nice, actually. Using a healthy mix of both magical and muggle contraptions—which took quite a while to set up to his liking, Harry remembered with a smile—to make cooking easier, Harry's dinner was soon in the oven (and it looked delicious, if he could say so himself), which should be done within the next few minutes. The perfect time to go find Tom, he supposed. And, if he did happen to be more than a few minutes, the oven was charmed to automatically switch to a stasis charm, leaving the food fresh and unburnt, even if Harry didn't get to it on time. Merlin, Harry loved magic.

Harry found himself standing outside the library doorway a minute later, staring in.. well, shock, he supposed, at what he was seeing.

Tom had apparently been very busy during his research, what with a good fifteen books piled in different places on a table, while the slave in question was laying on the floor with yet another book in his hands. He hadn't noticed Harry yet, and was flipping page after page at a regular pace, eyes quickly scanning over the pages as he nonchalantly kicked his leg back and forth and chewed on his lip. (Harry most definitely did not let his gaze wander to Tom's lips, which looked soft and a bit red from the biting and very kissable-)

.. Tom did know that there were multiple comfy chairs in the library, right..? Why in the world would he choose to sit on the floor, Harry wondered, and then questioned if that was perhaps another part of slavery, which.. Made sense, as Harry thought about it more. But.. Harry wouldn't have cared if Tom were in a chair rather than the floor, and yet..

Tom was following an entire set of rules that Harry had no idea what were. But, that was exactly why Harry had sent Tom to look up the rules and whatnot, so he'd be able to learn and understand what was happening.

Harry knocked twice on the doorway, alerting Tom to his presence as he walked into the library. The slave startled, flinching as he looked up from his book and meeting Harry's eyes for all of a second, before he shifted his gaze to the floor. Tom shuffled himself into a kneeling position almost immediately, though careful not to damage the book in his haste. "Sorry, master. I didn't- I didn't hear you coming."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "I just wanted to let you know dinner is about ready. But it looks like you've gotten quite a bit researched already. Do you need more time, or..?"

Was.. Was Tom scared of him? Because, when he'd met Harry's eyes a moment ago, they'd been filled with nothing but sheer terror, before he'd been able to mask his expression into something neutral.

Harry hated that expression directed towards him.

And then Harry remembered what he's all heard the Ministry do, and doesn't blame Tom for being wary (scared) when people surprise him. Merlin knows it took Harry long enough for him to stop jumping at every loud sound when he'd gone to Hogwarts for the first time.

"I- I believe I've found multiple sources you may find credible enough, Master," Tom offered.

"Oh?" Harry inquired, curious. He didn't think Riddle would bother finding a credible source, much less multiple. "Could you show me?.. Actually, wait. This can wait till after dinner."

"As you wish, master," Tom agreed easily, but somehow, Harry didn't think it was because of hunger.

Tom followed him back into the kitchen without another noise, to the point where Harry was tempted to check behind him if not for the light footsteps he could hear. When they entered the kitchen, Harry gestured at the table while he went to grab the pot pie out of the oven, which still came out perfect thanks to the charms he'd incorporated into the stove. Has Harry said he loved magic? Because he does, he really loves magic.

He turned around, ready to place the steaming hot pie on the table, then had to pause. This time, Harry couldn't hold back a disgruntled sigh. Okay, he loved magic a bit less now.

"This is.. This is becoming a common theme, I'm learning," Harry mused, not sure who he was talking to—himself or Riddle. He refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose, especially considering his hands were full of pie.

Tom was, once again, kneeling at the foot of the chair Harry had sat in earlier, just like he'd done before. Harry remembers specifying that Tom should actually sit in the chair, he knows he did, but apparently it didn't stick. Then he remembers that he'd only really ordered for Tom to sit in the chair last time, but Harry had kinda assumed that Riddle would get the idea and feel free, if not entitled, to use the chair after the first time.

What was even more surprising, in Harry's opinion, was that Tom didn't even look annoyed at kneeling instead of sitting in a chair. He looked—well, Harry's wouldn't call it content, but he looked indifferent. Like he didn't care one way or another if he had to kneel or not.

How does somebody go from a terrifying and sadistic Dark Lord to.. This? To someone who now looked wary at Harry's displeasure, tensing up a bit and clenching his fists, as if he expected Harry to act on his displeasure.

Harry wondered if he was in over his head, accepting the offer so easily. Either way, he brushed his thoughts off, finally placing the dish down on the table and specifying, "You can sit in a chair during meals, if you want. That wasn't a one time offer, earlier." He tried to keep his emotions, negative or positive, out of the phrase, but it didn't seem to help either way.

"If you wish me to do so, Master," was the reply he got, with just as much emotion.

Harry really hates the Ministry, with a burning passion.

"Your choice," Harry shrugged, with forced nonchalance.

Riddle looked like he really didn't appreciate being made to choose, but eventually, he slowly slid into the same chair from earlier, keeping a careful eye on Harry's every facial expression, like he expected the offer to be taken back. As if he'd expected his decision to be the wrong one.

Harry ignored the wary expression, handing over an empty plate to Tom, then scooping a portion of the pot pie onto his own. He dug into his own dinner, not realizing just how hungry he'd been until he was able to smell the food in front of him. Really, Harry thought this was one of the best dishes he'd made in a while. The meat was savory, the vegetables overflowing with delicious juices, and the crust was flaky and crisp, with not a single burnt edge, and..

Tom hadn't taken a single bite. Or gotten himself anything to eat.

Harry put his fork down, holding back the urge to sigh. "Standing rule number five," he started, pretending not to notice the way Riddle jumped and already looked half ready to slide back out of the chair to kneel, "You are allowed to eat and drink whatever you want, whenever you want, other than food I specifically tell you not to touch. You can even attempt cooking if you really want. However, no alcohol, on the off chance you find any here. Or potions, actually, now that I think of it,—no drinking any potions without my explicit permission."

Tom paused in his slow descent to his knees, staring at Harry with confused apprehension. ".. If you wish, master."

Merlin, what did the Ministry do to him? That he looks so doubtful of Harry's words that he would be able to eat.

"I do wish, actually." And with that, Harry dug back into his food, gesturing for Riddle to get his own with a full mouth and a wave of his hand.

Eventually, again, Tom stopped second-guessing every bite he took, each one being a bit quicker than the last. A few minutes later, he even took the initiative to reach for seconds, after a hesitant glance towards Harry.

Where did the annoyed look and haughty attitude go from earlier, after Harry had told him to drop the mask? Could.. Could that have been another mask?

Of course, the (extremely awkward) meal had to end eventually, and it did. Harry felt loads better than he had earlier, finally having some food in his stomach. The sandwiches really hadn't been enough to hold him over, and he doubted they did much for Tom, either, who had, no doubt, not eaten for a while before that.

When both of their plates were empty, Harry leaned back with a content sigh, just in time for-

"Thank you for the gracious meal, master. It was delicious," Tom bowed his head, then started scooping up the empty dishes before Harry could get a word in edgewise. He brought them over to the sink, taking a couple seconds to learn how the water worked, before starting to wash them with rolled-up sleeves.

Tom got a plate and a cup done before Harry was able to move past his surprise and make his voice work. "You don't- You don't have to do that."

'A spell could do it in a fraction of the time,' Harry wanted to add on, but refrained.

Instead of stopping, or even pausing, Tom only gripped the next dish that much tighter. "I am your slave," he stated, "It is my entire role in life, now, to be used at your convenience."

And Harry couldn't help but to retort, "I never wanted a slave."

At that, Riddle froze, letting what was probably extremely hot water run directly on his hands without a flinch, before he returned to the dishes with renewed determination.

Silence. Three silverware were cleaned and put in the drain to dry.

Eventually, Tom exhaled a breath, just shaky enough for Harry to note it, "I know that already. I know I'm not wanted. You don't have to point it out, master."

".. What?" Harry asked, caught off guard.

Tom continued, and Harry greatly wished he didn't. "I know you don't want a slave, just like you didn't want to be in the Triwizard Tournament or be on the run for an entire year or lose all your family to a megalomaniac dark lord. I know that. And once again, I've forced your hand. I know. I know I'm nothing but a burden, that you don't even want me here. Nobody actually wants to deal with me. So I have to ask, master," Tom turned around to face Harry, his eyes blazing red with conviction. "Why am I here?"

Harry thought he'd answered that earlier, but Tom's question was far from the most concerning thing he'd said.

(A part of him realized that this—this was the Tom Riddle that had become Voldemort. And Harry wondered how long he would stay.)

"Well, why did you enact the Right of Conquest?" Harry retorted instead, starting with the easiest part.

Finally, Tom's gaze dropped, no longer able to look Harry in the eye. "To serve you," he answered, and just as Harry was about to call him out on that, he continued with, "of my own free will, rather than being with the Ministry."

"Do you want to be here?" Harry was actually really curious about that, assuming Riddle answered truthfully.

"Yes." Not a single ounce of hesitation in the reply.

"Then there's your answer," Harry waved his hand. "You're here because you decided to enact the bond, thus making you my responsibility. You took the necessary steps to be here, and so here you are. You wouldn't have done the bond if you weren't completely sure of your actions.. I think. I don't know what the Ministry did to you, and I'm not going to ask, but I definitely have some sort of idea, and I'm not liking it."

Tom didn't reply, only returning to the couple remaining dishes. Harry waited patiently while his slave finished them, thinking over what Riddle had said.

Did he really think he was a burden..? Even when he was trying his hardest to be helpful, from what Harry's observed so far?

"Why do you think you're not wanted?" Harry asked instead.

Riddle let out a depreciating laugh, "I've never been wanted before. Why would it be any different with you? Especially you."

Harry didn't have a response for that.

Soon enough, the dishes were clean and Tom was drying his hands off on a nearby towel. Before refolding the towel, he glanced back to the wet dishes, as if wondering whether he should dry them too, but evidently decided not to.

Before Riddle was able to kneel in front of Harry's chair like he was obviously about to do, Harry stood up. "Alright, let's go look at the books you managed to find." And quieter, to himself almost, he muttered, "At least one of us is good at research."

Tom trailed along behind his master like an awkward puppy as they headed to the library.

. . . . .

Why did he say that why did he say that why did he say that why did he say that why did he say that-

Well, Tom hadn't been planning on getting on his master's bad side so early, but perhaps it was for the best? Maybe?

Tom just wanted this day to be over.

Merlin, why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut? He didn't mean to say any of that. So much for his plan of being the perfect slave- Potter surely wouldn't stand for his slave talking back to him, especially so early in their new roles. So what if Potter told him how useless his presence was—it's not like he didn't already know that. If his master wants to point it out, he can.

Tom pondered over what the punishment would be as they walked to the library. Potter would obviously want to see the proof of Tom's work before he was punished, as Tom would be unavailable afterwards, most likely, depending on how severe or time-consuming it was. He wondered if it would be more physical or humiliating? Either way, it was out of Tom's hands now.

They reached the library, and Tom saw his stacks of books he'd made. There was a pile for books that mentioned the bond, but were false in their information and thus, were useless. Another for books that mention the Right of Conquest, but don't go into detail about anything with it. Along with that, a pile for books that do go into detail about it, but were untrustworthy as a source, and may contain false information hidden somewhere.

The last, and easily the smallest, was the pile that his master was after. There were only three books, and two were relatively short, but they contained factual information and fit Potter's standards. Tom knew it was a meager amount, and would be lucky if Potter even considered his order complete after learning how useless most of the books were, but there really wasn't much information on the Right of Conquest.

The reason for that was relatively simple. The only way to qualify to enact a bond is by having a duel with someone with such high risks that it usually ends in death for one, if not both, of the duelers. The last person who could've had this bond in recent days would've been Dumbledore with Grindelwald, and in the time it took Tom to consider what the world would've been like if that had happened, he was already shoving the thought away to the farest corner of his mind.

"Tom?" His master called, and Tom snapped back into focus. He'd have time to think later, probably.

"Yes, master?"

"I asked what the piles of books each mean?" Potter repeated.

Tom internally cursed himself. So that hadn't been the first time his master had addressed him, and now it looked like Tom had intentionally ignored him. Merlin, he was really making this worse for himself by the minute, wasn't he?

"Sorry, master," Tom started with, then continued to explain what each pile was for, trying to be both thorough in his explanation but also short enough in getting to the point. By the time he was halfway through, he realized he should have kneeled, but at that point, it was too late to without looking suspicious. Perhaps Potter had forgotten? (It was a miracle how his master wasn't already cursing him, Tom mused.) He finally moved onto the pile Potter was looking for, and when he finished his explanation, he added on, "Sorry I couldn't find more, master. There is.. Little information on the bond, in general, since it is so uncommon."

"'Little information' my arse," Potter mocked. Tom tensed, preparing himself for anything his master would inflict. "Ah yes, only twenty entire books in three hours, truly a meager amount."

Ah, so Tom's failure was being mocked. Despite having prepared for punishment, he couldn't help but feel his cheeks heat up and close his eyes in humiliation. "Sorry, master."

".. For what..?" Potter asked, pausing in his spiel. He sounded confused, and of course he did, Tom needed to specify exactly what he'd done wrong to get the point across—so his master would know he understood why he deserved punishment, and wasn't that some kind of punishment within itself.

"For not finding an adequate amount of credible books for you, master." Tom bowed his head further, unable to look his master anywhere near the face, for fear of what expressions he would find.

"Riddle- Tom, I.. I was being sarcastic," Potter explained, as if Tom hadn't already guessed that. (And why did he say Riddle? Riddle was no longer his name—as a slave, Tom had no last name. He was Potter's property.)

"I know," Tom replied.

".. Then.. why..?" His master asked, before elaborating. "Then you know I was joking, right? You found plenty of books. I was honestly only expecting one, and doubted it would've been even half credible."

Tom didn't know what was worse—the fact that Potter had apparently mocked him in good manner and Tom didn't catch it or the fact that he had such low expectations for Tom in the first place that he would be sufficiently surprised by the small amount he'd managed to find.

Tom didn't have a response for that, and could only nod his head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Alright, so which books would you recommend I read first?" Potter asked, and Tom had to glance over to be able to see the books he was scanning over.

He gestured vaguely to the smallest pile. "These would be the best to read, master. They have credible sources and are most likely to be factual. However, if you need more information, I would.. Recommend asking the bookstore about what they have, or.. Or find the information from the Ministry," Tom forced out. Merlin knows that whatever came out of the Ministry would probably be both true and credible, but in the worst way for him possible, highlighting on the darkest parts and skimming, if not skipping, over the more neutral parts of the bond.

Potter shrugged, "These three will be fine. Here, carry these." His master shoved the two smaller books into his hands, while taking the thickest one for himself. Potter started walking out of the library, and Tom went to follow him, but stopped when his master suddenly paused, turning back around. "You can choose a book you wish to read, as long as you believe I would approve of it."

Tom startled, about to protest because why would he need a book? He was at his master's disposal- and then decided to just obey because that's really the only option for him. So he nodded then headed off into the shelves of books, out of his master's gaze.

There wasn't really any book he wanted to read for himself. Tom had only ever read to learn, to become more powerful, and considering his new position and lack of magic, there wouldn't be any reason to do so. Not to mention, he'd doubted being left alone long enough to indulge in reading for himself, assuming Potter would rather keep him busy than bored, and thus useless.

With those thoughts, and Potter's instruction about his approval, Tom just quickly grabbed a thick book off the fantasy section shelf, not even bothering to read the title. It wouldn't do to make his master wait.

Tom returned, carrying all three books, back to his master, who was idly flipping through the book he was carrying. Potter shut it when he saw Tom returning, raising an eyebrow. "So what'd you choose?"

Instead of responding, Tom just raised the book up to show his master the one he'd chosen. Apparently, it had something to do with dragons, according to the cover picture, and oh no was this not fantasy like he'd gone for-

"Eragon? Merlin, I haven't read that book since I was ten. A good way to pass the summer, when you've got nothing to do but sit in a dusty cupboard," Potter shrugged, and didn't seem to realize the concerning thoughts behind what he'd said. "Good choice, if not a bit boring. Oh, it is fantasy, so if you're expecting to learn something from it, you're going to be disappointed."

Tom shook his head, "No- I was going for.. This is fine, master."

Thank Merlin it did turn out to be fantasy. Tom doubted his master would've let him read anything worthwhile, and he really wasn't trying to get on Potter's bad side any more than he already was.

Harry stared at him for a minute with an indecipherable expression, and Tom has never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. Was he mad? Upset? Did he think Tom was lying? Did he choose wrong? Merlin, Tom hoped Potter didn't think he was lying, because that was one of the main rules, and Tom wouldn't dare disobey, but what if Potter just assumed he was lying anyways?

Tom resisted the urge to shift under Potter's stare, his uneasiness only shown through his tightening grip on the books. Eventually, his master did turn away, and they continued on their walk back to the living room. Tom's thoughts returned to wondering what his punishment was going to be, because he's already made several mistakes that Potter would definitely feel the need to correct, most likely through humiliating or painful means.

They entered the living room again, and Potter muttered something about leaving the two smaller books on the coffee table, which Tom obeyed, while he settled into the same armchair from earlier. It seemed that, from what Tom had noticed, the armchair was his master's favorite chair to sit in in the living room.

Tom kneeled next to the chair, still holding the book he'd chosen, and wondered what was going to happen next. It seemed his master was a fan of making his slave wait before punishing them, which, again, was a truly brilliant idea. Voldemort should've taken notes, honestly. By making Tom wait for punishment, it makes him tense and wary and nervous about messing up anymore as to not make the punishment any worse than it was already going to be.

No wonder Potter won the war, if he's this smart and brutal. Tom would applaud it, if he weren't on the receiving end.

A thought crossed his head, and Tom thanked whatever gods may exist that he'd perfected his neutral mask long ago, because the thought almost made him throw up.

What if Potter didn't give him any punishments? Instead, he just counted the offenses as they came, and when Tom crossed the line one time too many, his master would just give him back to the Ministry? He can already imagine his master's disappointed glare, saying that Tom isn't worth all the trouble he's causing, and just forget about him.

(Tom knows he isn't worth it, but damn if he's not going to try his best to atone for that.)

"You can read the book, you know," Potter declared out of nowhere, startling Tom out of his thoughts. He thought his master was too concentrated on the book to focus on what his slave was doing. "Or go to bed, if you want. Or go in your room and read. You don't have to stay here and kneel if you don't want to. I'm just going to be reading for the new few hours anyways."

Tom didn't really know how to respond to that, so he went with the first option—agreeing. "Yes, master."

After that, he decided to try to read, but stayed kneeling by his master. It's.. where Tom felt the most comfortable, as strange as that may sound. It reminded him that perhaps Potter hadn't decided to get rid of him yet, and that his plan had actually worked.

Of course, after enacting the bond, Tom did legally belong to Potter, but it was still risky, simply because Potter didn't know about it. If the Ministry had decided just.. Not to tell him, then Potter would've probably never known about Tom and the bond and Tom would have been stuck with the Ministry anyway, but this time, with his magic irreversibly bound.

(In the Ministry, it had only been constantly severely depleted, unable to regenerate because of the wards behind his cell. It had left him exhausted and unable to fight back with even the slightest amount of strength, not to mention the lack of food and water, but he'd somehow managed. Somehow.)

He forcibly snapped himself out of his thoughts, realizing that he hadn't even read the first page yet, and surely his master would get suspicious if it took him so long to read even a single page. He did his best to concentrate fully on the book, taking in the plot and characters as they came.

About three chapters later, Tom simply couldn't focus anymore. The words were scrambling in his head and nothing made sense, and it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He'd been far too tense and exhausted for far too long, and it was finally catching up to him. The nap from earlier hadn't helped, because he'd barely slept a wink then, knowing his master said to take his time relaxing, but what if he took too long? But now, Tom was exactly where he was supposed to be, and didn't have to worry about anything for the moment, since his master had said he was going to read for a few hours.

It was inevitable, perhaps, that the book would be pushed aside as Tom drifted in and out of unconsciousness. His legs shifted just enough to allow him to comfortably lean on the chair, except chairs weren't supposed to be warm and oh no-

Tom jerked awake, flinching away from the couch. He'd been leaning on his master. His master who was disgusted at the thought of Tom touching him, even if it would be at his pleasure, and Tom had just touched him. He waited for the subsequent slap, and after none came, Tom risked a glance up.

Potter snorted in amusement, a hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth. When he shifted his book to one hand and lifted it, Tom flinched away, then quickly lowered his head back down because no slave was supposed to look his master in the eyes-

A hand gently carded through his hair. Potter had been doing that a lot, Tom noticed. Not that he minded, it felt wonderful and Tom could feel some of his tension melt away at the soft touch. After a couple strokes, the hand gently nudged Tom's head back into leaning against the leg, then went back to combing through his hair.

They stayed like that for a while, and eventually Tom was able to relax again, shuffling minutely into a more comfortable position, where he was fully leaning against his master and fully enjoying the hair strokes.

Tom's eyes slowly drifted closed, and this time, he didn't fight the lull into slumber.

. . . . .

Harry couldn't help but snort when Tom jerked awake after accidentally leaning on his leg. He'd noticed his slave drifting in and out of consciousness, most likely barely even registering the words on the page. Eventually, Tom had closed the book and apparently decided to nap against the couch, instead of perhaps going up to his room to sleep, but Harry didn't mind. If Tom wanted to kneel at Harry's feet, who was Harry to deny him?

He'd liked Tom's resulting flinch decidedly less.

Harry just combed through his hair, watching as Tom relaxed considerably. He nudged Tom back into leaning against him, because Harry truly hadn't minded and he didn't want Tom to think he did mind, and actually it honestly felt kind of good.

As Harry expected, Tom slowly drifted back to sleep. It was an interesting look on the ex-Dark Lord, knowing that he could somehow be so relaxed in someone's presence who, at one point, had been destined to kill him, and especially after what the Ministry had probably put him through. He looked.. peaceful. The lines of tension, even the ones Harry hadn't noticed, left him and made him look younger.

It was such a difference from knowing somebody who had once been so powerful to them flinching at his every move, and then later to being completely relaxed in his presence.

It was.. strange, was what it was. Harry expected Tom to either have been broken enough by the Ministry to warrant creating the bond, making for someone terrified of acting out, or someone who only made the bond to escape from a bad situation, believing he'd be able to take control over his situation with Harry. Instead, Harry didn't get either. He got a mix of the two—Tom didn't seem scared of Harry, but definitely wary of him. He seemed resentful about having to obey, but didn't actually seem to carry any of that resent he's using.

When Harry had asked Tom to drop his mask, he'd done it almost immediately, but.. Harry remembered Tom's terrified look every time he thought he'd done something wrong, and wondered if the resentful persona hadn't been another mask. And if so, what the real Tom Riddle was like, now that he was completely under Harry's control.

A while later, Harry noticed that Tom had fallen into a deep slumber, and probably wouldn't be waking up any time soon. Harry didn't really want to disturb the slave, knowing he probably didn't get any sleep earlier, but Tom was going to be very uncomfortable if he stayed in that position too much longer.

Harry had promised Tom that he would not enter his room without explicit permission, and was going to honor that request, even if it was just helping him into his own bed. So with Tom's bedroom out of the question, Harry simply shifted a bit so he was able to carry Tom (with help from magic, of course) and lay him down on the couch. He summoned a thick blanket and gently laid it on Tom, who curled around it on a reflex.

With that issue out of the way, Harry got up to go back to his armchair, only to be stopped by-

".. don't go, please.."

Harry turned around, and yep, Tom was still asleep, but he'd still somehow noticed that Harry was leaving, even while unconscious, and was muttering slurred words.

".. don't wanna.. leave you.."

Harry stayed by Tom's side for a moment, once more combing through his hair, and watched how he relaxed, even in sleep. No more words came, even after Harry quietly made his way back over to his chair and resumed his reading.

. . . . .

Morning came by quicker than Harry would have suspected, but to be fair, he'd been pretty lost in thought for the past few hours. (Also, he might've dozed off for a few hours when he was studying, but nobody has to know.) Tom was still asleep on the couch, looking more relaxed than he had the entire day yesterday. Harry mourned waking him, simply because it seemed like Tom needed the sleep, but also.. If Harry was being truly honest, then because he'd rather have some time alone right now.

Not that having Voldemort as a slave wasn't great, but.. Harry really had no use for a slave, or a servant, or whatever else the bond was supposed to call them. And after finishing the books with all of the information that Tom was able to find, he's started to get a horrifying idea of what the bond was usually like. No wonder Tom's been terrified so far.

Merlin, the role of 'slave' was everything Harry hated in life, according to the texts. Living off of perhaps a bowl of sludge per day, at best, but also the list of punishments for such minor infractions was sickening. What kind of stupid rules were 'don't look the master in the eyes' or 'don't make a sound unless asked a question'?

Honestly, the whole time Harry had been reading the books, all he could think of was the Dursleys—how slaves were expected to act exactly like he'd been treated with them.

By accepting the Right of Conquest, Harry had essentially become the exact thing he'd been trying to avoid. Except.. He was no longer the worthless freak—the bottom of the totem pole—, he was the Dursleys. And that, somehow, was worse.

Far, far worse.

Tom had been truthful yesterday, when he'd mentioned that the bond was irreversible. Or, at least, nobody had ever found a way to reverse it before, and, well.. Tom had said he wouldn't look for a way to reverse it, and as much as it was a horrible idea, knowing who he was, Harry wanted to believe him. He wanted to trust that Tom knew what he was getting into with the bond—that he wasn't going to try escaping every chance he got, but.. Harry wasn't sure if he could.

As much as this Tom Riddle seemed to be perfectly submissive, Harry had met Riddle before. Multiple times, each a different version of him, actually. And Harry knew how each had acted—charming, unassuming, until it had faded into horrible insanity, to the point of no rhyme or reason—and just, well, Harry didn't have any proof that this Tom Riddle wouldn't be any different from them.

Harry needed to find the balance between being Riddle's master and not turning into the Dursleys, but honestly, he didn't even know where to start. He's enforced some basic rules, though there's no telling if Tom will actually follow them until it's too late, so maybe he should use the bond?

Harry doesn't want to use the bond, really, simply because deep down, he really wanted to use it. The Right of Conquest would allow Harry to strip Tom of his free will through two different ways—pain that slowly grows until he obeys or if he disobeys, or.. Through absolute, total control. Riddle wouldn't be able to even think of disobeying, more of just a puppet in his own body at that point.

And Harry expects that that's the one Tom assumes he'll use, if any at all. He wondered if Tom even knew of the other way, of the slowly growing pain method, because he'd never mentioned it before, so perhaps not.

Harry was having a war within himself, pulled between two different options. On one hand, he could use the pain method (never the absolute control) and make sure Riddle actually listened, but.. Harry was scared as to how much he wanted that. It would feel so good to see Tom unable to disobey, knowing there was no other choice, no matter how much he hated it. It would feel wonderful, knowing that the person who had ruined Harry's life was now in Harry's hands.

But all Harry could think of was the Dursleys, the name chanting and echoing in his head and reminding him with vivid imagery of exactly how horrible his childhood had been. Could he truly wish that upon anyone? No matter how much his sadistic side—one that the war had brought out far too often—enjoyed the thought?

On the other hand, Harry could just keep going as is, and hope for the best. But could he truly trust Riddle to behave? Even if he was staying in line now, who's to say that wouldn't change a week down the line? How could he make sure that Riddle wasn't plotting against him at every turn under the guise of obeying?

Harry could never just forget what Tom Riddle had done, who he'd become. He'd been responsible for so much pain and suffering and death, especially on Harry's end, so surely he deserved to suffer? Could Harry really justify hurting someone because of that?

Surely, it's what the Ministry expected him to do. Tom enacting the Right of Conquest didn't do anything but change the home of his prison, really. Harry knew he couldn't just leave Tom to do what he wants—he became a slave for a reason, and that reason was important to consider.

But that didn't mean that Harry had to be cruel, right..?

Merlin, he was getting nowhere with these thoughts.

Harry sighed, then watched Tom shift and roll over on the couch in his sleep, pulling the blanket closer to him. He would almost describe it as cute, if it weren't Tom Riddle, ex-Dark Lord and his newly appointed slave.

And then, Harry realized that he'd already decided to do long before he'd ever started pondering over the possibilities. Sure, Harry could lean on the side of caution, and it probably wouldn't hurt, but.. He could never actually punish Riddle on the chance that he does something wrong, far before he's actually done anything. No, if Riddle's going to get a punishment, he's going to earn it.

Harry has been accused of doing too many things in life to punish someone without proof.

(The Dursleys, shoving all of their chores onto him, doting over Dudley, giving him three meals a day while they barely fed Harry scraps, forcing him to work for hours upon hours at the age of four, spreading horrible rumors about him, that he was some sort of delinquent, having it be believed so easily because of the color of his skin, going to school for the first time and not even knowing his name, the teacher wondering why Harry didn't answer when his name was called and his reply of how his name was Freak, and the teacher seemingly forgetting that next time the Dursleys came in to pick up Dudley, leaving little Harry to walk home, growing up to realize that no adults will actually help, they all just judge without seeing anything, and even in Hogwarts that never changed, they just all assumed he was the Golden Boy, the Light Child and never realizing the jagged, broken boy underneath, slandering his name when he did something even slightly wrong, never getting a moment of privacy, living his whole life knowing that people were only seeing some sort of mask, that he was expected to kill someone, he's known since he was eleven that he was meant to kill someone, otherwise he might as well be right back with the Dursleys, where he's nothing more than Freak-)

No, Harry could never force the same thing onto Tom. His punishment for the war is his slavery, and for everything after that, well, Harry would take care of that as it came.

For now, he'll treat Tom like a stray alley cat he picked up, who will either end up warming up to him or trying to murder him in his sleep. Either way, Harry will be able to choose his next step from there.

With that decided, Harry quietly made his way to the kitchen, stretching along the way with a couple satisfying pops. Time for breakfast.

. . . . .

"Tom, wake up," Harry nudged his slave, who swatted his hand away and rolled over to block his face. "Tooooommm, time to get up." He started taking the blanket off.

Tom reached for the blanket in his sleep, but when he was unable to grab it, he groaned and blearily opened his eyes, which went from a dark maroon—matching his shirt—to vibrant crimson in half a second as he snapped back into consciousness, remembering where he was. The changing-eye-color thing was pretty cool, to be honest, Harry thought.

Backing up and giving Tom some space, Harry asked, "You awake?"

A clipped tone, but not disrespectful, "Yes, master."

"Great, breakfast is ready." Harry motioned for Tom to follow him into the kitchen, where Harry had cooked a selection of random breakfast foods. He definitely hadn't been trying to delay waking Tom as long as possible because it looked like Tom definitely needed the sleep. Definitely not.

Instead of sitting down, Harry watched Tom send an apprehensive look towards the three books piled on the coffee table (along with the book Tom had chosen), then stare at the food with doubt and suspicion.

Just as Harry was about to repeat that Tom could sit and eat like he had yesterday, Tom spoke up—the first time he'd ever done so since being with Harry. "Did you read the books, master?"

".. Yes..?" Harry answered, confused and surprised at Tom choosing to speak up, and why he did.

"Then surely you must know that it is not.. It's not fitting for someone of.. Of my station- to.. To join you, master," Tom muttered, clenching his fists still hanging at his sides.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm quite firmly against both starvation and feeding somebody weird grey mush. Also, I feel like that'd be an insult to my cooking skills, really," he mumbled the last part.

Tom didn't reply, still looking down at the floor with a resolute stare.

Harry sighed. "Tom, who is the master here?" Guess he should get used to his new role, since it didn't seem like it was going to change any time soon.

"You, master," was the immediate reply.

"And what are you?" Harry asked, oddly concerned at how quickly Tom was able to admit that.

"Your slave, master." Tom didn't hesitate to answer, just sounding oddly.. Resigned.. At the situation.

"And that means?" Harry pressed.

Tom's answer came out as more of a sigh, and Harry watched his eyes fade into a duller color as he responded with, "I obey your orders, master."

"Exactly," Harry nodded. "So, if I want you sitting at the table eating breakfast with me..?"

A hesitant glance up, a spark of hope. "I will.. obey?"

Instead of answering, Harry just gestured for Tom to come sit down with him, which he did with a lot less trepidation than before.

Breakfast continued without any problems, and again, Tom collected the dishes and started washing them without being prompted. This time, Harry didn't bother mentioning it. If this was Tom's way of feeling helpful around the house, then who was Harry to deny him?

Tom faltered when he noticed Harry watching him, but Harry played it off as a glance, as if he were actually doing something else instead of just being lost in thought. Tom's grip on the sponge tightened, squeezing out most of the soap suds, and he returned to the dishes with some sort of renewed determination.

To actually look busy—and the fact that it needed to be done—Harry summoned a piece of paper and a pen with barely a thought and went to work writing down a shopping list of what he could think that they would need. Sure, Tom needed clothes and supplies and all of that, but Harry was also running low on a couple groceries that he would need to pick up.

. . . . .

Tom scrubbed at the dishes, feeling thoroughly useless. If he had his magic, the dishes could be done in a matter of seconds, but since he doesn't, washing dishes (and not to mention drying them) took far longer—during which, his master deemed to sit at the table and watch him, either waiting for him to finish or enjoying the sight or something.

At least today, his master was instead focusing on writing something down than just watching him fail to do such a simple task. It's not Tom's fault that he's never really been in kitchens before—he's never had a chance to cook, and especially never had to clean up after meals. If he ever did have to do any sort of cleaning, his magic was able to take care of it in a matter of seconds, but alas, that's not an option.

Potter may think he was being sneaky with his subtle glances toward him, but Tom saw them nonetheless. Was he upset that Tom was taking so long? Tom doesn't want to do them halfway, because that surely would lead to more problems later, but he's wasting his master's time, and that surely would add onto everything else he's done wrong.

He relished in the stinging sensation that the steaming hot water brought, as Potter hadn't deemed to punish him otherwise.

Despite Tom's thoughts, it didn't take long for him to finish the dishes, seeing as there were only two people eating. He dried his hands, then kneeled beside his master—since they were no longer eating, Tom had no reason to sit at the table.

Tom knew that Harry had read the books, so he knew what kind of behavior was expected from Tom—from slaves. Tom had read the books years and years ago, but they were still the most updated version of information on anything about the bond, so he knew what information was in them. He knew what Potter was probably expecting from him now, and unless Potter ordered otherwise, they would be the rules that Tom fell back on.

(But now that Potter had read the books, he would know exactly how many times Tom messed up, and would keep an eye out for more mistakes in the future.)

His master put the pen down with a sense of finality, declaring, "Right. Today, we're going shopping."

Ah, yes. Potter had mentioned doing something like that today. "Yes, master."

His master held out the sheet of paper he was writing on. "Is there anything not on the list that you think you need?"

Tom gingerly grabbed the paper, skimming through the list before handing it back. Technically, there wasn't anything he needed, since he was a slave and thus at his master's mercy. If his master so wished, Tom wouldn't be allowed to wear clothes, or eat actual food, or even vocalize a single sound.

(If Tom had known anything about muggle electronics, he would've compared his situation to a device that needs batteries. Without the batteries, the device obviously doesn't work, but at the same time, the device is in no way entitled to batteries. But, alas, Tom didn't know a thing about muggle electronics, so he didn't compare it.)

"There is nothing I need unless you will it, master." Surely that was the correct response?

Judging from the following sigh, it hadn't been.

Merlin, why couldn't Tom have been born as a checker piece or something.

"Fine then, is there anything you want?" Potter corrected.

A nap, his magic, to hide away somewhere where nobody would remember him, to be loved, to be held, for this entire situation—every bad decision he's ever made—to be nothing more than a bad dream.

Don't lie. Don't lie. Don't lie-

"Nothing you would give me, master," Tom replied, intentionally vague.

His master frowned, a crease appearing in his eyebrows. ".. Are any of them physical objects, or rather ideas and concepts of world domination?" His voice was oddly flat, as if he wanted to feel amused but couldn't quite get there.

Did his master really still think world domination was Tom's goal?

(It never had been.)

Potter.. really had no expectations for him. He expected Tom to be the exact same as Voldemort, and every time Tom tried to disprove it, he was met with suspicion and distrust.

Don't lie. Don't lie. Don't lie-

"I don't- I have no desire to rule anymore. But no, none of my.. wants.. Are physical objects, master. And, well," Tom hesitated, wondering if he should carry on, but figured it was too late to stop now, "I am a slave—your slave. I do not—should not—have needs, wants. I am.. I'm only here to be used at your convenience, master."

The frown was far more pronounced now. "You can't seriously believe that."

Believe what? He'd only been speaking the truth. There was nothing to believe or disbelieve; it was simply a statement. However, Tom was in no shape or form going to argue against his master, and therefore did the best solution. "Apologies, master."

Potter stared at him for a few moments with an indecipherable expression, and it did nothing to make Tom feel any better about the situation.

Eventually, the awkward silence was broken, Potter looking away with a sigh. "You know what? I'll deal with.. this.. Later."

Later? What does he mean by 'later'? Had Tom done something wrong? Well, obviously—slaves weren't supposed to argue with their masters. They weren't supposed to speak more than necessary. He should've just agreed with his master about the world domination idea; none of this would've happened and Potter would have an excellent excuse to punish him later.

Later.. Was that what he meant by later? The first punishment?

Tom both hoped and dreaded it. On one hand, it would mean that his idea of the 'getting sent back to the Ministry as punishment' would be wrong, but on the other hand..

On the other hand, Tom was not going to enjoy whatever happened. He still hasn't figured out whether Potter would go for pain or humiliation. Perhaps a mix of both? He would normally think Potter would prefer humiliation, but..

'You know, if I agree to this, you've got a lot to make up for, and I'll make sure you pay for every single bit of it.'

The idea of pain didn't seem too far fetched, really.

Despite Tom's thoughts, Potter continued talking. "For now, be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. We'll walk down to the village. Like I said, there should be clothes and everything in the room."

And what was there to do but agree? "Yes, master. May I be dismissed?"

"Sure."

Tom stood up, bowing his head once more in respect before leaving Harry sitting alone in the kitchen.

. . . . .

"Before I forget to mention," his master started on their walk to the village, Tom trailing along a couple paces behind silently, "When we are in the village, do not act as if I'm your master, or that you are a slave. Just- Pretend we're friends or roommates or something."

That made sense. If the village was of muggles, then they wouldn't understand what the Right of Conquest was or how it worked. Tom would only be making the situation worse for Potter by acting like his slavery status demanded.

"Yes, master." A thought popped into his head, making Tom clench his fists just a bit tighter as he realized that he'd have to ask. ".. Master.. If.. If we're supposedly.. friends.. then.. What should I call you?"

To Tom's relief, Potter didn't look upset at the question, instead pondering before answering, "Well, I suppose just Harry. It would be strange if you referred to me as 'Potter' when we're supposed to be friends."

"Yes, master. Thank you, master." Tom didn't quite know what he was thanking Potter for, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

His master glanced back, giving Tom a weird look, but didn't say anything else.

Soon, the village came into view, only about a ten minute walk from the house. It was.. It was definitely quaint, Tom would describe, looking like it was straight out of a medieval book. The buildings were all cobblestone, though they looked sturdy enough, and the pathways were made of dirt with an array of flowers growing all around. Farther down, Tom could see stalls full of fresh fruit and vegetables, being sold at what looked like an open market. And for all that he knew of muggle technology, there didn't seem to be much of it here.

They continued walking into the market, a small crowd of cheerful people soon surrounding them as the bustle of the day continued. Tom took in the details around him, how for all that the buildings looked old, the people's clothes were fairly modern. How even a strong breeze of wind didn't even make the fire of a candle flicker. How some of the people seemed to be trying a bit too hard to be human, teeth a bit too sharp or features shifting a bit too much.

".. Mas- Harry," Tom corrected himself, suddenly a bit concerned. His voice was no louder than a quiet murmur, but Potter turned around anyway. "Is this.. Is this a muggle village?"

Harry gave Tom a strange look. "Of course. I mean, I know they're a bit behind the times, but so is the wizarding world, so. Come on, I think I see some delicious-looking tomatoes over there."

Maybe it was all just his imagination? Tom doesn't really remember what being human is like, after being.. Voldemort. For all that his body is his, it still feels like a puppet some of the time.

"Hiya, Harry! What can I do for you today- Oh, who's your new partner?!" Tom is broken out of his thoughts by the young girl who was running the stall. Long brown hair, a cheerful demeanor, teeth a bit too sharp, and nails that looked just a tad like claws, and scars covering her body, some old, some new. A- A werewolf?

Potter's smile was softer than Tom has ever seen, not that he's had many chances to see. "This is Tom. He's my new roommate. Tom, this is Claire—she's the one who showed me around the village when I first came here."

.. Did Harry know that she's a werewolf? Surely he must.

Well, it wasn't any of Tom's concern. He's not going to be the one to bring it up. "It's nice to meet you, miss."

She stared at him for a minute with a dubious expression, making Tom wonder what he'd done. Had they met before?

"Harry, you're new roommate is unfairly hot. Both of you are, actually."

.. What.

"I'm afraid your beloved may have some words about that," Harry replied with a small laugh.

The girl—Claire—waved him off. "Ehh, I think she'd understand where I'm coming from. But what can I get for ya? We've got some great tomatoes today!"

"Yes, I saw them from all the way across the market." Harry continued talking with the girl for the next few minutes, getting lost in the conversation.

Tom zoned out a bit, glancing around to all of the other people. Were any of them human? Did his master know? Was he truly that oblivious, or was it the denial fueling his refusal to see anything more.

Suddenly, his leg—and stomach—is accosted, causing him to stumble a bit. He held back the urge to kick whatever it was, and was thankful he did, because the accoster turned out to be a little girl. Merlin, that was far too close to ending terribly for Tom's (newly acquainted) sanity.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, sidestepping away from the girl.

The girl had curly brown hair parted into two pigtails and bright brown eyes, and was wearing some well-worn jeans and a green t-shirt. She couldn't have been older than twelve, perhaps around the age of first years at Hogwarts.

She looked up into his face, gasping at what, Tom realized, was probably his horrifyingly red eyes—the eyes of a monster, if Tom had ever seen one. He waited for the insulting retort, or perhaps even screaming if he were unlucky-

"Your eyes are so pretty!"

That.. That had not been what he was expecting. ".. Thank you?"

The child ran off without another word, leaving Tom staring blankly at what happened. Soon enough, his master finished up shopping, looking as if he'd hit a couple other stands while Tom was spaced out. His arms were full of bags, no doubt full of fresh fruit and veggies.

"Oh, here you are." Tom wanted to retort that he hadn't moved more than a step, but refrained. "Come on, the clothing store is over this way."

There were a couple people who deemed to wish Harry a good morning, but for the most part, they were left alone on their short walk to the shop. Despite being made of cobblestone, as was the rest of the town, it, thankfully, seemed to have plenty of modern-looking clothes in it. Not that Tom really has a choice in what he wore, but he'd definitely prefer the style to be sometime from this century.

They entered the store, which had a little bell that jingled as the door opened. Nobody was at the counter at the moment, probably farther in the back, and from what Tom could see, there were no wizarding clothes anywhere in sight.

"Go choose a couple outfits you'd like, though make sure you check them over with me first," Potter ordered offhandedly. "Don't forget about socks and shoes and the like—I'd prefer not to repeat this any time soon."

And with nobody in sight, Tom replied with, "Yes, master." As always, he was nothing more than a burden for his master, and supposed he should be infinitely grateful his master was even letting him wear clothes, much less choose which ones he wanted, but he couldn't help but wonder.. What would Potter want in return for this? Surely he wanted something, for Tom to be in his debt even more than he already was, but Tom couldn't even guess at what it would be. He supposed he'd find out eventually, if Potter didn't just take what was rightfully his in the first place.

He spent the next few minutes looking around the shop for things he could wear, eventually finding some shirts of different colors and a couple pairs of pants that wouldn't cut off circulation when he kneeled. The shop's clerk had come back to the front and was in a conversation with Potter about something Tom didn't bother listening in on.

The clerk looked like a normal human boy, for all that he probably wasn't. Tom was definitely starting to doubt that anybody in this town was human, and he wondered what that meant for him and his master. Tom supposed he didn't really count as human anymore, whether through the actions he took as Voldemort, being Voldemort, or simply because he was a slave and no longer had human rights. Potter, on the other hand.. Potter was human, though.. He'd been able to get up after death. He'd died, and then brushed it off and nothing more than an inconvenience.

There were definitely very specific circumstances surrounding that time, but.. If it happened once, who's to say it wouldn't happen again?

Tom grabbed a pair of shoes, adding them to his precariously balanced pile on his arms, then made his way over to where his master and the clerk were still chatting.

"I've finished, Ma- Harry," Tom corrected himself, now that they were in the presence of someone else. It felt strange calling him something other than Potter or Master, Tom noted. His arms were starting to get tired from carrying the stuff, even though he'd only chosen the barest minimum of things, not wanting to get on his master's bad side any more than he already was.

Both the clerk, who still looked just as human up front, and his master turned to look at him. Tom fought back a grimace at the attention. Potter looked through the clothes, then with a shrug said, "Looks good to me. Alright, Marco, we're ready to check out."

Marco, the clerk, matched with another shrug, and gestured for Tom to deposit his small pile on the counter. After scanning through all of the clothes, he revealed the total, which Tom vowed to memorize and somehow find a way to pay back one day. Potter paid without a second of hesitation, then handed the bags of clothes back to Tom for him to carry.

The weight felt heavier, somehow, after learning the price.

Back in the streets, his master glanced around at the nearby buildings. "Alright, we've only got a couple more stops."

They headed over to one of the cobblestone buildings, this one with a small wooden sign hanging by the door with a pair of scissors carved intricately into it. A.. barber shop? They were getting haircuts?

As they stepped inside, Tom looked around apprehensively. Though it was a bit small, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary for a barber shop, as far as he knew. There were bottles filled with different substances lining the wall and a couple giant mirrors on another. A couple extra chairs were placed to the side, and any tools needed for cutting hair were on a countertop connecting to the mirrors.

Really, even the man that seemed to own the store looked right in place, with his short, but styled, grey hair and clothes that reminded Tom of his childhood. He seemed human enough at first glance, and quite delighted to see his master at that, but there was something about him that didn't settle right with Tom..

"Oh, Mr. Harry! I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance," the man spoke, and Tom vaguely wondered if he was younger or older than him.

"Hi, Mr. Von," His master waved, looking younger somehow, under the gaze of the old man. "I was wondering if you could give my new roommate here a quick haircut."

The man, Mr. Von, turned his attention onto Tom. "A new friend, I see?"

Tom tried to put on his charming facade, the one that had gotten him through his years at Hogwarts and more. "Hello, Mr. Von, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Tom—I just moved in with Harry, actually, so he's showing me around town."

Mr. Von chuckled a bit, gesturing for Tom to sit down in one of the main chairs next to the counter. Tom followed the suggestion, sitting down before glancing at his master.

Potter gave him a strange look, then turned back towards Mr. Von with a small smile. "Thank you. I've got to go stop at one more place, so I'll be back in a little while."

Mr. Von waved Potter goodbye as he slipped back through the door, and then turned his full attention onto Tom. And immediately, the mood surrounding the shop changed from something homely into something a bit.. Less. The lights seemed to dim and the sunlight disappeared behind clouds, and the gaze that had spoken of experience now screamed power.

"A Right of Conquest is quite a drastic step to take, Mr. Tom."

Tom felt the dread seep into him. "How-"

"I haven't seen one of those in quite a few years, if I do say so myself," the man chuckled, seemingly to himself. He watched Tom tense, glancing at the door as if wondering if he'd make out if things turned sour. "Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you. Allow me to formally introduce myself."

Tom gripped the chair just a bit tighter, knowing there wasn't much he could do if things went badly. He couldn't fight, it was doubtful he could flee, and even if he did find a way out, then he would have to deal with his master's disappointment, because Tom has orders and it's not a choice whether or not to obey.

The man did a mock bow, "My name is Von, and I am the god of the lost."

Oh, now Tom was just being messed with. His tense posture deflated somewhat upon the absurd claim, but Tom's mind was still screaming danger! and that was enough reason to not immediately claim his statement false.

But.. what if he wasn't lying?

Another slight chuckle, seeing Tom's emotions warring within himself. "Young Harry does not know, but then again, he doesn't want to believe this town is anything more than normal. You will see him find peace in his denial, as accepting this town as more than an ordinary town means he has to accept things about himself that he can not yet accept."

Tom finally found his voice, swallowing a couple times to clear out the sudden dryness. "You- You claim to be a god?"

"Why, yes. I created this town many years ago, our little Alverron. This town.. It is a place for people who do not have a place in the world, who are lost and need to find a home. It is a place for those who have been abandoned or who have lost their place in the universe," he explained. "Alverron exists between time, between dimensions, and will continue to provide what the world has deemed to deny them."

"Then.. why.. How did my- my master find this place? Your.. town?" Tom was quite sure that Potter had a place in the world—no one would dare abandon their savior. He was sure Potter had friends and had made himself a family in the redheaded family, with his muggleborn friends, with the people who had stood by his side during the war.

As if reading his thoughts (could he do that?), the man replied, "Harry is running away." Von, a god, was apparently still continuing on with the haircut and messed around with Tom's hair, who couldn't help but flinch at the light touches. "He does not know who he is, and the wizarding world is no place for him to learn. They have wronged him many many times, and still they try to mold him into their idea of a savior without truly seeing who he is. They would never allow him to be himself. Harry is running from the world that has refused to let him exist, and he is running from himself."

"From himself?" Tom questioned, just as the first snip of his hair fell to the floor. It had long since overgrown at the Ministry, and they hadn't deigned any care towards the length of his hair.

A few more snips, then, "He is learning of truths he does not wish to learn, and he is putting together ideas for a puzzle that have long since been there, but are finally connecting."

"Do you speak in anything but riddles?" Tom snapped, then immediately regretted it.

Luckily, Von didn't seem upset. "You are not an exception either, Mr. Tom."

Snip, snip, snip.

".. what?"

"This town collects those who are lost, and you are no different from the rest of them. Your kingdom built on lies has fallen, and now you are trying to find yourself in a world desperate to forget your reign."

Tom clenched his jaw, only just barely accepting the statement. "I have no need to 'find myself', not anymore."

"Nonsense! Now that you are free of your lies, you are finally able to be yourself with Harry."

Tom couldn't help but let out a huff of a laugh, a small smile that only matched his sardonic thoughts. "Be myself? Being myself led to the deaths of everyone Potter has ever cared about. Nobody has ever liked it when I've been myself. You need some better advice, old man."

A sharp tug in a sensitive spot of his hair reminded Tom very quickly of their positions. He was in no position to be snapping at anyone, most definitely not an apparent god. Much less an apparent god who was on good terms with his master.

".. Apologies, sir. I meant no disrespect," he forced out, the words coating his tongue.

Von was most definitely going to tell Potter about his minor explosion, and really, what was one more misdeed at this point? What was one more punishment? It wasn't going to change anything. He was already regretting every decision he's ever made, this was nothing different.

"It is okay to get upset, otherwise you'll bottle up your emotions. And, I always find that emotions find their way out at the most inconvenient times, when you do that."

Tom had no response for that.

"This town was created for people to find themselves. Find who they are," Von continued. "And your place is right next to Harry."

And suddenly, Tom felt tired. Not in the sense of wanting a nap, but deep in his soul. There was no anger, no hatred, just.. Emptiness. A deep sorrow that would never truly leave. It is him accepting his new place in life, because there's no other option.

"I hope you're right."

. . . . .

Harry slipped out of the shop, feet already walking towards his final stop. He hoped it would be alright, leaving Tom with Mr. Von, but he doubted Tom would seize the opportunity to terrify an old man, and he doubted Tom would take the first opportunity to run. Would he spin some sort of tale of Harry abusing him? Get the town against him? It wouldn't be the first time that's happened.

He remembered what he decided this morning—he would trust Tom until he proved otherwise, no matter how bad of an idea that seemed to be.

Plus, if Harry knew anything about Tom Riddle, it was that he didn't act impulsively. He would probably want to think things through, have a thorough plan, before trying anything drastic. Hopefully.

Harry opened the door to the shop, shifting the groceries (under a featherlight charm) to his other hand. He wasn't familiar with the middle-aged woman running the store, having no reason to come in here before now. At the moment, she was skimming through a magazine for beauty products, so Harry decided to leave her be and look around himself.

For a town in the middle of nowhere, they sure were well-stocked out here.

It was kind of ironic, really, that the next time Harry would visit a pet store would be for Voldemort. He was the reason Harry lost his last best friend pet.

He meandered around for a while, looking at the different selection of foods, toys, collars and leashes, and whatever else. There were no actual animals, though he knows many of the townspeople have different pets or animals of their own.

Harry was personally thinking of getting chickens, eventually, but hasn't really dedicated any time to that idea yet.

.. Perhaps Tom would like taking care of them?

That was an interesting thought, for sure, but Harry wasn't quite sure he trusted Tom Riddle with any living quite yet.

Instead, he looked through what he came here for, and even somehow convinced himself to grab a couple extra things. Perhaps this wasn't the correct shop for the things he might need, but he's also a wizard. If Harry truly needed something, he had hundreds of spells at his disposal—surely there was one that would get him what he needed.

He made his final decision after a few moments of consideration. He grabbed the items, paid, and was out the door in less than two minutes after he'd decided, not giving himself enough time to doubt himself.

Truly a Gryffindor way of thinking, if Harry says so himself.

On the walk back to the barber shop, Harry shrunk the bag and stuffed it in his pocket—there was no reason for Tom to wonder and worry about what he might've gotten. And Tom wouldn't need to know unless he disobeyed.

For surely it would be some sort of punishment for him, if Harry forced him to wear a collar claiming Harry's power over him. Harry was actually quite proud of finding a small tag that he liked, just big enough for him to engrave his name on it. And the last object was for true punishments, and would hopefully never be used—a leash that could be clipped on to the collar.

Yeah, Harry thought, it was probably best to hide them, lest Tom get the wrong idea too quickly. Merlin knows what he had to go through with the Ministry, and Harry had no plans to ever use the metal band they had used.

He entered the barber shop once again, quickly noticing the change in atmosphere. Both Tom and Mr. Von were there, but the haircut had apparently already finished, and Tom was reading one of the magazines piled up to the size, while Mr. Von was cleaning up after the process.

Harry tried not to let himself stare at his slave for too long, but how in the world did a haircut make him so much hotter? That had to be some sort of illegal. How was that even possible? Every time Harry got a haircut, it grew back exactly the same length it was now, nor did his hair ever really grow, so he'd given up with haircuts a while back. (Surely it couldn't still be because of accidental magic? Was he really still doing that for his hair?)

"You- uh," Harry swallowed to clear the sudden dryness in his throat, "You- It looks great. Thank you, Mr. Von. I hope he didn't cause you any problems."

At that, Tom tensed, the pages creasing under his tight hold.

So something had happened, Harry mused.

Mr. Von, however, just waved him off. "Oh, it was no trouble at all. We found a shared interest in antiques!"

Harry huffed out a response, remembering each of the horcruxes. "Yeah, that sounds like Tom." He dug through his wallet for the correct amount, handing it to Mr. Von.

Tom stood stiffly, putting the book back on the pile and walking towards Harry as if on autopilot. "Thank you for your time, sir. I agree that the haircut looks quite nice." His polite tone was only betrayed by the dull red color of his eyes.

.. What in the world was that about? Well, no matter.

"Bye, Mr. Von. I'll come visit next time I'm in town," Harry smiled. He truly did enjoy Mr. Von's company, no matter if his age was closer to Dumbeldore's, or even Tom's, who, for his looks, was actually a good 50 years older than him. Which was still kinda weird to think about.

Sure, Mr. Von was kind of weird, in his own way, but he seemed to be the unofficial leader for the village, and despite his age, he always seemed willing to help anybody in need, and that was something Harry could respect. His smiles and even the twinkle in his eyes sometimes set Harry off, reminding him just a bit too much of Dumbledore—how he would always look like he knew something important and didn't bother to share it with Harry, but.. Despite all of that, Harry genuinely did like Mr. Von.

Tom grabbed his bags of clothes he'd set to the side, and they were out the door on their way home, back up the gravel path that led out of town into his little house on the edge of the woods.

Harry was very glad to have found this town.

. . . . .

About halfway through their walk, Harry had finally taken pity on Riddle, who kept minutely shifting the bags from one hand to another to distribute the weight. With a small wave of his hand and a quiet murmur, prompting a confused glance from Tom, the bags now had their own featherlight charm on them, just like the bags Harry was carrying.

Tom, of course, noticed the difference immediately, now able to hold all of the bags in only one hand without much difficulty, other than the awkward size. "Thank you for your kindness, master," he acknowledged, though his tone was void of emotion and barely louder than a mumble.

He'd been like this since they'd left the barber shop—unusually quiet and polite, even for the new submissive Tom Riddle. It was.. Disconcerting, to say the least. On the quick glances Harry was able to catch, the dim red of his eyes, so dark they could almost be mistaken for brown, had never once lightened. And what had Tom said earlier..?

"I don't- I have no desire to rule anymore. But no, none of my.. wants.. Are physical objects, master. And, well," Tom had hesitated for a moment, before seeming to come to a decision to continue, "I am a slave—your slave. I do not—should not—have needs, wants. I am.. I'm only here to be used at your convenience, master."

He couldn't seriously think like that, could he? Has he truly accepted the fact he was now a slave and just.. Assumed the worst? Tom Riddle had been the most ambitious person Harry had ever met, and for him to just.. give all of that up, it was worrisome.

Harry should probably sit down with Tom at some point, and perhaps give him a goal to work towards. Some sort of difficult task to accomplish, whether it be a new spell or a ritual or even a puzzle. Harry would hate living life without any kind of goal, no sense of accomplishment, and so he can only imagine how bad it would be for Tom Riddle, the most devoted person he knows.

Harry doesn't claim to know Tom Riddle well. He saw a few memories of him as a child, he was able to speak with the diary for a while, and he's shared a few dreams (nightmares) with Voldemort, but.. If there was one thing he did know about Tom Riddle, it was that when he's made up his mind, he'll give it 110%, going up and over to achieve his intention. He doesn't do things halfway.

But.. now he's apparently decided to be Harry's slave. Whether it was to get out of a bad situation, or if it was carefully thought out, Tom has made up his mind, supposedly. And from what Harry could see, Tom was trying his best to be his idea of a "perfect slave".

Did Tom's idea of a "perfect slave" involve him never acting out, never disobeying, just.. shoving down his entire personality, thinking it would only bring problems?

Harry would never admit it (okay, maybe he would), but he actually really enjoyed Tom's fiery personality. It was.. Refreshing, having somebody to talk to. He'd loved talking with the diary, no matter how many lies the horcrux had hidden under. He liked the sharp retorts, Tom's quick thinking, no matter the situation, the sarcastic drawl when hearing something stupid.

But those memories were now tainted by Tom begging to be a slave, thinking Harry would refuse to give him food, the quiet acceptance that Harry had seen looming over him—that he'd recognized his place as a slave, and was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Even now, the small grimace that made its way to Harry's lips from his thoughts caused Tom to tense slightly, his walking turning just a bit more mechanical and his face to slip into a neutral mask, jaw clenched shut.

However, they reached the house only a moment later, and Harry was saved from the awkwardness that had draped around them like an unwanted sticky cobweb. They entered through the door and Harry let out a dramatic sigh as the door finally clicked shut. While he likes the village, he's had enough socialization for the next few days. It was tiring, interacting with people constantly; he doesn't get how Tom was able to do it for years upon years during his Hogwarts days. Harry would've murdered at least four people.

Oh wait-

He asked Tom to put his clothes up in his room and then meet him in the kitchen. With fresh groceries still in their bags, now was a perfect time to teach Tom where everything in the kitchen goes, especially since Harry has a very specific system.

Tom did as asked (ordered) and met him in the kitchen only a minute later, with perfectly silent footsteps to match the fact he hasn't made a sound since his quiet "thank you" from earlier.

"Okay, I've got a fairly specific system for my kitchen, so please don't mess it up." He opened the fridge, placing the items in their specific spots. "The fresh fruit goes in this bottom drawer, except bananas, which will go on the counter over there if I ever get any. The vegetables go in the drawer above it, and make sure you don't squish anything. This shelf is for-" Harry continued explaining his method of organization, and once all of the groceries were put away, he started showing Tom where the different dishes and utensils went. "So the bowls are on this shelf, and the cups go on this one. You can stack them three high, and the plates will go on the bottom shelf over here. Here's the silverware drawer, not to be confused with the spatulas and serving spoons and all that, which go in this container."

As he explained where everything went, Tom put the (now dry) dishes he'd washed earlier away without prompting, looking at Harry for approval after everything.

"Like I said earlier, I don't mind if you want to try cooking, but as a warning, I do combine a lot of muggle and magical means to cook, so perhaps don't use anything unless you're sure how they work. If we run out of any ingredients, you can write them on the list hanging on the fridge. I usually take it along when I go shopping, but didn't really feel the need today, since we were only going to Alverron," Harry rambled. "Usually when I need more specific stuff, I'll go down to the city for my shopping, but Alverron is good for fresh fruits and vegetables."

Harry walked back into the sitting room, now that the groceries were all put away, Tom following like always. "I've got to do a bit more studying—I'm hoping to take my NEWTs soon, and I've got a year of material to catch up on. You can do what you wish, whether it be taking a nap or returning to your book or whatever else."

"Is-" Tom started, stopped as suddenly as he'd started, lowering his eyes to the ground by Harry's feet. "Is there anything you require me to do, master?"

Harry pretended the overly-polite and submissive tone didn't bother him, figuring Tom would eventually snap back to his normal self soon. Hopefully. "Hm.. Not at the moment, really. I mean, unless you want to dust everything off," he muttered sarcastically. Note the "sarcastically".

"As you wish, master." Was the immediate reply. "Where would I find the supplies to do so?"

That's right, Harry remembered, Tom doesn't have any of his magic. He'd have to do everything the muggle way.

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. "I- I was being sarcastic."

There was no response from Tom, other than the clenching of his fists.

"If you really want to, there's cleaning supplies in the closet over there." Harry vaguely gestured to one of the doors across the hall. "Make sure you read the warning labels if you use any chemicals, though. Mix the wrong two and you can kill someone pretty easily. Anyways, there should be a duster in there, on the top shelf I believe."

"Yes, master."

Harry was really quite sure he offered to let Tom read or nap or literally anything else, but instead he chooses to clean? Merlin, Harry really was in over his head when he accepted this deal, wasn't he?

And without another word, Tom found the duster and started cleaning off all of the, well, dusty things in the room. There wasn't much, to be fair, but Tom always seemed to find something new to clean just as Harry thought there couldn't be anything else.

Finally, after painstaking minutes of watching Tom learn how to use a muggle duster and proceed to find and clean everything in the room—and thus, distracting Harry from ever studying a single thing—he finally moved onto the floo, which was arguably the dustiest thing in the entire house, considering it was in a fireplace and worked through throwing dust into said fireplace.

And just as Harry is about to speak up, to say he really doesn't have to clean the floo, seeing as the duster hates the fireplace anyways, it lights up a bright green. Tom startled away from the sudden fire, sending a panicked look Harry's way that screamed "I didn't do it!"

A voice echoes through the living room, familiar in a way that makes Harry smile unconsciously. "Harry, I'm coming through!"

Another moment, and Hermione is stepping out of the green flames, looking rightfully determined about something. Glancing behind her, Harry watched Tom notice the new layer of dust flying from the fireplace and spreading through the room with a look of contempt and deadpan stare, as if saying "this might as well happen", forcing Harry to hold back a laugh.

He forced himself to focus again on Hermione, who luckily hadn't noticed Harry's moment of distraction, nor anyone else in the room. "Not that I don't like being visited, but this was quite sudden. Is something wrong?"

"Harry," she started, taking three strides forward with her eyes flaring in determination. Before continuing, she stopped, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Apparently, our favorite Dark Lord has enacted the Right of Conquest with you."

Ah, yes. That.

"Yeah, I- uh, I know." He pointed behind her with a sardonic smile.

She turned around, eyes falling on Tom Riddle holding a duster and looking two seconds from bolting. There are a few moments of silence, where nobody speaks, before Hermione replied, "Ah, so you do."

The babies... They are pure...

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