The Life He Deserved

Chapter 14

Harry was apprehensive of this evening. While he trusted and loved his fathers, he wasn't aware of how they'd react to Tom. Of course, they'd be civil for his sake but he still worried, especially with how hot-headed Sirius can be. He slipped a maroon sweater on; despite being a Slytherin he still had some Gryffindor pride (more like his Sirius forced him to wear red) and started heading to the kitchen while throwing on a black apron. He wanted to make dinner this Yule for his family. While he learned out of necessity rather than passion (thanks a lot Dursleys), he genuinely loved cooking. Getting a grateful thank you was also a bonus. Kreacher like most house elves made a huge fuss out of him cooking claiming it was his duty, but Harry simply ordered him to allow him to cook, and to Kreacher's despair he had to obey. Of course, he had Kreacher stock up on some premium quality products to stop his sulking. In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and pantry to take out the ingredients. With that, he started washing vegetables, humming away and getting absorbed by the task.

Tom was currently dreading the coming dinner. He had the revelation that the two men he was meeting had every reason to Crucio the fuck out of him, and he honestly deserved it too. Despite this, he would still go. Sane or not the former dark lord refused to back down; he was no coward. Well, perhaps when facing death, but apparently that isn't an issue anymore thanks to Harry. He had a lot to thank Harry for, even if his actions still mind boggled him. He braced himself and pushed off the mattress weakly, slowly getting out of bed. His limbs felt brittle and shaky, and his body moved lethargically with constant dull ache. He felt unbelievably weak. He glanced at the clothes Harry left on the nightstand for his use; they were Muggle clothes. It was a fluffy blue and white sweater with silky white pajama bottoms; Harry seemed to love matching him with blue judging by his room and clothes. He slipped it on tenderly and stared at a full body mirror on the wall, running his hand into his unbrushed hair. This was so new to him. He never EVER dressed so casually nor felt this nervous for anything. He gazed into blood red eyes, apparently not all the side effects were erased. But despite this single similarity, this wasn't him. Yet it was his new reality. When was the last time he felt all these emotions; these feelings he locked away so long ago, that he shunned to protect himself in the orphanage? He sighed and dropped his hand to his side. Might as well get this over with. And with that he steeled himself and made his way down the stairs for the first time.

Tom made it to the the bottom when an amazing aroma hit him, along with soft humming. Glancing to his left where they both came from, he followed the sound, hearing it increase in volume each step. When Tom arrived at the target, he was quite surprised. It seemed he was in a kitchen, but rather than a house elf preparing the meal like most upper class had, he saw Harry humming away with an apron as he seared some vegetables. There was a huge smile prominent on Harry's face and a sparkle of passion glowing in his eyes. One like his own whenever he was absorbed by something. He grimaced; those joys usually revolved around death and torture these past years. Trying not to think about it, Tom cleared his throat. Harry jumped slightly startled, and a small blush crept up his face. He was always uncomfortable about people watching him cook, probably because the Dursleys breathed down his neck making sure he didn't burn anything. Coughing awkwardly Harry greeted him.

"Um, good afternoon Tom. Dinner should be ready soon. The dinner table is on the right of here, but you could stay if you'd like." Harry wasn't sure why he offered to let Tom stay when he hated being watched. He settled that it was out of mannerism. Tom nodded and sat down on a chair against the wall. Harry glanced for a second, still bemused that the Darkest Lord of all time was currently sane and whole, leaning over a chair watching him cook. He shook his head a bit trying to ignore the presence watching him and continued with the meal. Oddly enough, Tom's attention didn't really bother him much.

Tom watched as Harry moved with grace, one pan to another and trays in and out of the oven. Harry was practically gliding with his swift movements, not a single flaw or mistake as he seasoned, chopped, and flipped. As a teen he thought cooking was menial servant work. Honestly, he still thought that but seeing Harry with such skill and precision, he wasn't so sure. After what felt like half an hour, Tom now saw a variety of perfectly displayed dishes, scents drifting through the kitchen. He heard Harry sigh in satisfaction before waving a hand over everything. Harry confused him; he hadn't used magic once during the cooking process until now. It wasn't because of underage magic; he performed an entirely illegal and dark ritual for Merlin's sake! And yet he did everything by hand without thought. He watched in bewilderment as this 11-year-old boy now casually casted wandless magic without a sweat. Even knowing he wasn't really 11, it was quite an impressive feat for his small stature. Harry gazed into his eyes as if reading his soul and smiled.