Dark Lord's Pet

You'll Regret It

Harry

The lessons were not what he'd been expecting. After their handshake, Voldemort had stood up from his chair and walked to the kitchen, leash still fastened around the man's left wrist dragging Harry in his wake.

It'd taken a moment for him to find his feet, the collar choking him as he stumbled up, and the start of an idea took root. He'd put it into action later. For now, he was under the Dark Lord's purview, and had to remain unscrutinized. 

Upon reaching the kitchen, Voldemort began speaking, "You're too goddamn thin. Your body will never take to the training, your magic will not recover as quickly, and you'll not continue growing until you've gained a good," he cast evaluating eyes over Harry from head to toe, "twenty pounds to start with. I'll look into it more thoroughly later, but this," he said, grabbing Harry's neck, fingers of a single hand fully encircling the too thin column, "is not alright.

"You'll eat everything I give you, and if you feel uncomfortable, I'll provide potions to assist you. I may not be the best cook, but if you don't eat every single bite I put in front of you, you'll regret it," he said, tightening his grasp before releasing, adding an unnecessary shove that sent the boy tumbling back a few steps.

Harry didn't mind. He planned on testing whether breaking the rules would speed his demise, and the temper the man possessed seemed a good sign. Closing his eyes, he once again focused hard on his magic, feeling the weakened state of it and knowing that there was still enough to keep him functioning. A pity that, but likely depleting it would simply send him into the realm of unconsciousness once more. 

I can cook 

"Can you indeed? Well, get to it then. If you're lying though, you'll face consequences. I don't like for food to be wasted."

With the ease of years of practice, Harry went over to the fridge and pulled it open. He couldn't help the face he made at the barrenness of the box. He looked out of the corner of his eye at the other man.

Gauging the environment, the smallish living area, though nicely furnished with a lot of books, no sign of a house elf or companion sharing the house, very neat though clearly it wasn't cleaned often, Voldemort was definitely a bachelor. And he had a bachelor's fridge.

Apparently he shunned vegetables in their original form, fruit as well, though he did have specialized protein and nutrient beverages that seemed to have, upon inspection of the ingredients, the parts lacking. He had gone to muggle school for the first years of his education after all, and learning the stupid Eatwell Guide had been a necessary evil. That combined with his Aunt's dedication to healthy eating (one neither his cousin nor uncle shared) had given him a keen understanding of what one ought to eat.

Your food supply sucks

Eloquent, he knew, but he was half hoping the other man would just lash out and kill him already.

A brow, or rather the muscle there, arched, and Voldemort said, "Are you testing my patience, Pet? I can easily get more food, but I see no use in it. And," he said, looking Harry up and down more leisurely, a glance he was certain was just to embarrass him (which succeeded, he went nearly as red as the man's eyes) judging by the humor floating in the crimson gaze, "It would appear you'd like to continue this appearance tomorrow. Since you have the qualities that push my buttons so very naturally, I'll have to set up a point scale.

"First thing to go is pants. Then shirt, socks, underwear. After that, as I'm quite convinced you'll still continue to be a brat, we increase the amount of work during your training, pushups and the like. Since your body, weak as it is, can only take a certain amount of that. . . Well, I suppose I must determine a third category."

Something crept into those red eyes, something Harry didn't like. It wasn't death, he'd be more than thrilled to see that, it was. . . it was something dangerous though. He had a feeling that the Dark Lord had already determined the third category, but why wasn't he sharing it?

"I shan't tell you what it is," Voldemort said, answering Harry's unspoken interest, "I think it'll be far more enjoyable, for me, that is to say, to wait," an almost feral grin stretched across his lips, revealing sharpened teeth beneath. Where canines were on a human mouth, there appeared to be fangs, though somewhat shorter than your expected venomous snake's would be. For some reason, Harry didn't believe the fangs to be any less dangerous for their size.

"You'll make a grocery list tonight, and I will get anything I deem appropriate. I'm not filling you up with any stupid muggle 'fast food' mind you, you'll be getting actual food, not something dragged from a cesspit, so don't bother asking for it. Get to work on dinner, and don't slack off."

Voldemort attached the end of the leash to a web of tracks on the ceiling that hadn't been there a moment ago. Harry would be able to move around the kitchen easily enough, but not leave it. The older man left him, returning to his precious books, and Harry worked with what was available to him.

The man was insufferable.