Dark Lord's Pet

Jerk

Harry

Hadn't missed his glass being rather slow to empty, but that was fine. He knew he needed to gain back weight, and it would be better that that happened sooner rather than later. 

He remembered too Voldemort's threats to take away his clothing, and he figured that was another matter best left unattended. He had noticed of late that the more frequently he was near the Dark Lord, the more he noticed the strength of the man's body, the beautiful tip-tilted shape of his eyes, and the intriguing way his lips were formed so perfectly, but one had to look close to see. The preoccupation with the older wizard's lips, as white as the skin surrounding them and thin, was a bit curious taken out of context, but then again, it wasn't really the appearance of the man that had drawn him into contemplating.

Cho Chang had been pretty, but he'd only really thought of her because, bad as it sounded, he felt like he was supposed to. Ron had been talking more about pretty girls, as had the other boys in his frame of interactions (though a few made comments of pretty boys as well), and Harry hadn't really felt differently about anyone himself. He noticed people were pretty or attractive, but only in the same way he always had. 

Sex and physical attraction was something other people went through, and he just hadn't understood it. Embarrassing though it was, he'd tried some self-exploration, but it never really felt like anything. Harry blinked away that line of though, trying to push the Dark Lord's lips from his mind and not contemplate why they'd got there in the first place. Not think about how much taller the other man was. . .

"Thank you," Harry said, hoping that conversing would bring him out of his mental rabbit hole.

Voldemort nodded, taking away the empty grape bowl and cup.

"I can do that," he hurriedly said, standing up and trying to take the dishes.

The other man raised them above his head, "No. You just sit tight a moment. I'll clean up."

Had Harry thought the male's height was a good thing moments before? He must've been delusional. Obviously it was something bad. Something dreadfully unfair and to be loathed.

A faint glimmer of a thought flashed through his head, and Harry leapt for it desperately, hoping it wasn't of the wrong sort. It turned out to be a rather helpful one.

With a smile, Harry sent his magic to clean the dishes and deposit the waste into the trash can beneath the sink.

"Brat," was the other man's only comment, coming on a sigh.

___

"So, today I'm just going to see what you need to learn before I'd let you go back to school. What were your grades last year? I know you haven't gotten OWLs yet, but I'd like to see your transcript all the same."

Harry felt his face go crimson, and he said, "Why do you need to see that? What possible difference could it make?"

"Well, I need to know how much training to provide, and if by the end of the summer I don't think you'll be safe in that school, I'll send a letter saying you're still recovering from psychological trauma and will be homeschooled until such time as I believe your mental health is conducive to you being away from your father's loving arms," the last part was said facetiously, voice made of silk hiding a dagger.

"Jerk," Harry muttered under his breath.

A stinging hex hit his bottom, and he yelped.

"So much for not wanting me to get hurt!"

"Well," Voldemort said, eyes coolly amused, "I meant no one is allowed to hurt you other than me."

"Bastard."

"We really must work on your diction. Such crass language is not to be born."

"You yourself cussed earlier, you said fuck, and use words like bloody and stuff like that all the time."

"That," the Dark Lord said pointedly, "Is because I'm so dangerous and widely regarded as a psychopath that it is acceptable. For a young boy such as yourself, well, we don't won't people thinking your a good for nothing uneducated twat now, do we? So, pureblood etiquette will be added to your training. Oftentimes they hold rather powerful positions, and to garner their support I need you to appear poised and proper. 

"I expect to see that transcript."

Harry's cheeks glowed a faint dusky pink, and he said, "I wouldn't trust it if I were you. I got an O in defense, Es in everything else, and an A in potions, though with a rather nasty comment that said it should've been a T."

"And why, pray tell, ought I not to trust this?"

"Because," Harry said, face turning crimson, "Well, the teachers, I think they might be sorta all biased towards me. Y'know, the Boy-Who-Lived nonsense and everything, I'm treated differently, except for Professor Binns who's dead and in DODA. Even then, in Defense it's not that I think the teacher isn't biased, I'm just genuinely good at it. Binns doesn't care about anything though, so I doubt I could be getting special treatment there. The teachers I think give me better grades than I deserve, except for Snape, cuz he hates my guts and marks everything as harshly as he possibly can and never teaches us how to do anything, just shows us a recipe and expects us to be able to do it."

"Well then," Voldemort said, "I'll start testing you myself now. Oh, and for your information, my grading isn't in line with what Hogwarts would give you, or with their curriculum. My job is to educate you so you don't embarrass me with bad grades and to ensure you stay alive. That's a high bar, Pet."