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Harry smiled involuntarily as he crossed the threshold of his favourite cafe. It had only been open six months, but in Harry’s opinion it was as good as Fortescue’s or Rosa Lee’s. The target audience was single adults, not children and cooing couples, so it was much quieter and more peaceful.
Because of the owner's personality, the only visitors at first were his old followers or suspicious members of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry had volunteered one day…
And since then he’d visited the cafe once a week, twice, and now every day if he wasn’t distracted by other things.
“The usual?” Voldemort asked in a bored tone, not taking his eyes off his latest book.
Another feature of the cafe was the abundance of bookshelves. Hermione was torn between admiration and disappointment — she couldn’t come often and didn’t feel comfortable in the owner’s presence, even with a book she was passionate about.
Voldemort sat behind the counter as usual. He was busy in the kitchen in the mornings — making the world’s most delicious treats — but spent the afternoons reading, serving rare customers with the same aloofness, whether they were purebloods, muggleborns, or even creatures. Harry still didn’t know what had caused the implacable tyrant to change.
“Two Potterochi and a Gryffindor coffee, please,” Harry smiled dazzlingly.
The molasses-flavoured mochi made him moan in a way that no lover could. Not that Harry could compare — he still hadn’t tried anything more obscene than cuddling in an empty classroom after lights out.
Voldemort waved his wand nonchalantly, and the coffee pot behind his back flew onto the burner. Harry took his time stepping away and waited with an anticipatory smile for his order. Slim fingers with neatly filed claws were tapping the spine of the book, catching Harry’s attention.
“New flavour — on the house.” Voldemort stretched his lips in a benevolent toothy grin.
Only then Harry noticed very big vanilla white mochi next to the two treacle ones.
“Sit with me,” he offered, picking up his plate, with a boldness he didn’t really feel.
“I am working, unlike some folks.”
“Hey, I’m your best customer. Please me.”
Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow.
“Don’t look like that,” Harry snorted, blushing slightly. “It’s just that you’re a very good at cooking.”
“It is not my only talent,” Voldemort chuckled and put the book aside however.
He levitated his coffee and a small teapot with an empty cup for himself to Harry’s table. Most of the time he favoured Hogwarts tea with lemon, but today his choice was Godric’s Hollow, a tea with milk.
Harry liked the line of drinks, he had tried all the teas and coffees, but was particularly fond of Azkaban Cocoa. Voldemort had a peculiar sense of humour — his hidden jokes made Harry giggle idiotically.
The cafe was located at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, open from seven in the morning until five in the evening, and Harry regularly showed up half an hour before closing time, more to lift his spirits than to satisfy his hunger. He kept a small serpentarium nearby, which was rarely frequented by casuals — Harry’s regulars were all potioneers — so he closed early.
Voldemort clearly wanted to drop in on Harry, but so far he had successfully dodged invitations. Maybe Harry should have called in a different way?..
Eleven years ago, when Voldemort had been resurrected, Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix had expected war. But nothing had happened. The Death Eaters had been quiet, the spies had returned empty-handed, Harry’s visions had seemed so crazy that he’d kept them a secret from everyone for years, even the headmaster — which wasn’t hard, considering how distant he’d become from Harry.
Voldemort had barely adjusted to his new body and out of the blue he went to Japan and settled there, completely disregarding Britain and his previous plans. He spent time with monks, studying magic, interacting with spirits, and… learning to cook. Harry drooled when he imagined noodles or fish cooked by Voldemort. The bastard had golden hands and an excellent sense of taste.
Licking his lips, Harry bit off half of the Potterochi — and groaned. He rolled his eyes, feeling the treacle flowing over his tongue like divine nectar. The delicate rice dough had no strong flavour, it only accentuated the sweetness of the filling.
As a result of witnessing Harry’s even more intense reaction when he tasted mochi with treacle at first time, Voldemort had renamed them in his honour.
Now the squinting red eyes were catching Harry’s every move.
“I know you like peeking at me,” Harry chuckled and sipped his aromatic cinnamon coffee. The invigorating drink gave him some courage.
“And you like people ogling you.”
“Well, I don’t mind when it’s you.”
Flirting was new to Harry, and he still didn’t know if Voldemort was implying something budding between them, or if he meant nothing of the sort and Harry was just filling his head with romantic nonsense.
Finished with his second treacle mochi, he washed it down with coffee and gingerly picked up the big white mochi by both hands. It smelled of vanilla, but the dark filling shone through the dough.
“This is a Creaturochi,” Voldemort said, watching intently and with a kind of hunger as Harry devoured his novelty. The mochi was filled with a thick berry jam, though Harry couldn’t make out which one. “Vanilla pastry, blackcurrants and blueberries.” It took five bites to eat the big mochi. “What is the verdict?”
“It’s tasty,” Harry decided. “It’s not too sweet, there’s a lot of dough, but considering the size, that’s probably a plus… Berry lovers will like it. You’ve never mixed flavours before.”
Voldemort rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and sipped his tea. He seemed to be in the mood to share a story about the past — it didn’t happen very often.
“Eleven years ago, I had a dream…” Harry stared at Voldemort in surprise — he had started from a distance. “A white monster with glassy eyes said it had followed me from the graveyard and was sorrowful about my condition. Its tongue was blue and its throat was purple, which is why I chose currants and blueberries for the filling. Then in a dream — or a vision — I raised my wand at it, but… The Creature only laughed. It suggested me to take a sabbatical. When I woke up, I no longer remembered the details, but a haunting urge to move away lingered in my mind. A couple of weeks later I left the country.”
“So… the war didn’t start just because you had some ridiculous dream?” Harry couldn’t believe it. “It turned you into a soft Voldemochi?”
“Do not call me that, Potter.”
Despite his contrived angry expression, Voldemort reached up and brushed a speck of berry jam off the corner of Harry’s mouth. Without taking his eyes off Harry’s open eager lips, Voldemort licked his finger. Harry swallowed heavily.
Revenge for the cute nickname caught up with him instantly.
“I, um, I think I’ll go… I need to feed my snakes… W-want to join me?”
Contrary to Harry’s expectations, Voldemort didn’t refuse. He rose gracefully from the table, hovered over Harry and whispered in his ear:
“What a coincidence, my treacle boy, because I have two ravenous snakes.”
Harry caught his breath.
