Voldemort drifts awake to sensations familiar in the way of distant memories brought to life again in a pensieve; gritty eyes from late-night reading in low light, muscle ache brought on by excessive movement, and the chill of a cold room contrasted against toasty warmth of thick covers. He had not felt these things in decades.
Once he was halfway to fully alert, the jarring difference in this situation with his surroundings just moments before had Voldemort bolting upright, wand leaping to his hand.
The room was unlit. There was absolute silence and darkness, air very still and bitingly cold, though not damp at all.
So, a small room, perhaps a cell.
He wanted to consult Nagini – it was not often that she would be absent as he rested, preferring to coil in the deepest shadows of any room he occupied; all the better for receiving presents or easy prey – but then he remembered a flash of steel and scream of rage with a strange heaviness to his thoughts, knowing then that she would not come even if he called.
With barely any conscious thought, a dim yellow light formed at the tip of his wand, detaching and floating steadily before him. He briefly wondered at the confidence of his captors, leaving Lord Voldemort's wand within his reach like this. But then as the light grew brighter, it became clear at once that he had been wrong: he was not imprisoned at all.
A muffled complaint was mumbled from beyond the gauzy hangings of his four poster bed, sounding like it was said through a mouthful of pillow. Unfortunately for the reluctant waker, Tom's light only grew brighter in response to his disbelief and shock and need for a better look. Another groan, and this time Voldemort could make out a vague outline of a bed adjacent to his own along with its occupant, who was now sitting up. He heard the click of a clasp, and saw a small, barely visible pinprick of light.
''Quarter to seven'' said the boy on the bed, ''ah well.''
Another click, the rasp of cloth on cloth, some rustling sounds and a whisper, then the room was suddenly lit, revealing a place Voldemort had not seen in over half a century.
Sounds of movement from four beds identical to his own were followed by the emergence of boys in various states of dress, most leaving the dormitory with items grabbed from their open trunks soon after. The stubbornly cheerful glow of the carved lamps had brought with them a daily routine so mundane and far back in his past that Voldemort had no memory of it at all.
He slumped back against the pillows as the last of them left, staring out at the dormitory rendered green and hazy by the wispy drapes.
A/N: because exams are coming up soon and i will need motivation to finish this after.