I wrote this a few days ago, and then read The Secret History instead of hitting up my beta reader. But now it's here, so enjoy!
Beta'ed by Raven.
The fire was spreading an alluring warmth throughout the library; Harry watched the flames flicker in the grate. A strange sense of melancholy had overcome him, leaving him listless and unsettled. Voldemort indulged his mood, allowing Harry to sit by his feet as he read, his long fingernails carding gently through Harry's hair.
Voldemort's book smelt like ash and decay — a smell Harry associated with the Dark Arts — and by this point it almost comforted him.
"You're acting odd." Harry heard the telltale snap of Voldemort's book as he closed it, and fingers gripped his hair lightly.
Harry sighed. "I miss my friends."
"I can make another amendment for you," Voldemort said, hand sliding down to Harry's neck, rubbing the exposed bruises marring his skin.
"I'm not sure that would be a great idea." Neither Ron nor Hermione would believe he had the freedom to say no without the promise of pain afterwards. It was isolating and embarrassing, and he had sworn radio silence until Hermione's well-meaning yet invasive and hurtful letters trailed off once more.
Voldemort's fingers found their way around Harry's neck, and he tilted his head back to accommodate the width of Voldemort's palm against his windpipe.
"If you're sure," Voldemort said, though he didn't sound like he believed Harry at all.
Voldemort squeezed, and Harry welcomed the cut to his air supply, eyes closing as his head fell onto the chair between Voldemort's legs. These sudden power plays grounded him like he was finally rooted in the dirt after years of drifting on the wind. It wasn't about submission, Merlin knew Voldemort got enough of it from his followers. It was reassurance, comfort, from one man who had never known it to another who craved it like the very air he breathed.
"Beautiful," Voldemort whispered, and Harry opened his eyes, meeting reverent crimson. Voldemort's lips parted slightly and his other hand slid down Harry's cheek gently, the tip of his middle finger pressing against the dip between Harry's lips.
Voldemort's fingers were cold, despite him lounging by the fire for hours on end. He had confessed to Harry once, under the safe veil of night, that Harry warmed him to the bone, chased away the chill clouding his flesh since his resurrection.
Harry thought of the moment then, as Voldemort's fingers loosened from around his neck, and he hooked an arm around Voldemort's knee, kissing his clothed thigh lightly. He could feel curiosity and interest rousing Voldemort's end of the Horcrux link like a waking dragon.
There was a warmth spreading in Harry's chest, spilling through his stomach, and he held onto it, pushed it towards the dark patch in the back of his mind. Voldemort's eyes widened, a hand going to his chest as though Harry's feeling made him physically warm.
"I think you're beautiful too," Harry said quietly, reaching for Voldemort's other hand, which had fallen limp onto his knee. He intertwined their fingers carefully, smiling at the look of disbelief and wonderment.
Harry loved this man, and he thought maybe Voldemort loved him back, despite all odds. It was enough to fill the pain his friends left and more, and at that moment everything seemed like it could be okay.