A/N: So I got a burst of inspiration - admittedly, it was mostly for cuddle-scenes. Enjoy! And also big thanks for the reviews and support. I'm a bit in shock to realize that this story has been sitting on my google drive for over two years now, and I'm still no closer to piecing it together. Again, this is only edited by my skimming eyes, so feel free to point out any mistakes.

"He was wrong," Harry breathed, as if vindicated. As if confirming something that pressed at his mind, that worried his sleep. "Wrong in his prying, his assumptions, his approach. Wrong."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was wrong," and this time Potter laughed with the words, savoring their flavor on his palate.

Voldemort twitched, minutely annoyed: when he truly got impassioned, Potter tended to skip over the cause of his ranting, making it rather hard to put into context. It was sure to be another long night of wondering what the Headmaster had done to infuriate the brat now…

"Dumbledore's approach set the building blocks to it all, really," Harry snorted, throwing his hands out in an all-encompassing gesture. "Looking down on a child, an eleven-year-old orphan, as evil-"

The Dark Lord perked up - surely, the man wouldn't have-

"He basically taught Riddle his approach at school! "Manipulate, my boy, because I won't even show you your bloody heritage when you're being your honest-to-Merlin, mistrustful self! Be a proper lad, because surely growing up in a bloody orphanage taught you how to do so! Oh, but let's not forget that I'm going to imprint upon your young, impressionable mind that an assertion of superior power and authority will always win!" Merlin, can you get any dafter, Dumbledore, honestly!"

"Never mind that Tom was the only magical child in the orphanage, and a powerful one at that. Never mind that he was constantly aware that he had something they lacked – that he was powerful and they were not. Never mind that he had but one way to defend himself, to make himself known, understood… alone. Never mind that they were many and Tom was one and the first thing he asked was if Dumbledore was from an asylum. Never mind."

By the end of it Harry was outwardly calm, but Voldemort could feel, could see the magic, thick and cloying in the air, drab and dead and so very, very infuriated for a boy that had died so long ago.

Harry's temper left him quite suddenly, and he slumped into the trunk, looking almost defeated as his head tilted back, eyes finding the stars.

"It shouldn't matter," the boy murmured to himself, firmly. "It's no excuse, there is no excuse, Merlin, why am I of all people even trying to make excuses…"

And wasn't that a question, the question, that Voldemort wished to have answered as well.

"Sympathy for a killer, for their killer, indirectly even Sirius'... Merlin, I'm losing it."

Harry turned to him suddenly, as if never having forgotten he was there, and Voldemort withheld his surprised flinch as well as he could. He couldn't piece together how this boy, this "savior"'s mind worked, how it jumped from one thing to another, how, why, it even fell upon the topics it did. What had shaped this sharp, unpredictable brain, dumb in some things and brilliant in so much more? It was dangerous, really. The prospect of peeling into Harry Potter's head should not, did not, excite Voldemort.

Really, it didn't.

Harry held out a hand, as if calling him forward, and Voldemort tilted his head proudly but went. After all, if Potter did not trust him as this creature then he wouldn't speak so freely. And the Dark Lord Voldemort's pride and planning took precedence over his love of petting, no matter how pleasant the sensation of hands kneading his worn muscles.

"Sorry, just in the process of losing my mind over here," Harry chuckled warily, finger pressing into pale fur, knuckles skimming down Perses' vertebrae.

Harry could help but laugh at the flamboyant old bastard escape; conniving as he was, Dumbledore didn't lack in flair. "What he lacks in personality…" Harry murmured, quickly sealing his mouth when Percy shot him a look.

"You may not like him Minister, but you can't deny - Dumbledore's got style." Kingsley surmised quite nicely. Then again, Harry doubted very much sounded unpleasant in that deep, rumbling voice.

"Still, I could've done without the wink," Harry grunted later, laid on his back in the Forbidden Forest with Perses half-curled up on his chest. He was heavier than expected but Harry didn't mind - he had dealt with the weight of Dudley pressing him into the dirt more times than he would like to recall. "I mean, I know we've got this whole professor-protege dynamic going on, but he was basically rubbing it in the Minister's face - which, does he want to further smear his and my name? I mean, his agenda seemed to be painting me as a puppet proudly undertaking his agenda, but..."

Harry's hand paused in it's rhythmic soothing of Perses fur for a moment, head turning over the earlier scene once again. He was actually getting a little worried with his obsessive analysing of recent events. "Am I actually this paranoid?" he wondered, brow creasing.

Then again, he had more reason to be paranoid than most, what with a Dark Lord after his arse, a Headmaster that was plotting something too ghastly for polite discussion, and a mysterious link to Voldemort himself that could be used to possess him, perhaps at any given moment.

"How am I actually not dead yet?" because Harry concluded that he really, really should be. That or locked in a dungeon somewhere, being passively or actively tortured.

"If they used solitude and food deprivation as a torture method, though… it'd feel just like home sweet home. At least they did me some good, that's probably more useful that whatever 'training' Dumbledore's playing at."

Harry released a mighty huff of air, eyes slipping shut as a shiver wrought his frame. It seemed he would need to reapply his warming charm, judging by the sudden chill seeping into his bones.

Perses released a huff of his own, head butting at his chin.

"Yes, yes, your majesty," Harry chuckled, hands continuing their exploration, finding that place on the back of Perses neck that actually elicited a pur from the prickly feline. "I would let the house elves lather you in attention all day, if you weren't such a grouch," Harry smiled, referring to the time Dobby had appeared before them and almost gotten his ankle chewed off.

"Then again, I may get jealous if you were ever this cute and docile for anyone else," Harry hummed, snuggling into the warmth of thick fur, too comfortable to flick his wand and re-apply a simple charm. But Perses didn't seem content to allow his cuddling, raising himself with a rumbling growl and nipping at the hand still messing up his groomed fur.

"Woah," Harry squeaked, sitting up at the startling change in demeanor, cradling a hand to his chest. The sudden movement caused Perses to fall to his lap, where he haughtily straightened and flicked his tail, jumping from Harry's lap.

"Ow," Harry said plaintively, hand raising to where the tail had lashed his cheek. "Merlin, one would think a creature so proud would like being called cute, you brat."

Perses turned to face him with a warning snarl, eyes flashing in the moonlight, and Harry held up his injured hand in a half-soothing, half-accusatory gesture.

"Don't get prissy with me, you're the one slapping me around!" Harry groused, watching the Margay tilt it's head imperiously and turn it's back. It weaved into the trees and darkness without preamble, tail swishing stiffly behind it, and Harry sighed, falling back to the ground. How he could ever think of that cat as docile…

Oh.

Harry chuckle quickly developed into a full-blown laugh, shoulders shaking with it, eyes watering, sides cramping in protest for more oxygen. Harry laughed and laughed and laughed, unable to contain his mirth at Perses' ridiculousness, and his own.

Offensive, indeed, to view such a proud, intelligent creature as docile. No doubt he would be made to grovel before the cat in repayment of the slight… Merlin, the things he did to appease the proud furball. If they were in a relationship, Harry would be well and truly whipped.

Harry choked on his own spit, quivering with laughter and nausea at the thought. Only he would entertain the notion of dating a cat, really…

"Good thing you're so cute," Harry said, just to confirm his previous conclusion. Really. (And a little because Perses really, really was.)

The feline bristled a bit, but tilted his head to allow Harry better access to his neck, because petting.

Harry smiled and obeyed, scratching lightly under his chin. There was no pur, but Perses relaxed into his hold, allowing Harry to cuddle him closer.

Harry flushed - for Merlin's sake, he had psychoanalyzed the Dark Lord in front of him!