Draco Malfoy had been forced out of the Slytherin common rooms with several other students, and they had all been pushed into empty classrooms. The rooms had been changed, and now resembled a smaller, dirtier med bay. Transfigured beds lined the walls, none of the tones matching, and all the sheets and blankets scratchy.
It was easy to tell what had been going on just by observing the rest of the faces within the walls. Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, Zabini, and several other faces told the story of the miniature Deatheaters. A large majority of the students present were Slytherin, and ones that Draco knew were all suspected of being pro-Dark Lord. Some of the families who had sided with Voldemort during the first war, and now had a stigma attached to their names. Some newer names as well, ones that had been investigated yet never proven.
Pansy and Chloe Gifflen had been taken to a different room with other girls, Pansy because her family had never officially bowed to the Dark Lord, but were supporters none-the-less. Draco wasn't as sure about Gifflen, he had heard from the grapevine that she had a second cousin who had been one of Lord Voldemort's right hand men when the Deatheaters first arose. He supposed being related to an original member warranted suspicion, even if he knew that Gifflen was quite standoffish, and often distanced herself from talk or blood purity. She hadn't seemed too interested in anything Deatheater related.
Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle made sense. Zabini had been stuck with them, as he had been a part of their group for a while, and it only made sense that all of Draco Malfoy's friends would be evil gits. Zabini was an evil git, but other than believing in blood supremacy and being anti-muggle, Blaise had no inclination for Deatheaters. He quipped about Draco's father constantly, he had once crudely drawn a tattoo on his arm and wouldn't shut up about being part of the club. Draco had no doubt that Blaise had no intentions on joining a faction. He was all about himself.
All five of the boys had gathered together, and spoke in hushed tones. They hadn't been told what was happening, nor were they allowed to leave the room without an escort. Their wands had been confiscated, and even though Draco complained very loudly, their voices went unheard. Within a day this classroom had become a prison. Days had passed, and the four walls seemed to only grow smaller.
Draco Malfoy hadn't had a decent shower, and his hair was completely non compliant without magic or his hair products. His parents had warned him about situations like this, and they had come up with a plan. They had a location to meet up, a specific time in case they could get away. His father would apparate them away to a hidden destination where they could properly regroup. The only problem was that Draco could not get away. The students were watched constantly, always two grown wizards at the doors. Every shift they changed it was a different duo, and it was always a slightly different time. Making any plans difficult and almost impossible.
This had to do something with Potter, and Draco would eat his robes if it wasn't. He just hoped that his mother and father were alright.
It had taken less than two days to convince The Order to allow Xenophilius to join ranks and begin working as part of the organization. Within thirty six hours, the man had learned about the deadline on the protective shield. That same night he had been let in on the plan of the mass apparition, a piece of information that shook both wizards to their cores. Iris had known from the start that they would try to take the children away, but hearing that they had forty eight hours had set her off. She demanded that she would be allowed to see the locked up students, begging Xenophilius to sabotage his security shift that morning, so that she could meet with the children.
They were the most at risk in her mind, as they had already been pinned as criminals. Her daughters at least had each other, so she could trust that they would be taken care of. These students had been isolated, and kept in the dark in fear that they had something to do with the take over. Iris would be damned to send them to their doom somewhere in the world where they wouldn't stand a chance.
That morning Iris had followed closely behind Xenophilius and Tonks. She had stayed close enough
to follow them, but far enough away that she wouldn't be detected. Once the wizards were in place, the woman was immediately stunned. Xenophilius had caught the poor girl before she fell to the floor, and allowed entry to Iris.
The first thing she saw opening the door was a terrible cell. Every student in the room had turned their heads, gazing at her unfamiliar face. Each child looked ragged, tired, and on guard. They reminded the mother of war hardened men ready to hear that they would be deployed once again. She shut the door behind her, making sure it was closed fully, before addressing the students.
"I don't have long, please listen to me." She pleaded. "We are doing everything we can to get you out of here," She promised. Expressions changed, ranging from doubtful to curious. She looked to her right at a group of older boys and made eye contact with Draco Malfoy. The blonde was staring at her with an empty face, his arms crossed while he sat highly on the end of a bed. "Your parents want nothing more than to see you all." She stated. The young Malfoy's jaw twitched, and Iris allowed her eyes to wander. "The Dark Lord had risen-" The immediate reaction was whispering, heads turning to other students, and fear.
"I knew it!"
"That's insane-
"I told you."
"Children!" She snapped. The room hushed, and Draco Malfoy stood.
"What is it like? Out there?" The teen questioned, his head motioning towards the closed door. Iris once again addressed the group.
"It isn't terrible. There isn't fire crawling on the walls, no blood pools along the streets. He has been fair, and just." She stated confidently. A flash of doubt crossed Malfoy's face, so she continued. "My two daughters are here, and I plan on bringing them home. Why would I bring them back to a place if I believed there was no salvation?" A look of realization crossed the blonde's face and he narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You're Ivy Hitbirk's mother." The teen announced, catching the witch off guard. She clenched her jaw and nodded. "She's a good student." Draco commented.
"She is." The mother agreed easily. The young Malfoy nodded once slowly, and Iris felt like her being the mother to a fellow Slytherin had given the much needed brownie points.
"What can we do? How can we help?" Draco asked, searching her face. She cleared her throat and addressed the room.
"I was brought in with another wizard in hopes to take down the shield, to allow access and evacuation of the students safely." She admitted. Keeping Xenophilius's name a secret, in case the students knew who he was and didn't immediately think it was a terrible idea. The Lovegood's weren't known for their amazing reputations. "There is currently no way to communicate to the Dark Lord, no owls, no Floo. Nothing. But we have learned of information that would benefit us all should we be able to get it out." Draco Malfoy's head snapped up and he looked like he had the brightest idea he had ever had.
"I know how to do it." His hands clenched tightly at his sides, his grey eyes looking bright enough to be silver.
A shiver ran down Harry's spine and he felt like someone was talking about him. Probably Voldemort and his Deatheater's all gossiping. He could imagine them all in a plush living room, sitting around, drinking tea. Voldemort on the long couch kicking his legs in delight at Bellatrix's joke. 'Did you hear that Harry's first kiss was with a crying girl? It was probably because it was so terrible!' Lucius Malfoy braiding his own hair and talking smack about the Weasleys. 'Gingers? Hah! Red hair was so last century. I bet they don't even have a single peacock in their yard. I have fifty. What losers!'
Harry snorted, causing Nagini to flinch on his lap at the sudden noise. He stroked her scales gently as a silent apology. It was strange but he could tell that they were connected. Sometimes he knew what she was feeling, what she wanted. He knew exactly where she wanted to be pet, or if she was interested in his food. It must have been a soul magic thing, it had to be. This probably should have freaked him out a bit more than it did, but he was content with feeling what she felt, if not for the ability to tell if he's pissed her off enough to eat him whole.
It was a different connection than the one he had with Voldie. With that connection, he could feel what the man felt, and sometimes see what he saw. They shared dreams, visions. He didn't feel Voldemort's hunger, or instinctively know what the other wanted. He often had no idea what the man wanted. Was this because Nagini and himself were pieces of the soul? Or perhaps because they spent so much time together? If the Dark Lord was in a good mood he could perhaps ask him. The only downside was that it might be bad, and then Harry wouldn't be allowed to be with her anymore. Or that it would be something that would turn into a science experiment. Harry didn't feel much like being a guinea pig at the moment.
No, at the current moment he was quite content with laying in the patch of sun that shone through the window in his room. Nagini had complained about being cold after their shower ('their' absolutely meaning that Nagini had no respect for personal space and Harry had to deal with a twelve foot snake while he was starkers) and Harry suggested the comfy looking carpet. He didn't have any way to start a fire, for very obvious reasons, so it was either wrapping her up in his comforter, or the sun.
This found both basking quietly, only shifting slightly when the sun moved in order to stay in the hot spot.
Another positive note, was that all his robes had resized to his own size. He was pleasantly surprised to find that not only were they smaller, but that he now had a drawer of socks. Further investigation had revealed comfy looking black sweatshirts, a handful of plain t-shirts, and a pair of jeans. Harry couldn't believe that Voldemort had given him jeans, of all clothing. Jeans.
He wasn't going to complain.
"The heat is leaving Harry." Nagini whined. Sluggishly turning her head and bumping his cheek. Opening his eyes and gazing over he could see that the angle of the sun was making it hard to stay in the rays. In only two feet they would be at the wall, making their spot useless.
"We could go find a better spot," he offered. It would do him good to get up and stretch a bit anyways. "Come on." He breathed out, lightly patting her tail. She visibly sank into the floor, hissing unhappily.
"No moving, only heat." She demanded. Harry sat up fully and shook his head.
"Who would've thought such a strong, fast, gorgeous snake would be so lazy." He pondered aloud.
"Nagini is not lazy." She grumbled, finally stirring by turning her head and slowly sliding her way towards him. She tried to climb onto his outstretched legs, but he pushed her away.
"Laps aren't for lazy snakes." He laughed, and the snake hissed once again. Her tongue darted out, tagging Harry's wrist.
"Nagini is fast. Nagini is best."
"Nagini is also very humble. Not at all vain or arrogant." He snickered, once again pushing her away from her not so sly attempt to climb onto him.
"Yesssssss. Nagini is best." Harry could only laugh in response. He brushed her off one last time, and stood with his arms raised high. He reached upwards, and could feel the muscles in his back adjusting to the new position. He turned his body side to side, making his back crack a bit. Nagini hissed the word 'broken' under her breath, but Harry ignored her. Instead he adjusted the jeans on his body, and smoothed out the now very wrinkled t-shirt.
"Let's go find a better spot, yeah?" He asked, glancing down to the snake. Nagini responded by inching her body forward and bumping into his bare foot. He had decided to not put on socks because he felt pretty comfortable without them while it was warmer. There wasn't anyone around to be self conscious about his feet anyways.
"Nagini knows a spot…" She hissed, and began forward without Harry.
"Why didn't you say earlier?" Harry questioned, starting to follow her out of the room.
"You didn't ask, silly Harry."
"Ah, of course. That makes total sense. No point in bringing up relevant information, even if it would be super helpful, until someone asks for the specifics, right?"
"Nagini will bite you." Came the short reply, and Harry could tell she didn't mean it. The rest of the way was quiet as Nagini led him to the library at the end of the hall. The door was open, and Harry followed inside. He had completely forgotten that this room had a longer window. Meaning more sun space on the floor.
"You are an absolute genius." The teen nodded, giving a small golf-clap in congratulations.
"Yesssss." The snake agreed while taking her place in the bigger spot of sun. Harry didn't feel like laying down right away, so he decided to browse a little instead. Heeding Nagini's warning about the biting books, he tried to pick books that looked innocent. On one of the shelves he found an older edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the spine was practically bent in half, showing great love. He pulled it from the shelf, and opened it up. He flipped through and noticed that this book had notes and comments written in the Dark Lords scrawl. Interest peaked, Harry turned deliberately to the page with the Basilisk on it. To his great disappointment, the page was almost completely empty, other than a small note at the bottom that Harry was unable to read, as it was all squiggly lines instead of words.
He felt very tempted to go through the book to read what Tom Riddle thought about the multitude of creatures. Harry placed the old book underneath his arm, and continued browsing. More titles that seemed to be related to death, or specific branches of magic, seemed to line the shelves. Most older tomes. At the top of one of the shelves there was a small blue book that stuck out amongst the rest. It was quite tiny, and the shiny gold letters caught in the light.
Harry reached up, and took the book from its place. Turning it over he remembered hearing about this book. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was like a nursery rhymes book for wizards. Stories for kids. Harry hadn't gotten to read much, as the Dursleys forbid him from borrowing books unless it was required for class. He moved the book back and forth, and watched the gold lettering sparkle. He was excited to read it.
Feeling all giddy now, Harry decided to do something he was never able to do before. Building a blanket fort and reading all night. The newfound excitement threatened to bubble out of him, so the teen placed both chosen books onto the closest table and ran back to his room.
He grabbed his comforter, and the two pillows, racing back down the hall to drop them off. He decided to time himself while he did it, and try to beat his own record. The second time Harry grabbed the sheet from his bed, stripping the mattress bare and running like a madman down the hall without any grace. He was faster the second time by 3 seconds.
Taking a look around the room, Harry had to choose the best place to put his fort. He held his hands up, looking through his fingers like one might do when looking at a landscape for painting. He scanned the room, closing one eye for better focus. The middle of the room would leave him with a very short tent, only offering the chairs, couch, and tables to be used as support. If he used a bookshelf, he could drag over some of the furniture and make a slanted roof. The books would be heavy enough to hold the sheet in place.
Harry dropped his hands and nodded to himself happily.
"This is going to be awesome."
The meetings had been fruitful that morning. They had discussed further into the logistics of the new Muggle and Muggle Born Registration, the paperwork for adoptions and relocation were finalized. Not only had that been a weight off the Dark Lord's shoulders, but it gave him a peace of mind that they were closer to the goal.
The reintegration for werewolves had been a slower start, but plans for housing had been made. There were many empty spots in larger houses available. Many wizard bloodlines ended, leaving numerous manors open for grabbing. A simple deal with the Goblins and they became property of the ministry. They had chosen an area that had ample room, and the renovations would be underway soon. It would be somewhat of a halfway house until the individuals could find work, and their own homes.
Even with all the good happening now, Voldemort couldn't erase the feeling of intense rage that coiled in his belly. It threatened to spring, and his fingers were itching to cast. His reasoning behind this feeling was unequivocally Harry Potter.
The boy hadn't done anything himself, however. It was his relatives.
The night he was able to enter Harry's dream had been surprising, yet not unwelcome. The closer in proximity, the stronger the bond. He could feel it growing, with the way it became so easy to control the bond, and how Voldemort seemed to be able to feel echoes of Harry's emotions even when he was sure the bond was closed completely. It was uncharted territory, yet he was sure that it was from spending time closer together. Parts of the soul constantly wanted to become whole again, as it was most unnatural for them not to be.
He had just gotten to sleep himself, it had been quite late, or early depending on how one would see it. The Dark Lord needed less sleep than most, so he would often lay down with intentions to sleep around two or three in the morning. He would get three to four hours of sleep before the rising sun woke him. This night had been different.
He had laid in bed and felt a tugging sensation, it was foreign. It felt like a spiritual pull, beckoning him in. He chose not to ignore it, and this was how he ended up in Harry's dream. Harry had called him there. The room was small, and dark. It was dirty, and Harry sat atop his small bed. The teen had taken on his younger self, and his hair was more wild than the Dark Lord had ever seen it. Within the past week he had noticed how his hair had practically expanded, the curls seeming to break free of a gold and now sticking out in every way without regard. Harry had sat there with such a look on his face, it wasn't something he thought he'd seen on such a young face.
At first Voldemort was sure that the small room was Harry's way of representing his current predicament of being trapped. As one's brain liked to express what one was feeling with literal visuals. Yet he had an inkling that this really wasn't the case. His theory of this being an overall representation was squashed quickly when he realized that this place was familiar to the teen. Taking in the scene again, Voldemort could pick out toys, and crude drawings on the wall.
The Dark Lord stepped closer to the far wall, glancing at the art on the wall for a closer inspection. They consisted of trees, grass, the sun in the corner of the page. One prevailing theme however, was that in every picture there was a lone stick figure. It was easy to deduce that it was Harry, as children drew themselves most often. Themselves and family or pets. Each picture the figure was standing in the same position, only the scenery changing. The stick figure never had a face, or features to indicate a sense of self. Most children were able to recognize that there was something unique about them, and could use specific details to express who the picture was of. Yet Harry's self-portraits had nothing. They were eerily empty, as if he hadn't a sense of self at all.
Looking back over to Harry, he could see now that the position he had taken up was less defensive, and more self-soothing. Taking one look at Harry's wrists he could see that this version of Harry was much too small.
He had seen people that skinny only in situations where food was scarce or not available at all. Harry had been small for his age, even when he was eleven. Yet this wasn't small, this was emaciated. There was a major difference in children who just happened to be skinny and small, to those that hadn't a chance to grow in the first place. He was younger than his first trip to Hogwarts, the Dark Lord could tell, yet he could guess that the weight only changed because the boy grew upwards.
Before he could question Harry, the dream changed. The feeling of fear that had been at the back of Harry's psyche, of which Voldemort believed it to be because of him, had been turned up to the max and he watched as Harry forgot himself to this dream. The dream that quickly turned into a nightmare.
The Dark Lord could do nothing but watch as the child increasingly became horrified, the sounds of someone coming down the stairs sending him in full blown panic. He had no control here. Neither of them did. It felt like watching a memory through a pensieve, which only made it worse, because he was beginning to believe this was a memory now. Something Harry had lived through multiple times.
Dreams always seemed to have a blurry edge to them, and details often changed. Yet this was completely stagnant, unbearably so.
Harry's fear leaked into the dream itself, and Voldemort could almost taste it. The air felt heavy, and it tried its best to enter Voldemort, but he pushed it away with a flick of his hand. He was not enjoying this. This type of distress coming from a small child was uncomfortable, and he wished dearly that he could just leave. Harry cowered away from where he stood, because even with his inability to see, he knew where the threat would be. Looking to his right, Voldemort could see now that the door to the room was close to him. The jangle of keys was the last straw for Harry, and he almost didn't catch the boy slamming himself into the wall before his own eyes opened. Voldemort's heart was racing, and he was sure that he was sweating. Whether this was because of the link, or his own reaction was unknown.
The emotions echoing over however, let him know that Harry was still in distress. It was an intolerable feeling that made its home in his chest, making it feel as if it were his own. He had apparated to the boys room, intending to cease this horrible barrage of emotions. He hadn't expected to find Harry suffocating on the floor.
Adjusting himself in his chair, the Dark Lord squirmed. He tried to find a more comfortable position as the memories sent a strange stab to his heart. The experience had left a disgusting taste in his mouth, and a passionate need for murder.
In attempts to rebrand himself, the Dark Lord had been trying to refrain from his bloodthirsty tendencies. No one wanted a leader who killed for the sake of killing. There were reasons things needed to be done, not just because he felt like it. Yet the torture and imminant death of Harry's blood relatives weighed heavily on his mind.
Finding the muggles would be easy, Voldemort highly doubted that there would be any sort of protection surrounding them, as Dumbledore was using all his power to keep Hogwarts standing. There was virtually nothing between him and this delicious revenge. People mistreating children was horrible, muggles mistreating magical children was worse. He would not stand for it, and the punishment would be swift.
"Bellatrix." He bellowed, startling the occupants of the room. They had been discussing trade relations with Europe, yet Voldemort was not in the mood. The room immediately quieted, some looked frightened, others looking over to Bellatrix wondering what was about to happen. Bellatrix, as always, was ready for anything. He could torture her right now and she'd apologize and offer her life, regardless of whether she did anything at all. "Come here." He demanded, rubbing his chin and leaning further back into his chair.
As the witch got closer, he motioned with his hand at the others to continue. This was a private conversation.
"My Lord." She spoke quietly, going to bow low.
"There is no need for that, Bella." He dismissed, using her nickname to ease any feelings of wrongdoing. The witch immediately stood back up, and came closer as she was beckoned. "I have a special mission for you…" He spoke quietly, watching her eyes light up at the thought of being chosen.
"Anything for you, My Lord."
"I think you'll quite enjoy this one," he murmured in a hushed tone. "I need you to find out the name and location of the family Harry Potter stayed with." Bellatrix's mouth twitched upwards, and he could tell she knew where this was going. "They are muggles, and have committed heinous acts against wizardkind. They will need to be punished." The witch in front of him practically vibrated in anticipation. "I want you to locate them, and bring them all to Malfoy manor."
"Only the best for the esteemed guests." Bellatrix cackled, her hands wound so tightly into her dress that Voldemort could tell she was yearning for nothing more than to be dismissed so she could get her hands on them.
"I'm not aware of how many there will be, but I want them all."
"Of course-" She started nodding.
"Separate cells. And Bella," He paused, giving her a hard look. "You will not touch them until they have been seen by me. I will decide their punishment, and you will have the delight of… playing afterwards. Do you understand?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Then you are dismissed." He said easily, waving her away. The Dark Lord couldn't remember seeing the woman run so fast. The crowd parted for her, and she ran without regards. Her hair reminded him a bit of Harry's, yet his was much cleaner. Softer as well.
Thinking of the brat, he focused on the link and allowed it to open. The other end was quiet, but a comforting quiet. Content almost. Checking the time, the Dark Lord saw that it was a couple hours after supper, yet it was much too early for the boy to be asleep. Not that Voldemort could judge him on terrible sleeping patterns. Waving away his tempus, the Dark Lord stood from his seat. A hush fell over the room once again.
"We will convene tomorrow." Was all they needed. Many of his Deatheater's had families whom they wanted to see, and he would not keep them any longer. He was the last to leave the room, and apparated to his own home. Nagini wasn't in his room when he arrived, meaning she was with Harry. It was odd to find them separated these days.
He left his own room, and walked to Harry's room. The door was open, and to his surprise, there was a serious lack of horcruxes, and also bedding. He felt his eyes narrow slightly, because of course Harry would have gotten up to something. Luckily there were only so many rooms for Harry to be in. He walked down the hall silently, his bare feet carrying him quickly. The guest rooms had been closed off as he had no intentions in revealing this house to anyone else. The tea room was empty, and the Library was quiet as well.
Passing by the door, he peered in. To his confusion, he found Harry's bedding.
Walking into the room, Voldemort walked to the left, intent on investigating the strange tented sheet against the bookcase. The two armchairs had been moved from the center of the room, and each had a stack of books on the seat, weighing down the sides of the sheet. Underneath the white fabric lay a bundle. Harry's foot peaked from under his blanket, and the top of his head was visible against the white pillow. The blanket was pulled up, obscuring his face. Beside the pillow lay a small stack of books, The Tale of Beedle the Bard was upside down and open on the top.
Crouching down, Voldemort took the small book in hand, and flipped it around. The book was left on the last page of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump. Voldemort remembered every story from this book, and knew the next was The Tale of the Three Brothers. It was objectively the best of all the stories, in the Dark Lord's opinion. He closed the book and placed it back on top of the pile. A quiet hiss came from somewhere under the comforter, and Nagini's head came into view.
"Master!" She hissed excitedly, shimmying her way from the mess.
"Hello my darling." He replied fondly, reaching out and holding part of the blanket up to help her out. He glanced under the blanket briefly and realized that the two had been sleeping directly on the floor. Harry's exposed arm lay limp, and his shirt had ridden up near his side, putting his hip bone on display. It couldn't have been the most comfortable.
"The floor is cold. I want a shower." She demanded, rubbing up against the Dark Lords leg. His brow furrowed.
"A shower?"
"Yesssssssss." She hissed, yet did not elaborate.
"I think not." He denied, shaking his head. "Perhaps Harry will… indulge you tomorrow. It is time to rest." The snake replied by hissing unhappily, if she could pout, she would be doing so. "How long have you two been here?"
"After second food, we laid in the heat." She stated. "Silly boy dressed the books and read until the room went dark. He read to me, but Nagini doesn't understand the stories." Voldemort nodded, the stories would be quite confusing to a snake. Some of them didn't make sense to humans.
"I will place a heating charm on Harry's bed. Go wait for me, precious." He hissed quietly. Nagini obeyed him immediately, slithering past him and to the door. The Dark Lord turned back to the boy, and took out his wand. He spelled the blanket, and it began to hover, moving away from the body. Harry shifted in his sleep, reaching out to grab hold of something to cover himself. The Dark Lord ignored him, and waved his wand. The sheet above them released itself and with another wave, both it and the blanket flew back to Harry's room.
A hand clutched at his robe, and looking down revealed that Harry had grabbed onto him. The Dark Lord tilted his head, he was going to levitate Harry as well, but it may just be easier to carry him. Justifying it in his head, the Dark Lord let his wand slip into his sleeve, and he leaned down. He placed one arm under the teens legs, just at the knee. The other arm snaked beneath his neck, Harry had grabbed onto the front of his robe, making it harder to maneuver his arm from its awkward position. Yet Harry seemed content in just cozying up to Voldemort, regardless of his odd arm placement.
Standing up, the Dark Lord began to walk back towards the teens room. The sheets and blanket should have placed themself back into place. Making it easier for him to put the boy back in. Harry was light, enough that it was no burden to him for carrying. The only issue was that the teens jeans were incredibly uncomfortable against his skin. He would never understand why anyone would wear such things, let alone sleep in them.
Entering the threshold to the room, Voldemort rounded the bed so that he could put the boy down with his head at the correct side. Both pillows had been left in the library, so Voldemort gently placed Harry back into his bed, and tried to move away so that he could accio them. Harry however had yet to let go of his robes, and clung to them with an iron grip. Voldemort tried to pry the fingers open, but the hand didn't budge. Harry murmured in his sleep, and tried to grab with his second hand as well.
"Must you be annoying even when you sleep?" He asked exasperatedly. He grabbed hold of the free wrist, and firmly set the hand to the boy's side. He clutched the blanket and used it to tuck the teen in. Hoping that it would stop his squirming. With his one arm trapped, Harry shifted towards Voldemort, and the man tried to release his hand once again. Nagini had decided it was time to climb onto the bed, and she nosed her way under the blanket. Voldemort watched the blanket as her body morphed the fabric to her form, and she rested part of her body against Harry.
The reaction was instantaneous, and Harry let go of his robe in favor of turning over to hug Nagini through the blanket. Voldemort took this reprieve to stand up straight and back away. In case Harry changed his mind and latched onto him like a leach again.
The Dark Lord watched the scene for a long minute. It was… wholesome. Allowing his wand to drop from his sleeve, the Dark Lord waved a simple incantation to warm up the blankets. Another wave and the two discarded pillows came flying into the room. Both were placed high against the headboard, as he didn't wish to gamble on lifting Harry's head and waking him. Glancing at the bed one last time, Voldemort felt his mouth twitch a bit at the sight. Nagini hissed in contentment under the blankets, her nose only just visible. Harry had moved closer to the snake, his face pressed up against her through the blanket.
The Dark Lord walked to his room, feeling decidedly better than earlier. He could only hope that tonight wouldn't be plagued with nightmares as well.