The moment Voldemort opened his eyes, he knew it was going to be a difficult morning.
He had only so much time to sleep, and the majority of it early that morning was ruined by Harry Potter. Of course. The link was quiet enough for the first half of his slumber, and it opened so suddenly that it actually woke the Dark Lord. Fear was something he could easily associate with, pleasure, however, he had no time for.
Especially not when it was being forced on him through the mind of a teenager.
It was a natural occurrence of course, but that didn't mean that the Dark Lord had to accept it, nor like it. He had half a mind to storm into Harry's room and shake him awake. The only reason he didn't, was that it could break the ease that had finally started to spread. He wasn't about to risk another hiccup. A compliant Potter was easier to deal with. Meaning the Dark Lord had to live with the consequences of letting Harry Potter dream out his experience. Unfortunate.
The link would not cease, no matter how hard Voldemort tried, so he did the next best thing he could think of.
Distracting oneself was a great solution when one could do it correctly. Unfortunately for the wizard, ignoring the link was much more difficult than ignoring feelings. He had tried reading for a quarter of an hour before giving up, but couldn't concentrate on the words, thus he tried writing instead. It seemed simple enough, and he immersed himself in his lettering. The feelings were becoming easier to manage. Imagine his surprise when he felt a caress along his side.
This caused the Dark Lord to freeze in place, a drop of ink slipping from his pen's nib and splattering the written words beneath it.
He wasn't paranoid enough to think someone had actually touched him, no. He knew that this was something that had fluttered over the link as well. Actual physical sensations had never been a problem before, not with any other Horcrux, not even Nagini. She and Harry were the most similar, but he had never had to deal with her in this way. Part of him knew logically that most reptiles didn't dream, the other part of him chalked it up to Harry not being able to follow the rules.
This includes soul magic it would seem. Always an exception.
The implications of this were unfortunate, as exciting as learning new information was, he was not delighted in this particular development. Even so, he sat still, wondering if it would happen again. Unless he decided to wake Harry, which he already decided he would not, this would not end until-
Until Harry was finished.
The Dark Lord closed his eyes and fought the feeling to groan bitterly. He reached up and rubbed at his temples instead, he was vexed. But he accepted his fate and hoped that this would not become a regular occurrence.
Luckily for Voldemort, the situation only lasted for another fifteen minutes or so. He hadn't had to deal with the touch of phantom hands again, and he did not wish to acknowledge the small part of him that seemed…disappointed. Should he be forced to, the Dark Lord would have chalked it up to science. A lost chance at learning more about the strange new development.
That was all.
Lord Voldemort did not crave physical contact.
Breakfast was indeed an awkward affair.
Harry ate his eggs quietly, keeping his eyes downcast. Nagini had been in an excellent mood because Harry had stayed up the rest of the morning petting her. She had slithered down the hall and into the room and Harry followed. He had walked to Voldemort's office, dragging his feet the whole way, in shame. The moment Harry had entered the room, he knew Voldemort knew. At least to some extent.
Because the man refused to make eye contact with him. Not only did this put Harry in a foul mood, but it also made things extra weird. He didn't know where they stood. Was the man going to ignore him now? Would he make fun of Harry? Had Voldemort known that Harry dreamt of him, or at least a part of him?
Harry stabbed the last piece of toast on his plate, leaving holes throughout it. The fork made clicking noises as it hit the plate, and he continued this for another minute before the Dark Lord sighed.
"If you're going to continue being emotional, go be emotional elsewhere." Voldemort suddenly spoke, his hand stopped its writing. "I have important work to do and you're distracting." The man waved his free hand dismissively. Harry stayed put, not flinching when the plate and fork in his hand vanished.
The teen looked up, but as he thought, Voldemort still wouldn't look at him. He wasn't sure why he needed him to look at him, but he felt it in his bones. He needed to be acknowledged. Deciding that he'd do what he did best, Harry started sliding down in his chair. Voldemort hated when he did that, and it would always elicit a response. He sighed as loudly and as dramatically as he could while he slowly descended into a position that made him look like he had deflated.
He watched the Dark Lord through his eyelashes and cheered silently when the man looked up at his form. Harry could tell the man was annoyed because of the slight furrow of his non-brows, and the small twinge that passed through the link.
"I didn't realize how taxing it would be, keeping a 16-year-old. Especially one who chooses to act like a child." Voldemort admitted, putting his quill down and lacing his fingers. Harry watched every movement, drinking it in. He didn't care if he was caught staring.
"Jeez, sorry for making it hard on you, my very thoughtful kidnapper." Harry retorted sarcastically, relishing the feeling of normalcy. Everything was fine if they bickered, it meant that nothing changed and he could go back to not thinking about Tom Riddle and his perfect hair-
"Apology not accepted." The Dark Lord shot back. Harry sat up in his chair and glared at the snake-faced man in front of him. The Dark Lord looked at him with amusement in his eyes. The bastard must have known what Harry was trying to do.
It seemed he too wanted back the easy lull they had found.
Things were much simpler before when they would bicker, one of them would get upset, and then storm off. Then they'd do it all over again. Sprinkled in between would be some conversations that would actually sustain Harry's need for socializing for a while, and time wouldn't go so slow. He wouldn't need to worry about thinking of the Dark Lord and his weird sexy Horcrux that dream-shared with him.
Looking back up to try and find more resemblances, Harry realized he had yet to respond and was staring into space that entire time. Voldemort had tilted his head and was watching him.
Harry tried opening his mouth, but a clever retort wouldn't leave his throat. What had Voldmeort said before? He faltered and felt his body flush in embarrassment. Voldemort's mouth twitched, and it reminded Harry of the moment right before Tom had smiled at him. Was he about to get that same smile? Did Voldemort still have his dimples?
"My, my, Harry. You've seemed to have lost your touch." Voldemort goaded, keeping his face mostly neutral, to Harry's disappointment. The most he got was a toned-down smirk. It was maddening.
"Maybe I have better things to do." He finally replied, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. Even to Harry, it sounded weak.
Voldemort didn't miss a beat as he gestured to the door with his hands and long fingers. Ones that felt-
"By all means, Harry." The Dark Lord said certainly, and Harry couldn't take it. His own brain was actively sabotaging him, and he was sure the room was much too hot.
He took his chance and fled.
The teen sprung up from his chair and sped walked out of the office, refusing to look in Voldemort's direction. He practically jogged to his room where he shut the door louder than necessary. Harry sucked in a huge breath of air, trying to steady himself. He leaned against the wood of the door and slid down so he was seated. His legs felt too shaky to continue to stand.
The Boy-Who-Lived wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face from view. His face felt so warm, and even his ears burned. The link hummed pleasantly, even with Harry's mental turmoil, the Dark Lord enjoying riling the other up as much as he did. This was getting out of hand quickly.
Harry groaned loudly and tried to curl further into himself.
How was he supposed to act like everything was normal if just the sight of the man's hands sent pleasant shivers through his body? Was this what it was to truly have a crush on someone? If so, then he was sure this was karma for judging the girls when they went crazy over Lockhart. That pompous bastard wasn't even all that handsome compared to the Tom Riddle he'd met.
Harry groaned again, frustrated.
He needed to stop thinking about Riddle, and he needed to stop fantasizing about the Dark Lord.
This was getting ridiculous.
After breakfast, Voldemort apparated to the ministry.
The man was conflicted as his mind ran over all the events that transpired that morning. There was no reason for him to feel awkward around the teen, yet he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the other right away. The Dark Lord did not shy away, yet he had. It hadn't helped the situation with Harry's anxiety spilling over the link either.
It was easy to conclude that Harry was aware of the link leaking his personal experience.
This meant Harry recognized that Voldemort knew, creating a strange air between the two. Something had undeniably shifted, it had gone back easily for a few transactions, but Harry once again fell victim to his own idiotic emotions. Should the Dark Lord confront Harry about it? Insist that he stop his cumbersome brooding?
The answer was easily a no. The Dark Lord would not stoop as low as giving Harry Potter the talk. The teen was old enough, he'd simply needed to grow up and endure it. The link was going to share more than they both bargained for, and it only made sense to accept it. Fighting in this case was completely useless.
A round of loud whispers pulled Voldemort back to the meeting. His red eyes darted toward the door to the room and surprisingly found himself staring at Iris Hitbirk. The woman looked perfectly fine, a bit red in the face as if she had been running.
Voldemort stood from his seat, watching silently as the witch walked quickly towards him.
He hadn't suspected treachery, nor would she have fled. Iris was much too smart of a woman to flee her post only to run back to him. Something must have gone very wrong, or perhaps... very right.
"My Lord!" She called out, sounding out of breath. She bowed slightly out of respect before staring him in the face. The next five words to come out of her mouth had been just what Voldemort wanted to hear.
"We have a way in."
Harry had stayed in his room for a long while, feeling sorry for himself. It wasn't until Nagini started hissing at him through the door did he decide to give up on his pity party. Forcing himself to leave his room was also easier because Nagini being here meant Voldemort had left. Harry wouldn't have to worry about running into the man for a while.
It was unfortunate that he didn't need the Dark Lord to be physically here for his brain to think of him.
"Harry," Nagini greeted as he swung the door open.
"Nagini," He responded. At least things between the two of them were normal. Well, as normal as it could be between a giant deadly snake and a young man who could speak to said snake. Harry crouched down so he could pet his companion, running his hands along the middle of her head.
"Let's nap." She suggested, causing Harry to snort loudly.
"You always want to nap." He murmured, grateful for the familiarity.
"I like napping," She agreed. "And eating. Nagini likes eating, especially rabbits."
"Yes, yes. I know," He relented before standing up and stretching his arms. "How about we go to the library? That way you can nap and I can read."
"We will lay together." The snake commanded, yet it had much less bite than normal. The snake turned and began down the hall without him. Harry had a fleeting thought that she perhaps was feeling under the weather. While following her he noticed that she was moving slower than normal.
"Are you feeling alright Nagini?" Harry called after her. The snake didn't stop to wait for him, so he had to walk faster to catch up. He was so caught up in his own bullshit that he hadn't noticed her lethargy. Had Voldemort noticed?
"Nagini is tired." She hissed out, turning into the open door to the library. Harry followed, now thoroughly concerned.
Her skin looked alright, and her eyes had the normal shade they always had. Her appetite was the same as it had been ever since he met her. Could she die of old age? Harry had assumed that Horcruxes would be immortal, but with the Tom Riddle debacle, he realized now that Nagini wasn't the soul. She was the container, as he was.
Harry didn't think he could deal with her dying right now.
The snake maneuvered herself to the far right side of the library, there was a sunspot against the wall. She stilled in place, her head facing away from Harry's direction. The teen decided that he would absolutely sit with her, but first, he needed to grab a book. He was afraid that if he sat without anything to do that his thoughts might wander.
He couldn't allow that to happen.
Looking around the library, he suddenly realized that everything was back in its place. Every piece of furniture and every book. There wasn't a single sign that he had built a fort and slept in it.
"Nagini, how did I get back to my room last night?" He asked scratching the back of his head. The snake grumbled.
"Master moved you."
"Oh…" Harry looked to where the fort was supposed to be.
"Master carried you like a child, and he made Nagini go by herself." The snake added, sounding put off. Harry felt his eyes almost bulge out of his face.
"What do you mean he carried me?" She had to have been confused, there was no way, no way, that Voldemort would have actually carried him. Maybe he had used magic, and Nagini didn't know what else to call it.
"Stupid boy. Master carried you as he carried me." The visual that popped up was one where Nagini was being held on Voldemort's shoulders, and he seriously doubted he was thrown over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The confirmation, however, made Harry feel a bit queasy.
"Ah… that was nice of him."
"Master is most kind."
"Yeah…" He absently agreed, staring back at the spot he had been laying that night. He could only hope that he hadn't had his dream until after the man had dropped him in his bed.
Shivering away the embarrassment of an event that might not have happened, Harry walked back over to the bookshelf. The Tales of Beedle the Bard was back to sitting on its shelf, and the teen reached for it. He wasn't able to read all of it before he started to doze off and he wanted to finish it.
"Hurry, Harry," Nagini whined, her hiss causing Harry to jump slightly. He held the small blue book and sauntered over to the other side of the room where the snake lay. Harry crouched down and sat up against the bare wall, the sun was beaming down on them, and small dust particles danced in the rays.
He adjusted his body so Nagini would be flush against his leg, this way he could reach her neck higher up. With his right hand, he pet her gently, and with his left, he opened the book. He turned the pages until he hit the first page of the last story. Within the blank margins, there were numerous handwritten notes, all in that familiar scrawl.
Harry wondered when these notes were written, perhaps a younger Tom Riddle? He couldn't visualize an older Voldemort re-reading and making notes about a children's story, leaning over the small blue book and scribbling furiously.
The more Harry read, however, the more it became clear that they weren't truly notes about the story and more notes about what was introduced. The ideas of death as an entity, its cloak, wand, and stone more specifically. They were apparently called The Deathly Hallows.
The notes indicated that Voldemort believed these items actually existed. There were locations written out with question marks, and some were crossed out already. Every mention of Death's cloak was circled numerous times.
Something in the back of Harry's mind was yelling at him. It sounded something similar to Hermione.
Was he missing something?
The teen stared at the line where Death handed his own cloak over, and focused on the word cloak. Hermione's voice started chanting 'It's right there, just keep looking. It's right there.' He couldn't figure it out and was still stuck on the idea that Voldemort had been seemingly obsessed with this story for children.
Harry exhaled loudly and stopped petting Nagini so he could rub his eyes. There was something there, but he hadn't the brain power to figure it out. He needed Hermione here with him, Ron as well. Ron would probably laugh at him for being such a try-hard, then try to convince him that his cloak was the one from the story.
Which was completely ridiculous.
…
He fumbled the book and stared at the page in disbelief.
"No fucking way," Harry whispered, sitting up straight so he could focus better. He had been told that his Invisibility Cloak was in awfully good condition for being a family heirloom, he just assumed he got lucky.
Was it possible that his cloak was actually one of Death's gifts?
It made sense as to why Voldemort was so confused about its whereabouts. Of course, he wouldn't have been able to find it when it had been within the Potter family for generations. Harry wasn't sure what this meant for him, but he was sure that Voldemort acquiring all three items probably wasn't great.
On the last page, Tom had written in large letters, The Master of Death, and Harry snorted through his nose at the title. It was so pretentious, and of course, Voldemort would want the title for himself.
Other than the name, nothing else was explained in the notes or the story about this particular title. The end is simply the third brother walking with Death as old friends. This gave Harry no information as to what the three items would give its owner, what powers did the Master of Death adopt? Was it simply immortality? Death magic? Maybe-
"Harry," Nagini hissed, moving so she could face the teen. "Let's have a shower." She requested, inching her way onto Harry's lap. She used her snout to push the book away, and Harry chuckled at her antics.
"Alright, alright." He agreed, moving the book off his lap. Nagini took this as an invitation to move further onto his legs. The teen shook his head before stroking her scales.
He'd have plenty of time to think about The Deathly Hallows. A most welcome distraction.