A Snake Named Voldemort

Chapter 5

Harry smiled, because he knew Voldemort had just offered him, not really an apology, but perhaps the closest thing to one he would give to someone like Harry.

:Ok...thanks.:

Harry settled back into the mattress, feeling an odd sort of contentment surrounding the two of them. As he lay drifting off to sleep, his fingers resumed the slow stroking of Voldemort's scales as the Dark Lord's exhausted body forced him to fall back into slumber. Harry followed shortly after, not really stopping to think how utterly mental it was to do so with the Dark Lord still curled up on his chest.

During the night, Harry woke briefly to find Voldemort had crawled to his usual spot at the end of the bed. Shivering slightly, Harry pulled the covers he'd fallen asleep upon over his chilled body, careful not to disturb the sleeping Lord, cast a heating charm over him, and curled up before falling back to sleep.

The next morning, a Sunday, Harry woke and got ready for breakfast. Voldemort had always come with him into the bathroom so he could bask in the warm steam from all the showers running, but now he realised the necessity with such a nasty binding spell placed on him. Without a word between them, Harry let the snake curl up his arm and settle around his neck. Idly, Harry wondered when the weight of the snake's body upon his shoulders had become a sort of comfort before heading to the bathroom. Minutes later, Harry was fully dressed and made his way down the stairs and out the portrait hole of his House, Dark Lord in-disguise in tow.

The Great Hall was less crowded than normal, as was common on Sundays with many of the students opting to sleep in. Harry waited until he saw Dumbledore, dressed in sunny yellow robes with polka dots blinking between blue and lime green, rising from his seat and making his way out of the Great Hall before getting up and approaching the man.

"Sir, may I have a word...?"

Flashing blue eyes met his, Dumbledore smiling amiably, and the sudden realisation that this man was dying made Harry feel cold even while he had feelings of disappointment in him.

"Certainly, my dear boy. Is this a matter that would do well in a more private setting?"

Harry nodded, following Dumbledore when he indicated for him to follow the older man to the room off the Great Hall he recognised as the one from Fourth year after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Gesturing to a plush forest green armchair, Dumbledore sat in the chair directly across from the one he'd indicated for Harry to sit in. After both of them were comfortably settled, Dumbledore focused on Harry.

"Now, Harry, what is it you wished to talk about?"

"Well," Harry started, absently reaching up to stroke Voldemort under his chin. "Yesterday, I discovered some disturbing aspect of the binding spell you placed on us. You see, I forgot that you had even put it on in the first place, and left Tommy in the Common Room to run upstairs for something, when Ron came up and told me that something was wrong with him. That's when I remembered the spell and came back down to find my snake passed out from pain." Harry tried to keep the accusation out of his voice and his face carefully blank, and for the most part he felt he succeeded.

"Now, Professor, I understand the purpose of the binding spell, but really, can't you use a less harmful one? It wasn't Tommy's fault that I left him behind, and yet he was punished for it. Please, Sir, I really don't like seeing my friends in pain."

Harry was looking up into Dumbledore's face when he suddenly felt the press of something in his mind, and with a start he recognised it as a similar magic to what Voldemort used on him. It had a slightly different feel, probably because this wasn't over that unique link he and Voldemort shared, but still, Harry could tell Dumbledore was trying to access his thoughts. As skill-fully as he could, he brought forth within his mind the feelings from last night when he'd found Voldemort on the floor, only letting the Headmaster see that for a brief second before casually dropping his eyes. Harry pretended to be fascinated with the flickering dots on Dumbledore's robes. He was relieved to feel the external presence fall away from his mind, and hoped he'd only given what Dumbledore wanted to see in that minuscule amount of time he'd allowed the man in his mind.