A Snake Named Voldemort

Chapter 9

The morning after Christmas, Harry woke easily and unburdened, save for one thing.

:Ah, good morning,: Harry greeted, a little surprised to see Voldemort, er, snuggled, on his chest. Voldemort's red eyes studied his living mattress.

:...good morning,: he said slowly, as if forcing himself to be polite, never mind that he would never normally bother. Harry arched an eyebrow at him, but then shrugged.

Harry sat up carefully, Voldemort slipping down onto his lap. He went to reach for his glasses, but found his movements were impeded by the snake's tail wrapped around his index finger. He tugged gently, but still the appendage wouldn't come off.

"Uh," he uttered, tossing a glance at the passive cobra. :Can you let go?:

Harry, after a couple weeks now with Voldemort, knew that snakes did not have any eyelids, but at that moment he found it a little unsettling how the Dark Lord was just staring at him unblinkingly. Also, there was still the snake tail around his finger.

:...please?:

His finger slipped free. Giving Voldemort a questioning look, he gathered the snake into his hands and stood from the bed, placing him back down on the covers. Harry shook his head.

He would never understand that man.

As Harry lazily brushed his teeth, he studied his sleepy face in the mirror. He looked quite comical with foamy toothpaste running down his chin and his hair sticking up in all directions. After spitting and rinsing his mouth, Harry ran his fingers through the midnight locks, pulling his bangs away from his forehead in the process. For some reason, the scar he had lived with for as long as he could remember was suddenly fascinating. His eyes stayed fixated on his reflection in the mirror as his finger lightly traced the zigzag of the lightning bolt shape. The faint traces of a dream flickered through his mind, but like water it flowed through his fingers and he couldn't get a good grasp on it. Chuckling to himself he gathered his things and left the bathroom, feeling silly for deciding just now that the scar would have been quite fetching if only it didn't cause him so many problems.

When he returned, Voldemort was in the same place Harry had left him. The young man carelessly stripped himself of his sleeping shirt and rummaged through his trunk for a fresh outfit. He was idly shaking a clean shirt to clear it of wrinkles when he caught sight of the man-snake on his bed who was still looking at him.

Now, Harry had been all sorts of undressed (he still blushed when he thought of the "shower incident") in front of Voldemort several times over the past few weeks, and before that he had spent years living with other boys so he wasn't exactly shy, but for an odd reason the way the man was practically studying him made Harry flush slightly and quickly pull the shirt over his head, followed by a blue-and-grey striped sweater. His sleeping pants were quickly replaced by a pair of jeans, Harry stoutly ignoring the other presence in the room. He shook his head, feeling a bit inane from his paranoia over...well, he didn't exactly know what that had been about.

Slipping on a pair of socks and shoes, Harry headed for the stairs.

:Where are you going?: Voldemort barked out. Harry stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder.

:Uh, breakfast?:

:Take me with you,: the Dark Lord demanded. Harry walked back to the bed.

:Fine, don't get your knickers in a twist.: They went to breakfast together.

Later, Harry sat in the strangely empty Common Room, being only one of three Gryffindors that had stayed for the holidays, a book on wards sitting in his lap while his fingers languidly drummed the back cover. Voldemort was wrapped around his shoulders, he head hanging low in what Harry thought indicated he was reading Harry's book, but he came to realise it was not the text Voldemort was studying.