Nocturnal Wonder
By Alicia Flint
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I give all credit to Ms. Rowling
Pairing: Harry/ Voldemort
*****
Harry dreams at night.
Dreams things he shouldn't.
*****
His skin is like parchment -- so thin that you can see the bulge of veins underneath. It's crinkled and dried with age. Ribs and elbows and hips poke out at unnatural angles. Not an ounce of muscle on that emaciated form -- just flesh, blood, and sharp bone.
His hands are a map of jaundiced flesh -- nails bitten down to the quick because that's the only way to soothe anxiety. But the tenderness is what bothers Harry the most. In his dreams, he doesn't take advantage of the newly-formed creature before him. He doesn't slap that inhuman face -- the one with flat nostrils and a gaping hole where the lips should have been. Instead, he holds one of those withered hands to his chest -- letting his Gryffindor heart beat for both of them. He tries to stimulate some sort of pleasure in that half-dead body, lying beneath him.
And Voldemort responds.
And for the first time in his life, Harry feels completely safe.
*****
These dreams repulse Harry.
He fills his drawers with Dreamless Sleep Potion. But some nights, he simply forgets to take his two tablespoons and he falls off into natural slumber.
*****
Sometimes, he dotes on Voldemort with saccharine words -- granular on his tongue. He pledges his undying devotion and romances him in typical style. He'll get down on his knees -- cold marble rubbing against his scratched kneecaps -- and beg for him. And Voldemort will simply stare out of the window, refusing to acknowledge the teenage boy.
And the Dark Lord is so deformed that Harry cannot tell if he's smiling or not.
*****
Yes, Harry dreams at night.
Dreams things he shouldn't.
And the Dreamless Sleep Potion sits on his nightstand.
Forgotten.
*****
Harry dreams at night.
Dreams things he shouldn't.
*****
His skin is like parchment -- so thin that you can see the bulge of veins underneath. It's crinkled and dried with age. Ribs and elbows and hips poke out at unnatural angles. Not an ounce of muscle on that emaciated form -- just flesh, blood, and sharp bone.
His hands are a map of jaundiced flesh -- nails bitten down to the quick because that's the only way to soothe anxiety. But the tenderness is what bothers Harry the most. In his dreams, he doesn't take advantage of the newly-formed creature before him. He doesn't slap that inhuman face -- the one with flat nostrils and a gaping hole where the lips should have been. Instead, he holds one of those withered hands to his chest -- letting his Gryffindor heart beat for both of them. He tries to stimulate some sort of pleasure in that half-dead body, lying beneath him.
And Voldemort responds.
And for the first time in his life, Harry feels completely safe.
*****
These dreams repulse Harry.
He fills his drawers with Dreamless Sleep Potion. But some nights, he simply forgets to take his two tablespoons and he falls off into natural slumber.
*****
Sometimes, he dotes on Voldemort with saccharine words -- granular on his tongue. He pledges his undying devotion and romances him in typical style. He'll get down on his knees -- cold marble rubbing against his scratched kneecaps -- and beg for him. And Voldemort will simply stare out of the window, refusing to acknowledge the teenage boy.
And the Dark Lord is so deformed that Harry cannot tell if he's smiling or not.
*****
Yes, Harry dreams at night.
Dreams things he shouldn't.
And the Dreamless Sleep Potion sits on his nightstand.
Forgotten.