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Chapter Text

Harry woke in a manner that was becoming familiar – curled up next to a roaring fire in a pile of cushions and blankets, the clinging weight of Voldemort heavy on his back. As he woke further and began to stretch his limbs as much as he could without disturbing the Dark Barnacle, Harry was forced to recognize something had changed in the night.

Freezing, he glanced down and began to emit a sound more suited to a boiling kettle. Voldemort groaned and pulled the boy closer with the arm wrapped around his waist, burrowing his face further into Harry’s neck.

“What–”

“Potter–”

“--the hell?!” Harry squawked.

“--shut up and stop squirming,” Voldemort mumbled from his place, plastered against Harry’s back like a limpet.

“Why. Are you in my shirt,” the boy continued, voice steadily rising in pitch and volume. “While I’m still wearing it?!”

“You wear very large clothing, so don’t pretend we don’t fit.”

“They’re hand-me-downs, my cousin is several sizes larger than me,” Harry grumbled, momentarily distracted from his meltdown. “Which is so far from the point! Why are we wearing this shirt at the same time? Why are you shirtless?!”

“It’s warmer right against your skin,” Voldemort finally cracked an eye open and glared at him muzzily. “And since you took such offence to my attempts to remove your shirt last time, I thought this would be an improvement.”

“This,” Harry said, flailing and dragging Voldemort along with his spastic movements. He may have choked himself a bit on the stretched collar. “Is supposed to be an improvement?”

“Potter, I am Lord Voldemort, and I am compromising,” he huffed, as though that merited praise (and really, maybe it did – baby steps, Harry thought faintly). “Don’t push your luck.”

He rolled on top of the squirming boy to pin his heat source down and attempt to return to dozing. Harry quietly despaired.

Chapter Text

Dobby came back for Harry later the same day that his friends had escaped from Malfoy Manor, but had to leave almost immediately again. A brief glance around the room showed Harry dead asleep on the floor, which had Dobby terrified he was actually dead. In his hurry to get to the boy, Dobby neglected to notice the sleepily irate Dark Lord, who began hissing and throwing spells in the elf’s general direction, which jolted Harry awake. Seeing that the boy was clearly alive and deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Dobby retreated to try again later.

The second (third?) rescue attempt a few days later didn’t fare much better, in Dobby’s mind, but at least Harry was awake.

“Dobby, I can explain.”

Dobby seemed relieved and looked on expectantly.

“He’s cold.”

Dobby seemed less relieved.

“Cold-blooded, Potter,” the correction drifted out of the blanket nest where, assumedly, Voldemort lurked. Dobby meeped and scuttled away.

“Harry Potter, sir, we must be going,” Dobby whispered frantically, pulling at his ears.

“Okay, that’s fair, but consider this,” Harry said. “I really, really like sleep.”

“But-”

“I’ve never felt this well-rested in my life,” Harry was starting to look a little manic. 

“Dobby does not trust Dark Lord with a sleeping Harry Potter!” Dobby’s bulbous eyes started tearing up.

“Dobby, it’s all right! We’re not fighting right now, see?” Harry gestured between himself and Voldemort. “We, uh, we…”

“We’ve unofficially declared a brief cessation of hostilities,” Voldemort said, his red eyes peering over a blanket.

“Yes, that,” Harry nodded, then looked at Voldemort. “Do you have an idea of when you’re planning to restart the hostilities, by any chance?”

Voldemort stared back at the boy.

“A general timeline?”

Voldemort stared harder.

“...You’re just going to roll over one day and kill me, aren’t you?” 

Voldemort continued to stare.

Harry sighed long-sufferingly.

Dobby sobbed, concerned that Harry Potter had lost his marbles.

“Maybe come back in a week? And tell Ron and ‘Mione not to worry,” Harry whispered and winked, leaning close to the elf and patting him on the shoulder. Dobby nodded fervently and disappeared with a crack.

“Why a week?”  

“Of course you heard that,” Harry sighed. He wandered back over to the fire and pulled a blanket around his shoulders before Voldemort yanked him back into the nest.

“I asked you a question, Potter.”

“Grabby sod,” the boy grumbled. “I figured I’d be about caught up on sleep by then.”

“And you think I’ll just let you leave?” Voldemort asked, hairless eyebrows raised.

“Well, I reckon you’ll still be brumating and I can distract you with a hot stone or something. That’s for future-Harry to figure out,” Harry said, not adding that he was planning to call Dobby a day or two early to avoid Dark Lord-associated difficulties and possible dismemberment. 

Voldemort sent a wordless, wandless stinging hex at the boy, smirking when Harry yelped. “As if I wouldn’t notice. Give yourself some credit, Potter – you’re at least slightly more comfortable to lay on than a rock.”

And he flopped (gracefully, being a Dark Lord and all) on top of Harry, once again pinning him against the pile of pillows.

“Though you are quite bony,” Voldemort winced, his ribs catching one of Harry’s elbows.

“Oh, shut it,” Harry groused. “Sleep time?”

“Indeed.”

“Great, g’night.”

Chapter Text

"What are you doing?"

"...Going to take a bath?" Harry said hesitantly, a confused frown on his face.

"What? Why?" Voldemort seemed perplexed. "A simple cleaning charm will do."

"Err, no. No more cleaning charms. I haven't had a bath or shower in months," Harry said, unexpectedly vehement about this. "I am going to sit in a tub full of gloriously hot water until I am pruny and clean."

He began to move towards the door and stopped when he realized he had a shadow.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, turning around to face Voldemort with his arms crossed.

"Going to the bathroom, of course."

"No."

"Potter."

" No ."

"You would leave me to be cold out here?" Was he seriously trying to guilt Harry?

"Voldemort, you are not taking a bath with me!" Harry cried. He stared blankly at the wall. "Wow. That is not something I ever thought I'd say."

“Potter, the bathtub is enormous, you’ll barely notice I’m there,” Voldemort proclaimed, striding past the boy and grabbing his arm as he did to drag Harry behind him to the bathroom.

“Are you planning to bathe fully clothed?” Voldemort drawled, one hairless brow cocked derisively.

“No,” Harry said mutinously, but made no move to remove his shirt or jeans. He tried not to think about his life too often so he didn’t dive headlong into crushing despair, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder when he’d reached this new level of weirdness.

This train of thought wasn’t helped by Voldemort letting his robe slide off his shoulders to puddle on the floor.

“Bubbles!” Harry shouted suddenly, spinning speedily to face the bathtub. “We’re going to need lots and lots of bubbles. Heaps of them. Just, so many bubbles.”

“Why, pray tell, are you tainting the bath in this way?” Voldemort said long-sufferingly as Harry turned on any and every tap that produced some sort of foam or bubble.

“I got enough of an eyeful that night in the graveyard; I don’t need the up close and personal version, thank you very much,” Harry kept his eyes averted, blush high on his cheeks.

“Potter, my body is a marvel of magic and power,” Voldemort huffed, incensed. “You should consider yourself lucky to be in its presence, let alone witness its magnificence.”

“Just get in the tub already!”

Harry fixed his eyes firmly on a far bit of ceiling and tried not to hear any noises beyond the sounds of water moving. Which is what he’d later blame for not anticipating Voldemort continuing to be a creep with no boundaries.

Harry shrieked (a very manly shriek, all deep and, uh, masculine) as he felt his clothes vanish. Before he could cover up, Harry found himself hoisted into the air and unceremoniously dumped, flailing, into the tub, sloshing water over the edge and onto the floor.

When he surfaced, covered in scented bubbles and hacking water from his lungs, it was to a smug Voldemort sitting comfortably at the far end of the tub.

“You are the worst ,” Harry seethed, glaring heatedly.

“Dark Lord, Potter. It comes with the territory.”

In response, Harry splashed Voldemort.

Not to be outdone, Voldemort used his magic to send half the water in the tub in a tidal wave back at Harry.

“You absolute arse!” Harry sputtered, looking like a drowned rat. “Disproportionate response, much?”

“The merits of an overwhelming display of force cannot be underestimated, wouldn’t you agree?” Voldemort smirked.

Once they’d refilled the tub (with markedly fewer bubbles), a cautious detente was called.

“You know, Potter, a bath was a good idea,” Voldemort said as he octopused around the boy. “Well done.”

"Hmm," Harry sighed, resigned for the moment to his fate of being the Dark Lord's plush toy. He had given up trying to fend off He Who Was A Grabby Old Creep and chose to settle in and enjoy the bath. The hot water did feel wonderful, even if the company left something to be desired.

Chapter Text

“So, you don’t like the cold,” Harry said, a couple weeks into his unplanned stay at Malfoy Manor.

“Your powers of deduction are simply astounding, Potter,” Voldemort deadpanned. “Truly, you are the unsung genius of your generation.”

Harry poked him in the ribs and scooted away in retaliation, eliciting a low, mournful “ nooooo ” that Voldemort would deny on pain of (something similar to but not quite) death.

Once he’d pulled Harry back into the blanket cocoon and had the boy firmly ensconced amongst his limbs again, Voldemort tried again with marginally less sass. “No, I do not like the cold, Potter. What prompted this belated observation?”

“Well, why not take over a warmer country instead?” Harry asked, before quickly adding, “Not that I’m suggesting taking over any country, ever. If you stopped trying to ruin magical Britain and took up, I dunno, enchanting toasters to bite people instead, it’d make my day. Maybe the whole year.”

“Are you quite finished?” Voldemort said dryly.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

“Wonderful.”

Harry waited a few seconds for an answer, then a few more.

“...So?” he prompted.

Voldemort sighed in a put-upon way, the drama queen. “...I’ll admit, I hadn’t considered that. But Britain is home, and home is where the vengeance is.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes…” Harry muttered.

“The saying goes however I say it goes,” Voldemort declared imperiously.

Ignoring that, Harry continued on. “I mean, I can see the appeal of sleeping half the year. I don’t think I’ve felt better rested in my life, honestly. But how d’you plan to run an evil cult and a dictatorship when you can barely stand to leave your room for months on end?”

“When I take over, I’ll put some capable person in charge and rule from the shadows, obviously.”

“...Where are you planning to find this capable person?”

“...”

“...?”

“...Well, damn,” Voldemort said blankly. His limbs lost all tension and he flopped limply onto his back, staring despairingly up at the ceiling. “All of my followers are useless.” 

“I did wonder what your endgame was, when you wanted to rule the country but couldn’t even stand your own minions,” Harry said, snuggling closer to the Dark Lord’s dejected form. “And, all offence intended, the only one that seems capable of sticking to your orders is Bellatrix, and she’s fuckin’ batshit insane.”

“It’s part of her charm,” Voldemort said absently.

“It really isn't.”

“Oh Circe, this means I will have to micromanage the lot of them forever. I can delegate, yes, but they require so much attention and energy to keep them on-task,” he said, horror dawning on his serpentine face. “And it would be so draining to maintain an imperius over all of them all the time… I just want to be warm and sleep.”

“I feel like you might feel differently come June, but as this works for me, I’m all for you giving up on world domination in favour of this new plan,” Harry said, dragging a blanket up to Voldemort’s chin to reinforce how lovely being warm was.

“Curse you, Potter. You’ve once again ruined my plans, this time with practicality,” Voldemort groused as he nuzzled into the juncture between Harry’s neck and shoulder.

“There, there, big guy,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and patting Voldemort on the back.

Chapter Text

Harry was dying.

Not an unexpected turn of events, given his life so far, but expiring because he was too hot was pretty far down on the list of expected demises.

That Voldemort was involved was less surprising.

“Vol-”

“No.”

"But-”

“No.”

“Get off-”

“Potter, don’t make me stupefy you.”

“It’s too hot! It’s bloody June already!” Harry shouted exasperatedly. “Don’t you have, I dunno, some nefarious scheme to carry out? Nifflers to kick? A Malfoy to belittle?”

“Nefarious, eh? Quite a big word for you.”

“You’ve been quite literally stuck to my side for the past few months,” Harry groused. “It’s safe to say your vocabulary’s rubbed off on me a bit.”

And he instantly regretted his choice of words. Voldemort gazed at him evenly, but Harry could tell by the twitch of his thin lips that he would be waggling his eyebrows excessively if he were a less dignified Dark Lord.

“Shut up!”

“Really, Potter, I didn’t say a word. I do believe you may be projecting.”

“I’ll show you projecting,” Harry muttered. “And stop distracting me from my point! Get off me! I’m going to die of dehydration from all this sweating, it’s gross.”

“You are rather damp,” the snake man mused, absently casting a wandless, wordless cleaning charm on the boy. “And it is warm enough to resume day-to-day functioning.”

“Yes!”

“But alas, I’ve yet to recover from my plans for world domination - your words - being crushed by inept minions,” Voldemort mock-bemoaned. “I fear I’m still too depressed to leave my bed.”

“Nooooo!” Harry wailed and flailed his limbs in an effort to get away. “I don’t care! Go sob into a pillow or whatever, just let me go outside!”

“Ah, but you forget that I know you, Potter,” Voldemort drawled, using his long limbs to pin the boy more effectively. “The moment I let you out of my sight, you’ll find some way to wriggle out of my grasp and disappear somewhere.”

“I do have a habit of escaping, don’t I?” Harry said through a shit-eating grin. Which turned to an incensed yelp when Voldemort bit him sharply on the shoulder.

“So, what? Are you giving up the Dark Lord schtick? Am I stuck in this too-hot room with you forever?” Harry asked, annoyance blurring into genuine curiosity. “What’s the plan here, Vee?”

And this was entering dangerous territory, where Voldemort would have to give some sort of explanation for keeping the boy at his side. So, he decided to circumvent that uncomfortable conversation for the moment.

“Don’t you pretend to be asleep!”

Voldemort very obviously faked a snore.

“Merlin, I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t,” Voldemort quietly hissed, visibly fighting a smug grin.

Harry pouted sullenly. No, dammit - he didn’t.

Chapter Text

Voldemort was unceremoniously yanked out of a deep sleep by a loud thump and incensed squawking.

He was sitting up, ready to eviscerate any intruders, when the squawks resolved into words.

“What the hell, what the hell,” Harry muttered feverishly, beginning to hyperventilate. 

“What’s the matter?” Voldemort demanded, gaze darting around to find the threat.

Which he found. On the floor.

Ah. He'd forgotten about that.

Harry spun to face him, only for his eyes to grow even more round and horrified before he covered his face with his hands.

“Oh Merlin, my eyes,” Harry cried.

“Potter–”

“Why??”

“–you’re being melodramatic,” Voldemort said, irritated.

“Why are you so very naked??” The exclamation, while muffled, dripped with disbelief and incredulity.

“There aren’t degrees of nudity – I’m either naked or I’m not,” Voldemort muttered pedantically. He had a blanket across his lap, for Circe’s sake.

“There are when you’ve just shed your skin!” Harry whisper-shrieked, as though by being quiet he could make it less true.

But alas, the papery, inverted cast-off remained on the floor mere feet away from where they had been sleeping minutes before.

He’d felt Voldemort move away from him in the night but rolled over and fell back asleep in short order, as it wasn't cause for concern. And the snake-man had been rather twitchy for the past couple days. Casting a cursory glance over Voldemort – and keeping his eyes well above the waistline – Harry could see his skin looked healthier and flushed, his scales gleaming in the light of the fire. 

Voldemort used his magic to tug the boy back towards him.

“No, no no no,” Harry said with increasing annoyance. “Cut it out!”

Voldemort relented just long enough for Harry to stop resisting, before giving one more pull that sent the boy tumbling into him with a yelp.

"You git. Why are you like this?" Harry grumbled, propping himself up on Voldemort’s shoulders before freezing.

Harry’s eyes widened and he blinked down at Voldemort. Voldemort blinked back.

Harry’s hands shifted unconsciously against Voldemort’s chest, and he looked down to frown at the treacherous appendages. They twitched again.

"Oh, your skin is so soft," Harry murmured, now fascinatedly trailing his fingers across Voldemort's shoulders.

Voldemort preened smugly. "Isn't it?"

"This is nice," Harry admitted. "Now put some damn pants on."

Chapter Text

“Potter,” Voldemort said with an air of solemn significance. “I’ve come to the realisation that I no longer wish to kill you.”

Harry turned his head slowly to stare at him with amused incredulity dancing across his face. The muggle next to him, in the process of handing over the keys to their seaside villa, looked ready to throw himself over the stone railing into the surf below.

“Er, thank you, I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Harry said to the muggle. He didn’t waste the out he’d been given and was through the door in moments.

Harry watched Voldemort, who had dropped his glamour as soon as the muggle left and was now in the process of shedding his robe as he walked towards one of the lounge chairs.

“And how does that make you feel?” Harry sing-songed teasingly.

“Unexpectedly at peace.”

Harry felt a bit bewildered by this response. “Really?”

“Indeed. Now I know I was unable to kill you because this outcome was always meant to be.”

“...Uh-huh,” Harry said, infusing it with as much scepticism as he could. “And you’re not at all worried I might try to kill you?”

“Potter, you have had exclusive, continuous access to my person for several months,” Voldemort said, as though Harry were a dim child. He had taken a seat, robe, trousers and shirt discarded and vanished to who-knew-where. “I am at greater risk of receiving a recommendation from Dumbledore for the Minister's seat than I am of being killed at your hands.”

Well. When he put it like that…

Harry opened his mouth, hesitated, then turned to stare out over the water and barreled on, saying lightly, “I know the answer to this, but just to hear you say it out loud: you don’t want to kill me because you’ve seen the error of your ways, or because you don’t want to lose your favourite portable heat source?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter, I’ve never made an error ever,” Voldemort sniffed.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said with a wry twist to his lips. He started to look back towards his companion when he caught sight of the uninterrupted expanse of pale, iridescent skin and froze in place.

“Vee, for the love of magic, tell me you’re wearing pants. Swim trunks. Something.”

“What is the purpose of renting a secluded private residence if not for the luxury of privacy?”

“The ‘secluded private residence’ bit is so you don’t have to wear a glamour the whole time – which we both know you won’t,” Harry snapped, giving Voldemort’s self-satisfied expression a look. “The last thing we need is a group of Greek Aurors showing up because someone recognised your scaly self.

“Also, I’m here too! You’re not alone!”

“You’re welcome to eschew the constraints of human shame as well.”

“...Was that a fancy way of telling me to get naked?”

“Do keep up, Potter.”

Harry sighed. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it at a reclining, closed-eyed Voldemort, hoping to cover his lap, at least.

This plan was unfortunately thwarted by Voldemort incinerating the shirt before it could touch him. Bastard.

“That’s the spirit,” Voldemort said lazily. “Now, come, join me.”

“Where–”

The lounge chair abruptly stretched sideways to accommodate a second person. Well. It was slightly wider.

“I thought the point of coming here was so you wouldn’t be glued to my side all day long,” he said as he sat down and was promptly tugged into Voldemort’s side, half-flopped over the snake-man's chest.

“That’s your mistake, then,” Voldemort said. “I am here because I cannot tolerate another English winter now that ruling Magical Britain is no longer an attractive proposition. You are here in recompense for my cessation of hostilities.”

“And because you like how warm I am.”

“And because I appreciate how warm you are,” Voldemort uttered the concession easily, more focused on tucking Harry’s head under his chin.

They lay pressed together, basking in the sun and salt-scented air.

“The breeze is nice.”

“Mm.”