Chapter 8
The air in the library grew thick with tension as Harry’s emerald eyes locked onto Voldemort’s cold, unreadable gaze. His tail flicked nervously, his small body instinctively tensing. The book he had just stolen was clenched tightly between his teeth, but the reality of his situation hit him like a stunning spell.
The Dark Lord knew.
Oh, he knew.
Pause. Rewind.
Draco had recognized him instantly. The last time they had seen each other, Draco hadn’t known who he was. But now? That meant the cleansing ritual had worked. Draco had his memories back. He could recognize Harry’s magical signature.
"Potter, you said?" Voldemort’s voice slithered through the air, deceptively calm. His crimson eyes flicked to the young Malfoy. "Or did my ears fail me, young Malfoy?"
Harry froze. Ah. Right.
I just got caught red-handed. Or… paw-handed? Yeah, no. That sucked.
Draco sucked in a breath, his silver eyes darting between his lord and the trembling feline on the floor. Voldemort may be sane now, but he was still the Dark Lord. He still punished incompetence and disloyalty. And as much as Draco cared for Harry, he couldn't risk lying to his master.
Gulping, Draco forced himself to nod. "Correct, my Lord."
There was a loud, betrayed hiss from Harry, but it was ignored.
"This is," Draco continued, voice tight, "Harry Potter."
A terrible silence followed.
Voldemort’s gaze flickered back to the small black cat. The cat he had petted. The cat he had cuddled. The cat he had confided in for two weeks.
Wait.
Hold on.
Two. Whole. Weeks.
Cuddling. Nuzzling. PETTING. And confiding in him.
A slow, horrifying realization dawned in Voldemort’s crimson eyes.
…How mortifying.
Keeping his expression unreadable, Voldemort slowly leaned down and scooped the hissing, squirming Potter into his arms. He turned without another word, sweeping past Malfoy—who looked as if someone had just set fire to his entire wardrobe.
-Voldemorts Study-
Harry was panicking.
His fur bristled, his tiny claws flexing against the Dark Lord’s robes. His heart pounded. His mind raced.
What if Voldemort killed him? Sure, he might be sane now—free from the old goat’s manipulations—but he still tortured people who disobeyed him. What if he still decided to hurt him?
His tail puffed up further. Oh, Merlin. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to—
"Will you stop wallowing?"
The cool, exasperated voice cut through his panic.
"I can feel the conflict radiating from your small, furry body, Harry Potter," Voldemort drawled, setting him down onto a velvet cushion.
Harry stared up at him, wide-eyed. His tiny body trembled like a leaf.
He looked… calm. Not furious.
Harry swallowed hard. Oh. That’s even worse.
Harry remained frozen on the velvet cushion, his emerald eyes locked onto Voldemort’s crimson ones. He still didn’t know what to expect. The Dark Lord wasn’t radiating rage, nor did he seem amused. He was… unreadable.
For a long moment, Voldemort just stared at him.
Harry felt his tail flick anxiously. His instincts screamed at him to run, but there was no escape.
Then, with a slow exhale, Voldemort ran a hand over his face.
“…This is absurd,” he muttered under his breath.
Harry’s ear twitched. Yeah, well, you and me both, buddy.
Voldemort’s hand dropped from his face, and his crimson gaze softened ever so slightly as he studied the trembling cat before him. The fear was expected—but something about it made irritation curl in his chest.
He sighed and extended a hand.
Harry flinched.
The Dark Lord paused. His fingers curled slightly before he lowered his hand back to his side.
“…I am not going to harm you, Harry.” His voice was quiet but firm.
Harry’s ears flicked backward. His mind whirled with thoughts too tangled to make sense of.
He had seen this man torture, kill, and destroy. But this Voldemort was different. The weeks they had spent together—cuddling, trusting—had made Harry doubt what he had once believed. Sure he had seen the reality of what has been done to him and others by Dumbledore, however.. doubt wasn’t enough to erase a lifetime of fear.
Voldemort sighed again. This wasn’t going to work through words alone.
Without another word, he stepped forward and pressed two fingers to Harry’s tiny forehead.
Legilimency.
Harry stiffened as his mind was pulled open like a book. But the intrusion wasn’t forceful—it wasn’t like Snape’s rough, tearing attempts at Occlumency lessons. No, this was a slow and deliberate unraveling, like someone carefully smoothing out a tangled thread.
Thoughts flickered between them like ripples on water.
v; You’re scared.
H; Of course I’m scared!
V; You think I’ll hurt you.
H; You’ve done worse for less!
V; Do you truly believe I would harm the very creature I spent two weeks holding like a child clings to their first pet?
Harry blinked. His thoughts stuttered.
H; …Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.
A very un-Dark-Lord-like huff echoed in his mind.
V; Because it is.
A silence settled between them. Harry's fear still lingered, but now something else was surfacing. A cautious curiosity.
H; …Why did you let me stay?
V; Because I like cats, obviously.
H; No, I mean—why did you treat me like… that?
A flicker of emotion passed through Voldemort’s mental presence. Harry had the briefest impression of warmth, of a deep exhaustion that stretched decades long.
V; Because, Harry Potter… I was alone. For the first time in my life, I was free. No compulsions. No whispers in my head. No chains forcing my actions. And then…
Another flicker. The distinct sensation of soft fur against his hands. Tiny paws kneading into his robes. The quiet comfort of a purring presence.
V; Then you were there.
Harry’s breath caught.
He hadn’t expected… that.
Voldemort removed his fingers from Harry’s forehead, breaking the connection. But his gaze remained steady.
"You were my only solace, Potter. Even unknowingly. And despite my irritation at your current theft attempt—" his eyes flicked toward the book still clenched in Harry’s tiny jaws, "—I have no desire to hurt you."
Harry slowly released his grip on the book. His paws shuffled slightly on the cushion.
…Okay.
Maybe he wasn’t about to die.
Voldemort sighed once more before lifting Harry again, cradling him against his chest.
Harry barely had time to react before he was pressed against familiar warmth.
What the—?! HEY! He tried to struggle, but Voldemort merely adjusted his grip as if handling a fussy kitten.
“Enough,” Voldemort muttered, stroking a careful hand over Harry’s fur. “You’re trembling, and it’s bothering me.”
Harry let out a strangled chirp of indignation.
I am not trembling!
Voldemort hummed, unconvinced. “You forget, Harry—I can feel your emotions.”
Harry hissed, but it came out more like a squeaky meow. He'll have to ask about feeling each others emotions later..
Voldemort’s lips twitched.
The Dark Lord sat down, keeping Harry securely in his arms. The book—the one Harry had spent two weeks trying to get back—was within reach on the desk.
But for some reason…
Harry hesitated.
The Dark Lord wasn’t punishing him. He wasn’t threatening him. He was petting him.
And despite everything—despite his confusion, despite the insanity of the situation—it felt safe.
Harry’s tail flicked.
…Maybe he could try to steal the book later.
For now, he let himself relax into Voldemort’s arms.
The Next Morning
Harry awoke to the slow, steady rise and fall of Voldemort’s breathing. He was still curled in the Dark Lord’s arms, his tiny body pressed against silk robes.
For a moment, he was too groggy to process it.
Then, realization slammed into him like a rogue Bludger.
I FELL ASLEEP ON VOLDEMORT.
His ears flattened, his entire body going stiff. Oh, Merlin, no.
This wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to stay awake, watch for an opportunity, and grab his book when Voldemort was distracted. Not fall asleep like a pampered house cat!
Harry cautiously peered up.
Voldemort’s head was resting against the high back of the chair, his crimson eyes still closed. His breath was slow, his body relaxed in a way Harry had never seen before.
…Was he asleep?
Harry’s tail twitched as he processed this new, bizarre information.
Voldemort—the same man who was once obsessed with power, control, and vigilance—was sleeping. With Harry in his arms.
Something about that realization sent a strange, uncomfortable warmth curling in Harry’s chest.
He quickly shook himself out of it. Focus, Potter!
Slowly, carefully, Harry shifted in Voldemort’s hold. He had one chance. If he could just wiggle free without waking him—
A stronger grip tightened around him.
Harry froze.
He tilted his head back up.
Crimson eyes. Staring. Right at him.
…Oh.
"You are not as subtle as you think, Potter," Voldemort murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Harry went rigid, his fur bristling. He was caught. Again.
Voldemort exhaled through his nose. "Relax, you ridiculous creature. You act as though I will suddenly curse you into oblivion for breathing incorrectly."
Harry let out a small, unintentionally pathetic chirp.
Voldemort gave him a look. "…Are you pouting?"
Harry hissed, but it came out as a weak little meow. Betrayal! His own body was betraying him!
Voldemort’s lips twitched. That was amusement. That was definitely amusement.
Harry squirmed again, more aggressively this time, and Voldemort finally sighed before releasing him.
Harry immediately leaped down onto the desk. His emerald eyes flicked to the book—the reason he had gotten himself into this mess in the first place.
Before he could grab it, Voldemort’s fingers lazily snapped, and the book vanished.
Harry’s head whipped toward him in outrage.
HEY!
Voldemort arched an eyebrow, clearly reading his expression. "I am not blind, Potter. You’ve been after that book since the manor."
Harry’s tail lashed. Of course I was! Do you know how hard it is to find anything in the Malfoy library when you're the size of a Kneazle?!
Voldemort gave him a considering look. Then, with an elegant wave of his hand, the book reappeared—this time hovering just out of Harry’s reach.
The little cat’s ears flattened.
You absolute bastard.
Voldemort smirked. “If you wish to retrieve it, then answer me this—why is it so important to you?"
Harry hesitated.
He didn’t want to tell him. The fewer people who knew, the better. But Voldemort was persistent—and apparently, he had no issue using Harry’s own feline instincts against him.
With an irritated flick of his tail, Harry sat down and lifted a paw.
Fine. Legilimency, then.
Voldemort looked far too satisfied as he reached out, resting two fingers against Harry’s forehead once again.
Their minds connected.
A rush of images flooded between them—
Harry in the Gryffindor common room, studying over the holidays.
Runes drawn in his own blood—lines glowing, shifting.
A sudden searing pain. The world spinning. The sensation of shrinking—fur sprouting—paw pads hitting the stone floor.
The horrified realization that he had accidentally ANIMAGUS-LOCKED himself into a cat form.
The memory flickered, ending with the very book Voldemort had just stolen from him.
The answer clicked into place.
Voldemort pulled back, staring at Harry with undisguised amusement.
“…You did this to yourself."
Harry growled. Yes. Yes, I did. Now give me my damn book.
The Dark Lord actually chuckled. A low, smooth sound. "You managed to blood-bind yourself into your animagus form by accident—and rather than ask for help, you spent two weeks trying to steal the solution from under my nose?”
Harry flattened his ears. …Yes?
Voldemort tilted his head. "You are an utter menace."
Harry flopped onto his side dramatically. And you’re an insufferable git.
Voldemort rolled his eyes before flicking his fingers. The book lowered onto the desk within Harry’s reach.
The cat immediately snatched it up in his teeth.
Voldemort watched him with dry amusement. “Do not destroy my study in your attempts to undo your own incompetence, Potter.”
Harry, still gripping the book, stared him dead in the eye.
Then, very slowly and very deliberately, he lifted a paw—
And knocked over an ink bottle.
Voldemort’s face went completely blank.
A long, heavy silence filled the room.
“…You did that on purpose."
Harry’s tail flicked.
Obviously.
Voldemort closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and muttered, “I am going to regret ever letting you stay.”
Harry just purred in victory.