“I had it handled,” Voldemort starts, but Harry cuts him off.
“Really?” Harry snaps, waving his hand over the variety of injuries he had acquired during the raid, “What are these then?”
Wincing, Voldemort glanced at the worst of his injuries: a gash running across his torso, what seems to be a rotting curse on his right forearm, and a stab wound on his thigh. “They aren’t that bad,” he argued, “I have had worse injuries in the past.”
“And when was that? When baby me ‘killed’ you?” Harry sassed, crossing his arms.
“No, a couple of months after I regained my body, I was attacked by several Order members. I obviously killed them eventually, but they were quite vicious. Had the situation been different, I would have recruited them,” Voldemort calmly replied, as if he hadn’t just told Harry that he almost died.
“And why did I not know this happened?” Harry glared, tilting his head up to do so. Dammit Voldemort, why do you have to be so tall? And fuck you, Petunia, for starving me. Now I’m short forever.
“You do know of this, darling. It was their death that made Dumbledore realize I had returned.” Voldemort responded, seemingly still calm as ever.
Harry’s eyes widened. “You never told me it was that bad!” he accused, visibly hurt.
Voldemort nodded, “I had glossed over the finer details because I did not believe they mattered. After all, I was not permanently harmed. I shall not do that anymore, since it clearly upsets you.” Noticing the look Harry gave him, he added, “I will tell you what happened later. Properly.” Argument resolved, he asked, “Heal me, darling?”
Harry had begun to learn healing from Narcissa several years ago, in his 6th year. With experienced movements, he slowly began to heal Voldemort, carefully cleaning the stab, gash, and the various other cuts and scratches he had acquired, making sure to not irritate them more than necessary. With a whispered incantation and a swish of his wand, the wounds slowly stitched themselves together. He then cradled Voldemort's right arm, casting the countercurse, moving his wand in slow, circular movements. He then summoned a salve and gently applied it where the three large wounds previously were. “Better?” he asked.
“Much. Thank you, darling.” Voldemort replied, gifting Harry with a chaste kiss. “Dearest, shall we head to bed?”
Now that Harry had calmed down, the exhaustion caught up to him, only then realizing how late it was. “Okay,” he said with a yawn. Voldemort moved to lift him up, but he just shook his head, “Don’t. Your injuries might reopen.” Voldemort receded in understanding, instead opting to grab Harry’s hand, guiding him to their bedroom, occasionally squeezing his hand, keeping him awake until they get there. Upon their arrival, Voldemort tucked Harry into bed, kissed his temple, slid into bed, and finally allowed Morpheus to take him.