[4] //Tom M. Riddle\\
August 1, 1995
As I embrace my precious soul, I am somewhat surprised by how he leans into it. After all, in his mind, he is being embraced by his parent’s killer.
He gasps as my arms pull him closer, to the point where he is almost in my lap. His posture stiffens briefly, before he relaxes with a soft sigh.
“Mmm... feels nice...”
After a few minutes, I shift slightly, to prevent my foot from falling asleep, and a small whine emits from Harry’s throat.
He clutches my robes tighter, I suppose in an attempt to stay in the apparently comforting embrace.
I reassure him silently by gently massaging circles on his back, and I notice a kind of fuzzy, relaxed look glaze over his eyes.
“Hush, mi alma. You can let go, I will take care of you.”
After a moment, he relaxes even further, and his thumb strays toward his mouth. I watch as he suckles his thumb in his sleep, and am surprised to find this behaviour rather... cute.
The thought shocks me, as I have never found use for the word “cute” in my life. Yet as I look upon the soft face of Harry Potter, I simply cannot find another word to describe him.
I slowly rise from the sitting position we are in, lifting Harry with me, and move him back onto the bed. As I make to move away, thinking he wouldn’t appreciate waking up next to his prophesied enemy, he mewls piteously and clings to my shirt with astounding strength for an unconscious teenager.
I realise he won’t allow my leave any time soon, whether he is aware of it or not, and I settle next to him in the bed, where he quickly latches onto my side. The embrace is surprisingly pleasant.
I could get used to this.
I find myself drifting off in a matter of minutes.