“Voldemort,” Harry whispers, a little bit panicked as the pressure on his bladder increases. “Wake up.”
He does, thank Merlin, and pulls back a little to peer up at Harry through squinted eyes, blood red meeting his own curiously. “Mother?” he asks, softly.
“Good morning,” Harry whispers, his smile strained. “I need to use - use the restroom. Can you let go of me, please?”
Voldemort frowns, expression pinching with uncertainty, and he glances away for a moment before looking back. “You’ll be back?”
Harry nods, desperately at this point. He /really/ needs to go.
“You promise?” Voldemort insists, voice a little higher than normal.
“I /promise/,” Harry stresses. “I’ll just be in the bathroom for a few minutes, and then I’ll come right back.”
He almost sobs when Voldemort slowly unwinds his arms from his waist and pulls away a little, looking like it kills him to do so - and Harry quickly slips out of bed, shuffling towards the bathroom. He glances back to find Voldemort turning his head into the space where Harry had been lying just moments before, taking a deep breath in.
After he’s relieved himself, stomach aching with the sudden change in pressure, he considers cleaning the bathroom. The mirror needs stubborn cleaning and the shelves and counters all need dusting, and the floor needs mopping… but he promised Voldemort he’d return to bed, and breaking that promise just to clean a little seems like a terrible idea.
He pads back toward the bed and quickly dusts off his feet before crawling back into the bed, curling close for warmth once more. Strong arms encircle his waist again, and Voldemort’s face presses back against his stomach, his nose pushing Harry’s shirt up slightly again as he shifts. It’s cold, Harry notices, gooseflesh pricking its way up his bare legs. He should find the sheets for the duvets so they don’t get dirty, and then they can sleep warm. Hopefully it’ll warm up later in the day.
