#sobsicles

A bit deliriously, Harry huffs out a wheezing laugh and blurts, "This is ridiculous."  "Mm," Voldemort hums, "that it is. Do you plan on removing yourself from my person?"  "At the moment?" Harry chokes out, half-crying and half-laughing. "No, not quite. Get back to me in a few minutes, yeah?"  Voldemort sighs. "Such a troubled child."  "I know," Harry whispers.  And, for a while, that's that. In the hall that represents the worst parts of so many things, Harry leans against Voldemort like it's not the most bizarre thing that could possibly occur in the world, even though it is. He closes his eyes and breathes, waiting for the trembles to pass, waiting for the tears to dry, waiting for the strength to pull away and push down the thought of cupboards and a past that he hates being weak against.  Voldemort simply lets him. He doesn't move. He's not comforting Harry, not exactly, but he's obviously aware that Harry is drawing comfort from him, and he makes no move to stop it.  Eventually, he doesn't even seem made of stone. It's easier for Harry to slump against him, at least, like Voldemort suddenly became aware that he was too stiff and inhuman and worked to fix that. Now, instead, he's a bit like the harsh waves of the ocean—not soft and yielding, but something Harry can succumb to, letting himself relax against. Even like this, Voldemort is maddeningly powerful.