Title: Of Nightmares and Nocturnal Musings

Author: SweetlyDesolated

Beta: AirKnitter

Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort

Series:Vinewood; follows Choices – the list of fics in the Vinewood series is listed in my profile

Rating: T

Warnings: Light slash

Summary: Harry is seeing things from inside Nagini. What's a boy to do, faced with the Christmas holidays, trapped inside the Order's headquarters? HP/LV slash

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and those who associate with him in that world; he and every other mentioned characters/locations/spells are the property of J. K. Rowling and the people she works with.

Dedication: Ciega Chica – thanks for spotting the plot hole in Choices!

~~~ooo~~~

Harry woke with a start, covered in chilled sweat, his body trembling faintly. He glanced around the dorm to check his roommate's curtains remained closed before slipping from under the covers and exiting the room, nearly stumbling as he regained coordination. He descended the staircase and made his way to the meager glow of smoldering embers in the fireplace, stoking them with a small brush of wandless magic. He curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees as he stared into the flames.

What, exactly, was Voldemort doing, he wondered. Harry, as Joker, was privy to knowledge others didn't know; however, Umbridge's appointment to Hogwarts prevented the teen from knowing all he should - Harry scowled at the thought of the woman; Lucius had horrid ideas sometimes, and Harry knew he lined Fudge's pockets in order to have influences over nearly every department in the Ministry, education included. Was this one of those things Voldemort couldn't reach him about? The teen rubbed his scar with one hand, for it ached with the memory of Voldemort's power running through it.

The scar was their connection, Harry knew, but why was it hurting him? Both he and Voldemort knew that, unless the older man wished him harm, the burning of the long-healed wound wouldn't hurt. The two had experimented a little with their connection over the summer, but neither could find out why exactly the scar reacted as it did, for there weren't any visible mark on Voldemort to explain the reasoning.

Harry sighed and scooted back to rest against one of the armchairs, letting his skin cool from the fire's burning heat. The heat reminded him of the scar, and the man behind it. Harry missed Voldemort, the teen would readily admit, and he wondered when the next safe time to visit would be. Perhaps Harry could Apparate to the man during the next Hogsmeade weekend, but there would surely be guards set to watching him.

Harry pouted, and finally resigned himself to examining the vibrant memory sent to him from his...boyfriend? Lover? Partner? Harry snorted; he was clueless as to what to call Voldemort, other than the man he liked more than everyone else. Regardless, he wondered. Muggle torture wasn't too bad; Harry knew he wanted his own revenge on the Dursleys, especially as their treatment resulted in a not-so-happy childhood.

Harry's muscles shook with exhaustion, remnants of the Cruciatus Curse, and slid closer to the flames once more. Harry was familiar with that curse, as Voldemort hit him with it in the graveyard, but Harry was clueless as to why he felt the effects as the man cast the spell on Muggles. The spell residue must have had something to do with the scar, which was from the rebounded Avada Kedavra.

He mused on that, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as exhaustion wove through him. Voldemort had gone after his family - no, after him, Harry - for some reason not well explained. Harry remembered the man mentioning it faintly from the start of their alliance, and the topic had something to do with the Longbottoms, Neville to be exact. What was it?
His brow furrowed as Harry attempted to recall the memory, gasping faintly as it all came rushing back:

+The Lestranges, on my orders, attacked the Longbottoms the same night I went after your family, as he was also a candidate for the prophecy child. Rather than killing them with a simple Avada Kedavra, the parents were tortured under the Cruciatus...+

What was this prophecy child, Harry wanted to know, and why were there two candidates for it? He considered writing a note to his...whatever, but figured the man wouldn't reply unless it was absolutely necessary for the Joker to know about it. Harry figured it was his right to know, but reasoning didn't always go over well with Voldemort.

Sighing as the flames died down once again, Harry wearily stood and made his way back to the dorms; his muscles weren't as shaky, for the effects of the curse were finally starting to fade away. Harry fell into bed gratefully, hiding a gasp as he jolted pained areas. He heard one of his friends roll in his bed and held still, hoping he remained asleep.

All was well, he discovered a few seconds later, and Harry pulled the curtains closed around his bed and tucked his body under the cooled covers. His mind soon settled, joining his body in the quest for sleep, and all thoughts of the prophecy faded from thought.

~~~ooo~~~

Of course, those thoughts came back in full force as he screamed himself awake, panting and sickly, and moaned something about Ron's dad and a giant snake. Somehow, someone caught the words and ran to McGonagall, who eventually led Harry to the headmaster's office once she decided he wasn't so mad after all. Dumbledore then blundered around, eventually creating a portkey and sending Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasley brood away to Grimmauld Place with nary another word.

Harry silently retold his tale, carefully hiding away his worry about why the heck he was suddenly inside of Nagini's head, and fell into the background as the red heads bickered with his godfather. He could barely hide his glee at the thought that the feelings to bite and make the old man bleed, but knew he would have to. Harry settled back into his chair, attempting to cross the barrier between his and Voldemort's minds, questions as to why? rising and interfering in his thoughts.

~~~ooo~~~

It wasn't until later in the morning that Harry confessed to Sirius about his desire to munch on the headmaster. Sirius didn't handle it well, Harry thought, as the man blamed the urge to attack on shock and thoughts of the vision.

Harry sneered at Sirius's turned back before heading up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron. As the redhead fell into dreams of his own, Harry propped himself against the headboard, keeping himself uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what he would see next time he fell asleep, and Harry didn't want to fall into Nagini's mind without talking with Voldemort first.

Harry's incisors throbbed with the need to sink into flesh, to go after the people tucked into their beds, asleep with worry over the Weasley patriarch.

~~~ooo~~~

Harry very nearly transformed into his crow form as Tonks hounded him about the vision. Harry had a guess as to why he saw inside Nagini's head, but it had nothing to do with any Seer abilities in the family. The idea itself was a joke, and not one the Joker thought particularly humorous.

The teen's hackles rose as Tonks kept touching him: pushing him forward, grabbing his shoulder, shoves between his scapula, poking his back just behind his kidneys. After the adults forced the students from Arthur's hospital room, Harry figured it was for good reason. Tonks seemed to know that Harry himself was the snake, instilling doubt in the minds of the visitors. Possession was a difficult subject matter, but Harry couldn't think of a better way to put it.

Glancing between Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, Harry cursed Voldemort and Tonks – and the Extendable Ears. That little smidgeon of doubt would throw their suspicions onto him, and he couldn't afford to be disbelieved now, not with the multitude of plans left to be set into motion.

Returning back to Grimmauld Place, Harry figured the only way to throw off their distrust of him would be to leave. He grabbed his trunk, intending on shrinking it when he was out of the house, but a portrait grabbed his attention before he could proceed. Stay where you are, Dumbledore ordered. Harry threw his head back with a laugh, loving the expression crossing Phineas Nigellus's painted face.

The portrait continued on, throwing questions and orders and complaints every which-way. At the words "following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm," Harry nearly broke a rib with his laughter. Before the Order could investigate, he flicked his hand around the room, silencing the immediate area. The boy didn't take note of the way Phineas's eyes followed the movement, calm and calculating, behind his mask of irked rage.

Upon mention of the Dark Lord's plans, Harry sobered up. He didn't think he was the only one clever enough to know what Voldemort was planning. After all, Harry had helped with the majority of the plans and their final details over the summer. All that was left was their implementation. But no words of that like were going to come from Harry's lips, not in this present territory. He missed Voldemort, Harry realized. He missed the man and the freedom to speak as he so wished. He missed the fingers in his hair, the warmth in his bed, the way Voldemort could be so captivating with so little effort.

Sighing, Harry waved off the portrait and the silencing wards. He ignored Phineas Nigellus's rant about the pretentiousness of teens these days. Harry flopped onto his old, raggedy bed and rolled onto his side, curling up and wishing someone specific were there to hold him, to explain the occurrences and why these things were suddenly happening to him.

~~~ooo~~~

Drafting a letter to Voldemort was difficult, Harry thought the next day. He avoided the other guests at Grimmauld Place and instead tucked himself closer to the wall in Buckbeak's domain, the hardened parchment braced against his knee as he struggled to find words to fit his thoughts.

As the Joker, it was Harry's right to know what was going on in the Dark Sect of the magical world, and yet Harry was frustrated to know that none of the students, not just him, were receiving any outside news. Scratching out what he had written, Harry scribbled:

V-

I've had a few dreams of Nagini. I'm not quite sure what's going on, but one of us snacked on Arthur Weasley the other night, and he's in St. Mungo's, recovering. We're visiting him later Christmas day. I'd like to know what's going on, as your Joker. I'm stuck at the Black House, but do know I wish I were at the manor instead. Best of luck, and merry Christmas.

-J

He released the charm holding the parchment stiff, and folded the sheet a few times before sealing it with a touch of magic. He left the loft to find Hedwig, knowing his owl would delight in getting out of the rotting house.

Hearing distant, yet nearing footsteps, Harry exited his and Ron's room and returned to Buckbeak. The hippogriff carded his beak through Harry's dark hair a few times before returning to scouring the room for rats.

The doorbell rung and Harry tucked himself further into the shadows. If it was Moody at the door, he'd know where Harry was, but anyone else would have to search him out.

Unfortunately, it was Hermione, and she knew just where to look to find the elusive boy. She persuaded him back downstairs, where Ron and Ginny awaited the duo. Harry wasn't sure how to react, but figured his anger was righteous. "Don't gossip about me," he growled.

"Remember, I was possessed too. Deal with it," Ginny retorted, and Harry fell into irritated silence.

~~~ooo~~~

Christmas morning came all too soon, and Harry privately lamented the loss of Voldemort on the holiday. He clenched his present, hidden in his pocket, for the man and felt the design imprint into his palm. He wanted to be at the manor, with people he could be himself around, rather than keeping secrets and wondering over what was happening in the real world.

Sirius's excitement was contagious for the rest of the household, and it frustrated Harry to have to be sociable when all he wanted was to be with his people, his friends, his family.

Having laughed at the time of gift giving, Harry admired the set of books from Sirius and Remus, Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. If only the two men knew, Harry would be using the magic against them at one point or another.

Lunch passed, and on the group went, back to St. Mungo's. Harry sighed at all the protective measures – ridiculous, really, but the others didn't know he was safe – as the car picked them up and dropped the group before the ugly mannequins.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny left Arthur's room before they were brought into the argument about stitches. On the fourth floor, Harry could barely keep himself in check as he spotted Gilderoy Lockhart, the inept fool from second year.

The man dragged the quartet into the room, and Harry paid him no attention as he assessed the rest of the wards. A woman that barked like a dog reminded him of Hermione with the Polyjuice incident, but he restrained himself from pointing it out to her.

Ah, Broderick Bode. Harry helped plan that incident, and took a wild guess as to what the potted plant would do to the man come night. It looked tame during the day, but attacked the nearest heartbeat as a food source during the moon's high point. It was a nocturnal plant, and Harry was tempted to read the card to see who implemented the plan.

"And – oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?" the Healer called out. Harry spun around. Longbottom? Surely not – but it was. There came a woman, a few years younger than Mrs. Weasley, with Neville following behind her. Harry sent Neville a look as the pudgy boy a glance before his grandmother ushered him forward to shake hands.

"They were tortured by You-Know-Who's followers," the old woman nattered on.

And immediately Harry flashed back to Voldemort, and the connection with his scar. On one side, Neville's parents had been tortured to insanity by the Dark Lord's followers, leaving Neville to grow up with his kooky grandmother. On the other, Voldemort personally murdered Harry's parents, and Harry was left to grow up with his abusive relatives.

It seemed both boys drew the short stick. Harry wondered what would have happened had it been Neville that Voldemort attacked. Would Harry have been left with insane parents, or would the Avada Kedavra hit its target, leaving the Dark Lord in control of the Wizarding world?

Would Neville be the one having visions in Harry's place, had the circumstances been different?

And Harry wanted to know, just what was the prophecy about? It was too often to be a coincidence, to see Neville's parents tortured while his own were killed. Where was the connection? Harry was going in circles in his own mind. They weren't the fun sparkly hoops, but dull, confusing circles.

"I'll be back in a bit," Harry told the others as they finally escaped Lockhart's ramblings and Neville's embarrassment. He needed to walk out some of the ideas running through his mind, and could use the privacy in a place unexplored by him.

While the others fetched tea for those visiting in Mister Weasley's room, Harry descended the levels and wandered the second floor of Magical Bugs. He looked in different areas with interest, noting the quarantine spells locked around each individual bed in allowance for visitors. He wondered what would happen if a malady were released on the opposition, where the Dark Sect would stand in a polluted world.

Harry was literally yanked out of his thoughts by a hand on his wrist, pulling him into an unused double-bedded room. Harry's first impulse was to jerk back, bringing his wand before his face. Perhaps the holly wand wasn't the best wand for him, but it would do, just enough to provide him an escape.

He plastered his body against the door, having been sealed upon the duo's entrance, and searched the room for other exits as the man calmly sat on the tidy bed. Seeing no other exits, Harry's arm rose, wand pointed at his attacker, and froze.

The wand cluttered to the wood floor moments later, dropped in Harry's mad dash to the man.

Voldemort looked different, but Harry could sense the parselmagic glamour locked around the man who held him tight. Voldemort's face was pressed against his neck, a kiss placed upon his pulse point; the man lifted his face, placed a finger under Harry's chin, and pressed their lips together.

Harry wrapped his arms around the man's neck as he squirmed on Voldemort's lap to get more comfortable. The Dark Lord held his hips still in return.

Eventually the kiss broke and the two sat there, panting slightly. Harry wove his fingers into the dark hair at the nape of Voldemort's neck. "I'm going to make the glamour real one day," Voldemort murmured against Harry's temple, as if he knew what the boy was asking.

Harry smiled and closed his eyes, leaning against the man and finally relaxing for the first time in days.

"Now, tell me about these visions of yours," the man started up a few minutes later.

The Joker sighed and sat up, though he kept his arms around Voldemort's neck. "I – A few nights ago I woke up sick, mumbling. I had seen – been – I was Nagini and I went after Arthur Weasley. I – we – she bit him and my dorm mates heard my reactions to the dream and fetched Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore was brought into the picture and it turns out Mister Weasley was bitten by a snake and was close to death." Harry kept his voice and tone calm while making his report, but by the end, he just wanted to curl up in a ball. He wasn't frightened at what was happening, more concerned and confused and annoyed that Voldemort seemed to have a clue but wasn't telling him and it wasn't fair because it was happening to Harry, not to Voldemort, and wasn't it his, Harry's, right to know what was going on?

Voldemort chuckled, as if sensing the turn Harry's panicked thoughts had taken. "Shh, shh, my Joker. Things will clear up soon, I promise."

"Then tell me about this prophecy I keep hearing about – my parents were killed, Neville's were tortured to insanity – from both you and the old woman from the wand shop. She mentioned my vinewood wand enables prophecies, and that she sees one around me!"

The man gathered Harry against him, even though by this point Harry was flailing about in a state of alarm. Voldemort held Harry tight until he calmed down, which wasn't quite a long time at all. The man figured Harry had pondered over all that was happening, but putting it into words directed at a single man was too much for the moment.

When Harry was calm, Voldemort began. "There is a prophecy concerning me, and with my actions, it concerns you. I don't know the entire thing, and I recognize that it was foolish of me to have acted without all the facts. Please, know that what happened in the past, with the prophecy, has nothing to do with how I view you now." He pressed his lips against Harry's head of perpetually messy hair as he ran a soothing hand up and down the boy's back.

Harry sighed and cuddled closer to the man, afraid of breaking down if he let go. "I don't want to go back to them," Harry mumbled a short time later. He shifted again to get the blood to circulate through his legs, and squeaked when he found himself tumbling over the bed.

"You're very tempting," Voldemort murmured against his ear when he joined Harry.

The Joker blushed at the comment, and shivered at the feeling of warm breath against a sensitive spot. He hugged Voldemort tight and sighed contentedly. "Merry Christmas," he said brightly a few minutes later. He pulled away from Voldemort long enough to stick his hand into a pocket and pull out what he had been playing with earlier.

It was an ornate locket, decorated with emeralds set into the shape of an 's'. The man gasped as Harry clasped it around his neck. "Where did you find this?" he murmured.

Harry stared into his eyes, the color not the same as usual, and replied, "Mrs. Weasley set her family to cleaning Sirius's home over the summer. I suppose they found it in one of the cupboards and threw it out, as I found the locket in the house elf's sleeping area, along with other salvaged valuables. It had the Slytherin engraving and I figured it would be important for you to have, so, merry Christmas." He panted a bit, breathless from the long explanation.

Voldemort laughed gleefully and hugged Harry tightly. "I wondered where this got off to," the man commented, and kissed Harry enthusiastically.

Harry smiled into the kiss, and pressed against the older man; he pouted when Voldemort pulled back, glaring playfully. The expression cleared a moment later, and he resumed the hold.

"Thank you, more than you know," Voldemort told Harry seriously, one hand gripping his Horcrux. He didn't think Harry knew about the Horcruxes yet, but obviously, someone did.

Harry merely nodded, and tucked himself comfortably into the man's side.

The two sat up a few minutes later, Harry downtrodden at the thought of returning to Grimmauld Place, and Voldemort wondering when he could get Harry to himself again.

"Owl me the date of your next Hogsmeade weekend," the man decided upon, and the Joker nodded his dark head.

The duo stood and embraced one last time. "Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year," Harry told Voldemort, and leaned up for another kiss, this time goodbye.

Harry left Voldemort in the room, and headed upstairs to join the rest of the Weasley family. He plastered a bright smile over his downtrodden features, as if he had finally worked all his problems out. The group left Arthur in good spirits, and Harry only glanced back at the hospital once before he was side-along Apparated back to the House of Black.

~~~ooo~~~

I heavily followed the plotline of book five (it's wide open next to me), and took a few titles, such as the book Harry received for Christmas. Also, Moody was supposed to be in the portion where the group goes to St. Mungo's for the first time. I forgot I killed him off last installment. Thanks to The Plot Bunny Whisperer!

Honestly, have I never written about what Voldemort looked like, besides the basic resurrection stuff from Choices and that he had hair in Vinewood? It was crazy difficult to figure out that I could do whatever I wanted with Voldemort for this fic

Cho? Who's Cho? And the DA? Haha, there's neither at this point. Though, inspiration is setting in now… Geez, I'm going to end up writing lots about fifth year, if I have to take a guess.

Please review!

~Deso