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Last Chance	By : DragonOfVenus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 26994 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and other copy-righted entities. I do not, nor do I make any profit from this piece of writing.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Title: Last Chance

Author: Dragon_of_Venus

Pairings: Voldemort/Harry

Rating (Fic): NC-17

Rating (Chapter): NC-17

Word-Count (Fic): 35,000-40,000

Word-Count (Chapter): 5,067

Master List: Here.

Summary: AU after Half-Blood Prince. Voldemort is in control of the wizarding world. Harry is captured and placed under Voldemort's protection because of the horcrux.

Warnings (Fic): Discussions of rape, graphic attempted rape (not in the main pairing), suicide, character death, slurs, sexual harassment, abductions, history of violence within the main pairing, mentions of hate crimes and torture.

Warnings (Chapter): Discussions of character death/suicide, sadomasochism, poisoning for sexual pleasure, snakes being involved in sexual activities (not bestiality), one character "convincing" an at first reluctant character to come to bed wit him.

Contains: Consensual sex between adults, BDSM, masturbation, voyerism, Voldemort-wins AU.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. I receive no money for writing this or any other Harry Potter related piece.

Author's Note: Wow! The penultimate chapter! I'll be writing the last one on the road today (Don't worry. I won't be driving. :l) and hopefully you'll have it tomorrow morning, but you might have to wait until night for once. It depends on circumstances largely outside of my control. Anyway, enjoy!

~*~

They'd never even considered the possibility that Augusta Longbottom might not be home until they were ringing her doorbell, but this did not turn out to be a problem. The elderly woman answered the door, not in the dress, hat, and handbag that Neville had described during their third-year, but pajamas, with gray hair sticking out at all number of odd angles. She stared at Harry and Hermione for a moment with blank eyes.

Harry's throat went dry. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. For a very long time they just stared at each other. Harry knew she knew who he was, and for some reason he couldn't understand he felt guilty about that.

"Hap—" Hermione started, then she too failed. After another quiet second, she said "We're really sorry, Mrs. Longbottom."

Mrs. Longbottom nodded once.

"We... we were wondering if you could tell us what happened to Neville... or let us look around. We don't really believe what we've been told."

Mrs. Longbottom was quiet for another minute, and her hand shifted on the door in such a way that Harry suspected for a moment that she was going to slam it in their faces. He wasn't sure what they'd do if she did so.

She didn't. "Come in, then," she said. She immediately turned and vanished into her dark house. "And do it quickly! You're letting the cold in!"

Harry and Hermione squeezed through the door together, and quickly kicked off their snowy boots. Harry hadn't brought a traveler's cloak, since he hadn't expected to need to go outside at all that day, but Hermone quickly took hers off and hung it on the nearby coat rack. Mrs. Longbottom took a seat in a large armchair in the living room just to their left, without turning on any lights. Harry walked after her and sat down on the sofa across from her. In the darkness, he could make out a Christmas tree with presents underneath it, and he felt almost guilty about his earlier pity-party regarding his own state. He may not have been in the best of positions, and he may have been friends with Neville as well, but his wasn't nearly the worst Christmas anyone in the wizarding world was having that year. Hermione joined Harry shortly and looked from the tree to Harry with the same understanding in her eyes.

Mrs. Longbottom sat in her chair and stared at them quietly for a very long time. Harry and Hermione subjected themselves to this quietly, neither of them looking at the other or quite at Mrs. Longbottom, as her gaze was painful to hold and communicating with each other too much seemed somehow disrespectful. Harry resisted his urge to sink down in his seat and fidgeted as little as he could for several minutes. Eventually, Mrs. Longbottom opened her mouth, but when Harry perked up to hear what she was going to say, she seemed to change her mind. This happened several times before she finally spoke:

"I'm sorry, children, but..." Harry could hear her staged breath even from several feet away, "...It's too soon. Here. Take this..." She held out a roll of parchment to them that Harry realized she must have had in her hand that entire time. Hermione retrieved it and sat next to Harry again before unrolling it.

Dear Gran,

I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I won't go on any more raids, I won't go to anymore Death Eater meetings, and I won't live in a country controlled by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I'm sorry. But I know you don't want me to, either. But I also won't let them hurt you, and as long as I'm alive they'll try to use you to get to me. My only hope for you is to end my own life. Then they'll leave you alone. You should probably let them think this is an accident. I'll do my best to make it look like one. I'm worried if they know the truth they'll harass you out of spite or something.

You'll be alright, because you'll have Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid.

I'm sorry.

Love,

~Neville.

Hermione drew in a long, pained breath next to Harry's ear. Harry himself felt... empty, because he could understand how Neville could have made this choice and yet at the same time he couldn't. He read the note repeatedly, just as he read the letter from Voldemort that had first alerted them of Neville's death repeatedly. Neville's handwriting was so shaky... yet he seemed to have worded the note rather carefully. He'd probably been thinking about it for a while.

He'd been thinking about killing himself for a while. And he'd done it on Christmas. Harry didn't believe it. Though intellectually he knew that it was true, emotionally it simply wouldn't register. Neville had never been anything but a survivor, facing Snape and the Slytherins and a million other challenges every day at school for seven years... but Voldemort had been more than he could handle.

Voldemort was more than a lot of people could handle.

Harry stood and dashed down the hallway until he found the bathroom, then he vomited into the toilet. Neville had killed himself because of a man that Harry had slept with. While Harry was off spreading his legs for the Dark Lord, Neville had been plotting his own suicide, and it was all Harry's fault because Harry failed—

He threw up again. In the silence after he'd done so he heard his breaths coming in and out like sobs.

Happy fucking Christmas. It seemed utterly inconceivable that there were people out there enjoying this day. That Draco had a fiancée and had sat down to dinner with her and his aunt and was going on with a happy little life as though everything was fine with the world when it wasn’t. That decent people were probably doing their best to celebrate this holiday in spite of the terror they were living under, so long as they were pure-blooded and they had that privilege under Voldemort's regime.

Harry's stomach flipped, and he threw up a third time, for good measure. So much for a good Christmas dinner.

He heard footsteps behind him and assumed it was Hermione coming to check on him, but instead when he turned around he found Mrs. Longbottom standing there with some tissue paper. Without asking for permission or even giving Harry the chance to take the tissue paper himself, she bent down and wiped his mouth clean, tossed the tissue paper in the toilet, and flushed it.

"Do you think you're done now?"

Harry nodded. She held out a hand and helped him to his feet.

"Thank you," he said.

She nodded. "Neville was so fond of you two..." She shook her head.

"May... May we see where it happened?"

She broke off another few sheets of tissue paper to dry her tears and shook her head. "There's nothing to see. He.. he just gave himself this nice little cut on his hand and went out to tend to his plants..." She trembled violently for a moment, and Harry pulled her into a hug as much to support her as to comfort her. "...And he never came back in." Harry rocked her slowly for a moment, and he felt so much weight on him that for at least a minute solid he was sure he was supporting all of both of their weight. Finally, she straightened again. "He was always at his best around his plants. When he wanted the aconite, I'd never imagined..." Harry prepared himself for her to collapse again, but she didn't. Instead, she calmly led Harry and Hermione back into the living room.

"Happy Christmas," she said, and there was a finality to this statement that made it clear to Harry and Hermione that Mrs. Longbottom wanted to be alone.

"Are you going to be alright, Mrs. Longbottom?" Hermione said.

Mrs. Longbottom sighed. "My brother will be back soon... Yes, I imagine I'll be alright. You're sweet children, and it does my heart a bit of good to know that Neville had friends intelligent and concerned enough to look into this, but I'm afraid there's no more you can do."

"We're very sorry for your loss," Harry said. "We should have seen the signs—"

"We all missed the signs, Harry," Mrs. Longbottom said, startling Harry a bit by addressing him by name for the first time that night. "And no one has less excuse to have done so than I do. Don't you dare blame yourself. It won't end well, and this country can't lose anymore good children."

Harry decided not to tell her how woefully unlikely it was that this country was ever going to lose him. He wasn't certain he counted as 'good' anymore anyway. He looked to Hermione with an unspoken question about wards around Malfoy Manor, and she answered him by grabbing him and side-apparating him back.

The letter on the bed was undisturbed. No one seemed to even realize that they had left.

The owl hooted happily to see them return, and Harry glared at it.

"Can I send a letter to Voldemort?" he said.

Hermione hesitated, but nodded.

Harry helped himself to her stationary and, pressing so hard that at first he nearly broke through the parchment, wrote:

I fucking hate you. Neville's dead and it's your fault. Everyone's dead or gone and it's your fault. I'm stuck forever carrying around your soul (which I otherwise wouldn't believe you had) and it's your fault. This world is fucking shit, and it's your fault. Maybe I can't kill you, but I hope you die.

~Harry Potter

He sighed. That had been cathartic to write, but Voldemort would only find it funny, if anything. He wanted to write something that would actually bother the bastard. After a moment of thought, he added:

P.S.: Happy Christmas. It's horrible when you can't spend the holidays with your family. I know you miss your daddy as much as I do. The only difference is that mine didn't abandon me by choice.

That was a little better. That might actually hurt Voldemort, and even though it was a low blow and Harry had so often been furious at Malfoy for insulting orphans, Harry couldn't feel bad about it. Honestly, since Voldemort had killed his father, it was technically Voldemort's fault that he'd been an orphan. Surely that meant that the rules were different.

Harry sent the letter off and then flopped down next to Hermione on her bed. She was laying with a book open, naturally, but Harry noticed that her eyes weren’t moving across the page. She was lost in her mind, and Harry saw no cause to disturb her. He put his head down in his arms and laid there with his upset stomach and vomit-flavored mouth until he heard a screech as the owl returned less than an hour later.

That seemed to shake Hermione out of her thoughts, and her eyes began to move across the page. Harry stood up and got his letter from the owl, reaching out again to the horcrux and smiling slightly when he felt Voldemort's irritation.

Harry,

You sound upset. You probably should talk to someone about that, but I have no idea why you thought I was a good choice. Next time, just grab a garden snake. Keep them warm and they're great listeners.

~The Dark Lord Voldemort

P.S.: Our fathers did have a lot in common, including the fact that they were both murdered by me. If you don't calm down, someone else's father might be murdered by me, too, and I don't think Ronald would appreciate that. Have a very happy Christmas.

Harry let out a frustrated grunt. Hermione looked up from her reading, but she didn't say anything and neither did Harry. Harry again helped himself to her stationary, but realized a moment before he started writing that Voldemort had probably been serious about Arthur Weasley. He took a deep breath before he wrote.

I don't want to talk to you.

That was all. He didn't even sign it. He just rolled it up, tied it to the owl's leg, and sent it off to Voldemort. Then he sat next to Hermione again, feeling only very slightly better for his outburst, and watched the second hand move around the clock on Hermione's wall a few times, trying to keep his mind clear and just cling to a feeling of emptiness that didn't quite hurt as badly as his self-loathing or crippling depression did.

"The Malfoys know how to keep a party going," Harry said. "Reckon the Lestranges will spend the night here?"

Hermione was quiet for so long that Harry didn't think he'd heard her, but just when he was going to repeat himself, she shook her head. "We're not that lucky, Harry."

Harry chuckled, but it was true. "You're probably right. Bellatrix and Narcissa are the only ones who seem to particularly like each other, anyway."

"Hm?" Hermione looked up from her book.

Harry shrugged. "I've just got the feeling that Rodolphus doesn't like Draco very much. They always look really awkward around each other."

"He's probably jealous."

"Of Draco?"

"No, for Draco. These pure-blood families don't take their dynasties lightly, Harry. In any case," she smiled darkly, "It seems like a very trivial thing for you to be worrying about, giving present circumstances."

Harry shrugged. "What would you have me worry about? At least you've got arithmancy to do. I'm stuck in Lestrange Manor all day listening to the radio and playing wizards chess with myself."

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said with a sigh, "There is nothing I love more than doing Voldemort's maths for him."

"Not the grand intellectual excessive he made it out to be?"

"Oh, I'm learning loads, but I'm rather concerned with he's doing with the fruits of my labor. My first task was to turn water to blood, and I didn't think much of it until a bit more reader showed me that if my math was right, he could adjust it to work in reverse as well."

Harry's stomach turned slightly. At least having your blood turned to water was likely to be a quick death. "Sorry," he said.

There was a squeal from downstairs that turned into a laugh after a minute.

Harry smirked. "Yup. It's Pansy."

"What?"

"Draco's fiancée."

"Oh," Hermione shifted to a new position on her bed. "Yes. You have no idea what a joy it's been to see her again."

Harry snorted. "I'd share a bunk-bed with Pansy if it'd get me away from Bella. Want to trade?"

Before Hermione could answer, there was a hoot as Voldemort's owl flew back in through the window. For a moment, Harry thought that it was just there to wait for Hermione to finish her next assignment, but then he noticed a letter tied to it's leg.

Harry took it. Voldemort had torn Harry's note off and replied on the same parchment. His even shorter message read:

I can tell.

Harry didn't even bother to tear the parchment. He simply scratched out Voldemort's letter and wrote just two words in reply:

Fuck you.

He sent it off and returned to the bed with Hermione. They spent as long as they could bear to trying to force a casual conversation, buteverything—Christmas, Ron, their lives for the last few weeks, Hogwarts, Albania, Voldemort, books—was painful until they finally settled on comparing the weather they'd both been dealing with, in tedious detail until they decided that things had been worse in Wiltshire.

Then Voldemort apparated into the room.

Hermione jumped, but Harry just blinked. He wondered for the second time that day if he was dreaming.

Voldemort smiled. "Harry, how would you like to spend Christmas night with me?"

Harry didn't say anything. He wouldn't like that at all. The last thing he wanted was to be around the man who had as much as murdered Neville and thousands of others.

Voldemort sighed, grabbed him, and apparated him back into his bedroom.

"You again..." Nagini hissed immediately.

Harry ignored her and pulled quickly away from Voldemort. "I said I didn't want to talk to you!"

"No," Voldemort said. "You want to fuck me."

"What?!"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Come now, Harry. You don't think that horcrux link only goes one way, do you?"

Harry looked away.

"If we're going to do this, let's do it quickly. While it is... fun to torture you a bit, and I won't refuse you when you want it, I really don't have much time for your childishness tonight."

"I do not want to fuck you!" Harry said, backing further away from Voldemort. "I hate you. I'm furious with you... even more furious with you than I usually am—"

"No, Harry, you're afraid of me." Voldemort said simply. "You may not have to fear that I'll kill you anymore, though on some emotional level I think you still do fear that—Stupid boy—but you fear that I'll ruin your life forever, as, as you made a point of pointing out, I've already got a good start on. You fear that one way or another I'll take what few friends you have left from you, and then I'll take a few complete strangers just to spite you. And you might be right. You're probably right, in fact... Do you feel that, Harry? The way your blood turns to ice when I say that? That isn't hate. That's fear. Your mentor always said that there are worse things than death in this world, and you believed him even if I never did. And now you're living that, watching all of those unspoken fears come true, and there is nothing you can do to stop them, and you are terrified." Voldemort sighed. "And you fuck me when you're terrified, because you're desperate for some illusion of control over all of this. It does you good to think that you allow me to hurt you, so until you're ready to make that allowance, I'll be finishing up some plans."

Harry's stomach turned. It was true. From the ice in his veins to the odd desire that he really did have to have Voldemort's attention and to have Voldemort listen to him and to just have that tiny bit of control over what was going on in his life, for the very first time in his life. There was something oddly healing about being bitten and cut and fucked by Voldemort and coming out of it all and realizing that he was still alive and still quite safe and that, in this one thing if no other thing, Voldemort would stop when Harry told him to.

Harry swore.

Voldemort chuckled.

"Am I the first one?" Harry said.

"The first one what?" Voldemort's eyes remained on a map that he was holding open in front of him.

"The first one... not ever, I guess, but the first one... like me?"

"There is no one quite like you, Potter."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment. You're the most troublesome and unstable brat I've known since myself at your age."

Harry balked a bit at the comparison, but brushed it off. It was not the important thing here. "No... I mean, am I the first person to come to you for... for this reason?"

"Yes. You're a freak, Harry Potter."

"I know," Harry said without thinking. It was a reflex left over from years of abuse at the hands of Uncle Vernon. The word 'freak' didn’t even hold any particular sting for Harry anymore. It really just made Harry wish even more desperately that Voldemort would look up from that fucking map and throw Harry onto the bed.

Voldemort did not look up from the map, but there was a very pointed silence for a minute. Harry wondered for a moment if Voldemort was going to ask him about... about the Dursleys... about anything... and he actually took a few steps back, physically retreating from the idea. He had fucked Voldemort, but he was not going to share that part of his past with Voldemort, if Voldemort didn't already know about it. (Harry's heart sank slightly to realize that, as a master at legilimency and as someone who could read Harry's emotions, Voldemort had probably known the details of Harry's childhood with the Dursleys for a very long time.)

"In your defense," Voldemort said quietly, "I've never destroyed anyone else's life quite as thoroughly as I've destroyed yours. I've taken everything from you but your life itself: Your parents, your freedom, your virginity—"

"Not hardly!" Harry said. "Ginny and I—"

"Your other virginity. In any case, I suppose I must accept some responsibility for you."

"I'd like it more if you'd accept considerably less responsibility for me, actually," Harry said. "Let me leave and maybe I'll actually start to recover from all of this. I can handle not getting myself killed—"

"—All past evidence is to the contrary."

"Dragon shit! The closest I've come to dying since you made me take that bloody vow was at your hands in your bed! In fact, even going by 'past evidence,' I can't think of a single time when I nearly died and it wasn't in some way your fault!"

"Merlin you are insufferable..." Voldemort folded the map and put it down, then looked Harry over once. "You are never getting your freedom. Put the idea out of your head. I intend to keep you where I know your life is not going to be in danger no matter what stupid hero fantasy comes over your. Your rushing off to the Longbottom residence a few hours ago only proves that you haven't changed and can't be trusted with your own safety."

"Yet you brought me here specifically because you were hoping you'd get the chance to endanger my life. That's fun to you. It's a nice little break from your paperwork or whatever, isn't it? Some people like to drink coffee on their breaks, some people like to smoke cigarettes, and some people like to nearly kill their horcrux vessel, who by the way is half a century younger, you pervert."

Voldemort nodded. "Indeed, Harry. I can't deny that I find your pained cries rather relaxing..."

"Endanger my life," Harry said, disrobing quickly for dramatic effect. "I dare you... In fact," deciding that if he was going to do this, he'd best do it right, he dropped to his knees and crawled toward Voldemort. "I beg you."

Voldemort smiled. "Don't ask for things you don't really want, Harry."

"I'm not."

"Harry, I will do it..."

"Then do it!"

Voldemort glanced briefly at something behind Harry before his eyes returned to Harry and his hand buried itself in Harry's hair. Harry was dragged brutally upward and backward, and he scrambled and failed to keep up with the movement, hissing as sharp pain after sharp pain ran through his skull while Voldemort pulled his hair, until he was over by the bed. Voldemort didn't have the physical strength to actually throw Harry onto the bed, but Harry knew what was expected of him and quickly climbed onto the bed.

"Still Hufflepuff?" Harry said, hearing his breath come out in pants.

"'Hufflepuff' or you passing out. Whichever comes first."

"You'll stop if I pass out?"

"You are still my horcrux, Harry. I do not want you dead." Voldemort said as he tugged Harry's pants off, leaving Harry naked on the edge of the bed with a racing heart. Voldemort waved his wand once and shackled Harry to the bed, then quickly disrobed and joined Harry on it. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed as Voldemort prepared for whatever danger he was going to put Harry's life in—He certainly couldn't use the Unforgivable Curse—and Harry noticed that the mirror on the ceiling was back. Voldemort wanted him to have a good view of himself throughout this. Fucking bastard.

"Nagini," Voldemort hissed, "Come here. Help me with this..."

Harry swallowed hard. What was Nagini going to do?

He felt her on his skin before he had too much time to think on it. Harry had never been particularly afraid of snakes, but actually having one—or, perhaps, this one—crawl over his bare leg gave him rather unpleasant tingles. He moved his leg slightly and, were it not for the shackles, might have kicked her off. As it was, he could only lie there and watch in the mirror above as she slithered up to his chest and paused just below his nipple.

Voldemort casually pushed Harry's head to the side, thought about this for a second and changed his mind, then adjusted it again until he was facing the ceiling.

"So why are you allowed to endanger the horcrux when I'm not?"

"It's my horcrux and I know when to stop," Voldemort said, glaring at Harry. "I don't want to hear another word out of you unless that word is 'Hufflepuff.'"

Voldemort ran his fingers from Nagini's head down the first few inches of her body, as though he were petting a dog. Nagini looked huge next to Harry's scrawny leg, and she wasn't even completely on the bed.

"Bite him," Voldemort said in a completely steady voice.

Harry had about one second to panic before it happened.

He saw the fangs sink into his neck before he felt them. He watched himself, Voldemort, and Nagini all waiting calmly, and then Nagini movedvery quickly, Harry jumped, and there were fangs in his neck. For half of a second, he was surprised by the complete lack of pain.

Then he wanted to die. Nagini's venom rushed into his neck quickly and brutally, lighting his blood on fire and making it instantly hard to breathe. Harry thrashed and screamed as loudly as he could, but it was to no avail. Voldemort did not stop the poison or even tell Nagini to get off him. Harry continued to thrash and scream, feeling the horrible burning as the poison ran through his veins, down his collar bone... in that horrible moment when it got to his heart, there was a horrible pain all through his chest, and it did not go away when the venom began to be pumped by the heart into the other areas of Harry's body. His vitals were shutting down. He couldn't breath, even though he could scream. Voldemort's bites on the other side of Harry's neck were like bug-bites, if that. Black clouds were swarming around the edges of Harry's vision, getting bigger and bigger until Harry wouldn't be able to see anymore...

And then it all stopped, very suddenly. The burning in Harry's blood vanish, and his heart gave one last painful pump before returning it its duties as normal, though at a somewhat faster pace. Harry looked into the mirror to find Nagini's fangs still buried in his neck, but she was apparently not releasing any more venom. Harry saw Voldemort lift his wand off his chest.

And now he was rather aware of the sharp stings from Voldemort's bite marks on his neck, but those hardly seemed worth any attention after nearly being poisoned to death. Harry had a lot more sympathy for Nagini's screaming rabbit now.

"That's enough, Nagini," Voldemort said.

The fangs came out of Harry's neck, and Harry hissed as oxygen touched his nerves in the two sharp puncture wounds her fangs had left. She obviously hadn't hit anything important, and Harry was quite certain that was by design, so there was only really the pain to be concerned with. Though blood did start bubbling out instantly, it wasn't an alarming amount. When she slithered off his body, Harry didn't bother to suppress his shudder. Voldemort seemed to take quite a bit of delight in that.

Harry let out a sigh that nearly turned into a sob. "Fuck you," he said. Yet the pleasant tingling was back. He had dived head-first in the psychological ocean that was Voldemort, and he hadn't drowned. He was safe. Everything had gone exactly as he'd planned for it to.

Voldemort chuckled. "No. The other way around, I think." The shackles around Harry's ankles vanished, and Harry allowed his legs to be pushed up. When Voldemort pushed brutally into him with almost no lubrication, Harry barely grunted. His head was still spinning simply because he wasalive. The lines of blood from his neck only proved that.

Voldemort fucked him fast and hard for a moment, and Harry began to find a bit of pleasure beneath, or perhaps even within, all of the pain and let out the occasional moan. He felt as though he'd already came, though there was no mess to be found on the sheets or on Harry's body that would indicate this. Harry's whole body was limp and satisfied. It was merely a matter of allowing Voldemort to take his pleasure, and Harry gladly did so for several minutes until he felt Voldemort's wand pressed to his chest.

He blinked a few times, though he knew very well what he was seeing. It seemed rather pointless to even have a safe word at that point, because Harry was feeling as though he could survive anything.

"Crucio," Voldemort said.

Pain every bit as intense as the venom but of an entirely different sort rushed at Harry from all angles at once. The sharp pain of having every individual nerve in his body torn open with a tiny magically knife and stuffed with salt was nothing new, though, and it lacked all of the grotesque horror of being bitten by Nagini. When Voldemort came into Harry's writing body, stopped the curse, and pulled out, Harry couldn't even work up the energy to swear at the man. He remained where he was, panting, as the chains vanished. The mirror stayed.

Voldemort stood up, casually threw a blanket over Harry's lower regions, but still left his neck, covered in bite marks and two small black holes where Nagini's fangs had punctured him, clearly visible and bloody.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Voldemort said. "Get some sleep."

Harry's last thought as he dozed off was that he was going to completely despise himself in the morning.
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Last Chance