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Summary
Harry’s eyes crossed as Voldemort reached out to him, pressing his talon to the scar as though he had no idea what it was or what it meant. Harry braced himself for the inevitable, but strangely, the touch didn't hurt.
“What a princely boon you have been given, and quite the story behind it as well, I just know it.”
Voldemort smiled down at Harry, and seemed to wait for a moment, as though he expected some sort of delighted response like the bloody snake’s. Except then his gaze faltered, and his eyes flicked around with more purpose, taking in for the first time the filthy gag in his mouth, the blood still dripping from his arm and leg, and the way the scythe pressed so firmly against his neck.
“No, no, no, that isn’t right at all,” he muttered to himself, flicking his hand, still wand-less, in a series of impatient gestures that banished first the gag, then the statue, and finally the torn, bloody mess that were once his robes.
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One part not-canon!Voldemort popped into canon!Harry's world during the graveyard scene, one part dadmort who has literally no concept of interpersonal boundaries, and one part me really, really wanting to write about what a hemipenis looks like in the wild.