What had he done? All the unkind thoughts. All the harsh words. His master had to be furious. He clutched the offered hand. When he felt a second hand on the back on his neck, he pondered sinking to his knees. Voldemort's ire could be tempered with such gestures ... sporadically. But then, Severus could barely move, sitting on his sofa with Harry on his coffee table, bracketed by his legs. The touch on his neck was not restricting, more grounding, and he was grateful for it. It felt right.