Harry knew, on some level, that this wasn’t a nightmare - but it was so similar to one he had had many times before that it was hard not to believe he was actually safe and warm in his bed. Dazed, his gaze flicked between: Voldemort, his fingers stroking over his chest; Wormtail, huddled on the ground and whimpering over his bleeding stump; and Nagini, lazily circling the bottom of the headstone and tasting the air as she slithered past him. Vaguely, he realised something he expected to be here was absent. He twisted in his bonds and tried desperately to think.