Harry has a nighttime visitor, who gives a little and takes a little. *Reformatted*
She pours into his dream like warm oil filling in the convolutions of his brain. Her presence is the smell of sandalwood, the taste of salt, the sound and feel of sibilant silk. He feels her wrap around him like a luxurious blanket that covers him, kisses him and takes his swollen member into herself. He feels her soft, dark hair as it completely curtains his face and sees through his half-lidded eyes her impossibly large dark eyes urging him to completion before devouring his mouth in a warm, wet soulful kiss.
He can't move in his dream state, he can only lie there and experience the intense feast of his senses as his dream lover brings him off again, and because he is a teenaged boy, yet again. At some point she shudders and breathes out "Merlin, Morgana and Maeve; my Goddess that's a good seeing to!"
He wants to move, if only to wrap his arms around her and properly return her kiss, but all he can do is breathe harder, more raggedly as the dream girl clutches him with all of herself, her arms and legs anchoring her as she drives their pubic regions together with urgency. She brings him off one last time and covers his face with her soft, fragrant hair as her face rests on his shoulder.
He sleeps on.
She glides off, smirking as she pulls on dark death-eater robes and walks out the front door of Number 4 Privet drive, past the protective wards and up the road to the play park.
"You were right m'lord, the wards are useless against any mage not meaning to harm the boy."
"I know how Dumbledore thinks, and I know how magic works." The Dark Lord knows, better than most that magic is all about intent. It's less about incantations and wand waving and much more about what the witch or wizard intends to do.
It had been absurdly simple to get information from the muggle authorities, Lily Evans had only one surviving relative and the marriage certificate of Petunia Evans and Vernon Dursley was properly filed and remained a matter of public record. No one who meant to harm the boy could get into Number 4 Privet drive but the master and his servant had other plans for the last Potter.
Voldemort was snapped out of his reverie by the question.
"Will I need to come back tomorrow night?"
"I know it's a sacrifice dear Bellatrix," his serpentine face a picture of pained sarcasm "but we want to be sure the little visitor takes. Tomorrow and one more night for good measure."
Bellatrix Lestrange merely nodded as she was not at all adverse to two more repeat performances.
Lord Voldemort allowed himself a smug grin; he knew that yet another strategy was in place to ensure his immortality.
"The issue of my enemy is my guarantee of success" he thought aloud, "and you my dear Bellatrix will be the vessel of that success."
"My life is but to serve, my lord"