Meeting his intended
Oh fuck yes.
Harry focused his gaze on the Headmaster, his age seemingly catching up with him as shown by the heavy wrinkles and weary eyes, lacking his usual meddling twinkle. Harry had no problem with the man. A fact that confused many of his schoolmates, considering the many difficulties the Headmaster had been the apparent cause of.
But Harry really did understand where the man had been coming from. ‘The Greater Good,’ and all that crap. Harry was well aware that his life meant far less than the entire population, it was simply a matter of probability. There had to be one unfortunate soul and it just so happened in this lifetime, that soul was his.
And now, for the greater good, for the end of the way, a Treaty was being signed. A Treaty for peace and prosperity for the whole of the country. The Headmaster had clearly worked himself into a bit of a frenzy over it, considering his beaten form, and Harry felt rather grateful.
The worry was for nought, though.
Harry was perfectly delighted to marry the Dark Lord.
“I completely understand, Headmaster,” Harry finally said, adopting a serious tone necessary for the somewhat serious conversation. “Anything for peace.”
There was a hopeful light in the old man's eyes now, some of the guilt abiding in Harry’s acceptance. But Harry couldn’t make it quite so easy for the wizard.
“What are the other conditions I’m being exchanged for?” He wondered, tilting his head slightly to the side if only to see the light shutter from his eyes. Maybe a tad harsh. ”I’m not cheap, you know,” he added as an afterthought, hoping humour would lighten the dreary mood.
It didn’t really seem to work.
“It ensures the end of the wizarding war and there will be no more murder and torturing of innocents,” the Headmaster repeated his previous words and Harry hummed over the prospects.
He would’ve married the man for far less than that. Oh well, he wasn’t going to mess with a good thing.
“And when will the wedding take place?” He questioned, having been told the information and promptly forgetting again. The Headmaster sighed, even used to the boy's antics as he was.
“In a week,” Dumbledore responded, the words barely a breath of air. Harry knew the reason for this was that the Headmaster considered the timeframe barely existent but Harry only wished it were shorter.
He nodded thoughtfully, wondering how he could extend this meeting further, but as Dumbledore started faffing around gathering papers, he was aware that the brief reprieve from hell was ending.
“Well, I must be getting you back, dear boy,” Dumbledore smiled his benign smile and Harry felt a sudden spike of helplessness. Not for much longer, he reminded himself. Only a week. He could manage a week.
And then he’d be safe.
There was no way he was going to last a week.
For whatever reason, now that there was an end to this terror, the days could not be dragging by slower.
Harry focused his attention on the steaks he was frying, glad cooking was the chore of choice as he found he rather enjoyed it. He would probably enjoy it more if his body was running on any form of sustenance.
Hell, he’d even savour ‘escargot,’ a disgusting delicacy Draco had attempted to force on him during the Halloween feast. The snails, as he’d later found out they were after spitting them back onto his plate, had been the most disgusting thing to ever enter his mouth.
Now he was salivating at the very thought.
The steaks, mixed in a buttery, garlicky sauce, wafted up and into his nose, making his eyes water in pure desperation. But he couldn’t risk it. Not now, not so close to leaving.
He refused to be murdered with only a day left.
He diligently turned them over, a loud sizzling drifting through the kitchen and Harry hummed a light tune under his breath to sidetrack his mind from the food in front of him.
The door opening alerted him to the return of the demons. The hum vanished in the waft of disintegrating peace, his shoulders hunching and head lowering to better be unbothered and left alone.
It worked to an extent.
The three lumbered around, the young demon stomping up the stairs and mummy and daddy demons discussing some ridiculous thing that they’d witnessed at the zoo, ‘imagine being so poor one has to ask for tap water,’ even as the biggest demon of alls footsteps started worryingly heading in his direction.
Likening his cousin, Aunt and Uncle to demons was usually rather satisfying but today Harry was just too restless for it to be effective. And his Uncle was still getting closer.
“Hurry up, freak. I believe you were told dinner should be ready for when we returned?” The huge man towered over Harry, his double chins wobbling and eyes glinting and Harry gulped.
“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir,” he quickly said, pulling the pan off the stove and starting to dish up the steaks with the crispy fries and dressed salad. His Uncle let out a disgruntled huff of impatience but otherwise left Harry alone as he sat at the head of the table.
Harry placed his finishing touches on the meal as his Aunt, a tall, pinched woman, entered the room as well. She rarely ate much and often threw away most of the meal, a sight that gave Harry physical pain.
As disgusting as he knew it to be, in his lowest moments he’d rifled through the bin for the leftovers.
He juggled all three places onto the table at once, deciding if being the Dark Lord’s consort didn’t work out he’d take up being a chef at some private diner.
His cousin entered the room and the three started their meal, leaving Harry to quickly complete the washing up before heading outside to finish his gardening chores. It was actually a relief not having to watch them eat, much preferring the peaceful night air even if it was a tad chilly.
Harry rubbed his arms, trying to contain his body warmth, before starting on pulling out the weeds and thorns from his Aunts precious flowers. Even ensuring he was methodical and careful, his hands ended up blistered and raw.
It was a far smaller discomfort than it could've been, had his Uncle returned home in even the smallest of moods, and Harry would take a win when he could.
He hurried back inside the moment he was done, unable to help the shivers that were racking his body as the chill had seeped through his tattered clothing. He furiously rubbed his hands together, having no desire of gaining a cold, it was the most irritating feeling in the world trying to fall asleep with a blocked nose.
He’d take a full beating over that.
He tiptoed into the kitchen, hearing the TV sounding from the living room, and quickly washed up the plates that lay abandoned on the table. Harry wished desperately to eat some of the remains of his Aunt’s still full place, but he couldn’t afford to mess up now.
Not when he was so close to getting out.
The second he’d finished, he rushed to his cupboard, his safe haven, wishing not for the first time that there was a latch on the inside as well as the outside. He prayed his Uncle wouldn’t pay him a visit that night.
There was no reason for him to.
Harry hadn’t messed up in a long time.
But his Uncle didn’t always need an excuse. Not if he was getting pleasure out of it. Not if Harry deserved it because ‘didn’t he know what a freak he was?’ Not even if Harry should be grateful because ‘no-one else will ever touch you like this so you should just enjoy it.’
Harry banished those thoughts back to the locked chest at the very back of his mind.
He only had 12 hours to go. Moody was coming for him first thing in the morning. He could last that long.
By some stroke of luck that Harry almost never experienced, his Uncle hadn’t seeked him out and he’d actually had a pretty restful night's sleep.
He’d woken up barely a minute past 5, quickly packing his meagre belongings into a bag, and was waiting impatiently by the front door for the auror to arrive. Just as Dumbledore had told him, the man arrived a minute to 6.
Harry felt a rush of tension leave his shoulders in the knowledge that he hadn’t imagined all of it, that he really was getting out of this house, that the nightmare really was finally over.
The auror opened the door silently, looking every bit as intimidating and cool in equal measures as usual, even while flashing a grin in Harry’s general direction.
“Alright, Potter?” Moody asked, one eye whirring off to the side and not waiting for a response before he was heading up the stairs to do the necessary mind magic to remove Harry from the Dursley’s heads for good.
Dumbledore had explained this aspect in detail. Of course, when Harry had brought up maybe being taken away from the Durlsey’s, the Headmaster had totally brushed him off. Claimed Harry was being dramatic. And he’d explained how every home life had problems.
Harry had been 12 and so had decided Dumbledore must be right, given his years and years of experience. He knew now that the man was simply a meddling old goat.
Now, though, in Dumbledore’s grand old mind, there was no problem at all with Harry leaving the Dursley’s because he no longer required the protection they offered him. As Harry was also considered an ‘innocent’, the Dark Lord also couldn’t harm him under this new Treaty.
So, Harry’s very memory was being wiped from the demons he’d been forced to reside with.
The Weasley’s had tried to argue this one, Mrs Weasley in particular ready to present a proper defence that under no circumstances should Harry lose his family in such a way. Harry had shut that right down immediately.
Dumbledore had watched from the side with eyes that twinkled.
When Moody returned back downstairs, he looked longer at Harry’s bag, wondering why it was so small, wondering why Harry looked so small, before batting both thoughts from his mind.
The bag probably had an enlarging charm cast on it and the boy had alway been tiny, must be simply genetics.
Harry followed Moody out of the door and let him clasp his arm to apparate them away. Dumbledore had also explained that he’d be getting ready at Malfoy Manor, a fact Harry was delighted about because he’d missed Draco tons over the holiday.
Harry’s friendship with Draco was certainly an interesting one. They’d hated each other all through the first 3 years, right up until Harry had saved Draco’s life when he hadn’t noticed the staircase had moved and stepped right out into the air.
Then Draco had begrudgingly thanked him and Harry had decided he quite liked the other boy. Draco had refused to be associated with ‘Gryffindors golden boy’ as he liked to mockingly refer to him, so their friendship had been kept under wraps through 4th and 5th years.
Then the war had increased tenfold, the Dark Lord ordering mass killings that often had the school near closing, a fact Harry stayed up late into the night praying wouldn’t occur. At this point their friendship had become dangerous.
They still saw each other but kept visits brief and secret, sticking to the Room of Requirement.
Now Harry was officially on the Dark Lord's side, he was also technically on Draco’s as well. Not that there were really sides anymore. In his brain, Voldemort had won and the order had lost.
Dumbledore didn’t quite see it like that but Harry would leave the man to his ignorance, as the famous saying went, ignorance could be bliss.
They arrived at the Manor and Harry stared around, mouth agape. It was practically a castle and so beautiful he could hardly breathe. He was also thrilled to see the peacocks swarming the grounds, and not just any peacocks, but albino ones.
Harry had never seen albino peacocks before and was already taking a step in their direction when Moody pulled him back to the path, rolling his eyes.
“Focus, Potter, there’s more important things to be doing than seeing the garden vermin,” the auror huffed as Harry was guided up the path and he tried not to pout. He just wanted to stroke one albino peacock.
Oh well. Later.
They got to the front door, Harry still gazing up at the towering building in awe, and it opened immediately, a house elf smartly bowing his head before leading them inside while announcing in a cheerful voice that the, “Master and Mistress be residing in the drawing room, Sir.”
”This is where I’ll be leaving you,” the gruff auror nodded his head once, conflict entering his eyes briefly before he was patting Harry twice on the shoulder, told him to “be strong,” and reminded him of the importance of, “constant vigilance,” before apparating away.
Harry smiled fondly.
They followed the little thing through the Manor, the interior elegant and wealthy looking, all long corridors, fancy ornaments and tapestries of rich blues and golds. When they reached the drawing room, it was to see Mr and Mrs Malfoy standing with straight backs and expressionless faces.
Harry had always been a little bit scared of them.
Besides them was Draco. The boy was looking paler than usual (something Harry hadn’t thought possible), and he offered Harry a small upturn of his lips that had Harry’s eyes widening immediately.
His lack of subtlety got him a role of Draco’s eyes and he quickly forced his expression back under control. It’s not his fault Draco just acknowledgedhispresenceinpublic.
It really was a sad world when Harry was getting so excited over something so pathetic.
“Potter.” Mr Malfoy acknowledged, stepping forward to shake Harry’s hand which Harry quickly followed. The man's grip was firm and no nonsense, and as Harry made sure to look him right in the eyes, he thought he saw a very small amount of discomfort behind the mask.
Then Draco’s mother stepped forward, one of the most beautiful women in the whole world, a fact Draco was very proud of, and she shook his hand too. Where her husband's grip had been solid, hers was much more gentle, careful even, and Harry offered her a smile.
She seemed shocked.
Draco was last, simply nodding his head in Harry’s direction and Harry returned it. There was a brief pause, as if no-one was quite sure what to do.
Harry fidgeted somewhat awkwardly.
And then Mrs Malfoy was stepping forward again, steps rushed and hands fretting in the air for only a heartbeat before Harry was being wrapped in a soft hug.
“Oh, child, I’m so sorry this is happening to you,” Draco’s mum practically whispered, hands flexing against his back as if she never wanted to let go.
Harry was frozen for only a heartbeat before he let himself relax into the only motherly affection he’d had since he’d seen Mrs Weasley, the larger than life lady who gave the best hugs in the world. Harry was closest with Ginny, but he got on well enough with Ron, and had been to their house a few times.
“It’s okay,” he whispered back, as the lady pulled away, quickly brushing a tear of all things as she fought to gain her composure. Draco’s mouth was hanging wide open. Mr Malfoy looked openly uncomfortable now, although Harry was starting to suspect the man also felt sorry for him.
It was a rather weird feeling but not wholly unwelcome. It was also entirely unnecessary.
“What time’s the service?” He asked, almost solely to spur them into action, and immediately succeeded in doing so.
The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of fittings, stylings and finally bathings. There were a large number of design boutists, including a flamboyant lady called Madame Puff who Harry frankly adored.
His favourite part of it all was when Draco had requested they have lunch together, (the food trumped the company by far) and they were finally alone. Harry had to be careful not to scarf down his, but Draco knew enough that he could still eat pretty quickly.
They caught up on what had occurred, shoulders pressed close in companionship and Draco offered any comfort he could. Harry didn’t need it, but he was still grateful.
Then the day was pulling to a close, Harry luckily being trusted to bathe on his own before three different lady’s were getting him ready, under the close, critical eye of Madame Puff.
It felt like a bit of an overkill but Harry rather enjoyed being fussed over and as he received such care so rarely, he decided to just make the most of it.
The only awkward part was when one of the lady’s had moved onto his nails and seen the cuts on his hands. He’d quickly made up that he’d tripped over the day before, making sure to look extra bashful, and they shook their heads at him and used some sort of magic glamour to make them look untouched once more.
They still hurt but Harry could ignore that easily.
When he was finally considered ready, the light was starting to dim outside the large, stained window. He was shepherded to a window, the three younger girls packing away their things while Madame Puff stood just behind Harry’s shoulder, a gentle hand resting on the pad of his blazer.
He looked… different. Not really really different. Just… styled. And done up. He wouldn’t say it was good or bad, but it didn’t really feel like him. His hair was no longer the bird's nest he knew and loved, now having been battled into something tame and silky looking.
He also wasn’t wearing glasses. Harry didn’t like that one bit. Unfortunately, Madame Puff had been pretty firm about it. They’d finally reached the compromise that Harry could keep them in his pocket.
The suit was simple but smart, fitted perfectly to his measurements. It was the most expensive thing he’d ever worn. He didn’t mind it that much but it wasn’t as comfy as his usual oversized clothes.
He wondered if he’d have to dress differently now. Probably. Well, he wouldn’t make a fuss. He would be grateful for whatever was given, considering there was no way it could be worse than the Dursley’s.
He smoothed the front of his jacket once, standing straighter as he turned away from his reflection to offer sincere thanks to the lady beside him.
“I have no idea how you managed it, but I actually look good,” he smiled and she pinched his ear in reprimand, even while looking distinctly pleased.
He then found himself shepherded out the room, down the corridor, until he was in the fancy drawing room once more and Mr Malfoy was holding onto his upper arm to apparate them away.
Harry wasn’t sure exactly where the service was taking place but he was starting to feel slightly restlessly jittery. He’d always been rather fidgety, something that made him dastardly at Potions, much to Snape’s dismay, and it was often hard to focus his attention calmly on something for a long period of time.
After sitting still for so long, being done up all pretty, Harry was about ready to blow up out of his own skin. He hoped he’d at least last until after the ceremony.
They appeared in a small room, filled with bibles on one side, and Harry was aware they must be in some sort of church. How… muggle. Certainly not what he’d been expecting.
Mr Malfoy looked at him with such sorrow before his mask was carefully constructed, hiding his feelings away in the blink of an eye. Harry felt slight backlash from the contradictory expressions and sort of wanted to learn how to form a mask of his own.
He didn’t think he’d be too good at it.
They exited the room together, Harry forcing a deep breath into his lungs, and they came to large, closed, thick double doors. Mr Malfoy hesitated for only a second before he was reaching to open them.
Light flooded the slightly darker corridor, and Harry peered forwards to see a room packed with people. It was a church, just as he’d assumed, with a high ceiling and pretty stained glass windows and rows of pews.
Everyone turned as one to look at him and Harry heard gentle strings begin to play.
It was a little bit daunting.
But then his eyes caught onto the Weasley family, all piled onto one pew, and Ginny was giving him a big thumbs up, a smile practically breaking her face in her excitement.
Ginny and Hermione were the only two in the whole world who knew utterly and completely of his home life. It hadn’t been a consensual happening, they were both simply too smart for their own goods.
Even so, it stood to mean that Ginny understood completely why this was such an exciting, positive thing for Harry. It meant he was finally free.
It was this knowledge, that someone in the crowd understood, that had Harry’s feet beginning to move. Mr Malfoy let out a relieved sigh of air as he quietly crept into the room behind, finding Mrs Malfoy quickly and sitting beside her.
Harry was now alone but he kept his eyes on Ginny, offering her a small smile back, and watched her bite her lip to keep from bursting into tears. Ginny cried at everything, so this wouldn't have been much of a happening anyway.
As he took another couple of steps, Harry spotted Hermione. She wasn’t smiling, instead studying his form with a frown marrying her forehead. He knew she was thinking about how thin he’d gotten, studying his face for any bruises or cuts, and he offered her a smile as well.
She relaxed at seeing him well, tension easing from her shoulders.
Harry broke from her gaze to focus on the front. And on the man who stood by the altar. His breath caught, entirely against his will, and his steps faltered minutely before he was carrying on seamlessly.
He’d never seen the Dark Lord before in person. Probably because then he would’ve been murdered. All due to a silly little prophecy.
He was tall. Very tall. With dark brown hair that was smoothed back with a few strands falling to frame his face. His eyes were a deep, muddy brown with tinges of red when they reflected the light.
In short, the man was very, very attractive.
Harry swallowed against his suddenly dry throat.
He forced himself to remember that this marriage wasn’t a normal one, they probably wouldn’t see each other again, let alone speak at all. In fact, Harry was prepared to live in completely different places.
The Dark Lord’s eyes bore into Harry’s as he approached and there was a light tilt to the taller man's head that had Harry wondering just what the man was thinking. He knew he was being studied, and he suddenly considered just what would happen if Voldemort found him unworthy.
Would he end the wedding? Would Harry be forced back to the Dursleys?
Well, that was a terrifying thought.
He finally got to the front, having to properly tilt his head up in order to keep the Dark Lord’s gaze. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to look so blatantly, but he figured the man would tell him if he was being disrespectful.
“Please be seated.” A voice came from in front of them and Harry’s head whipped around to see a large, cheerful looking Priest grinning out into the audience.
“We are gathered here in blessed, loving matrimony,” the man began when the rustling of cloaks had faded again and Harry felt his brows raise. Were they all just going to pretend that this was a normal marriage?
Apparently so, he realised when it got to the halfway point. The wedding had likened Bill and Fleurs in almost every way, except for the small detail of Harry standing at the front of it.
The Dark Lord's presence was burning beside him, but he’d resolutely refrained from turning to study the man again, believing such a thing to be disdainful even as his desire to just peek once increased.
Luckily they didn’t have to do any long speech vows. Harry wasn’t sure what he would’ve said if that had been the case. Instead, the Priest simply cut to the I do’s. Harry was first.
“Do you, Harry James Potter, take Tom Marvolo Riddle to be your lawfully wedded husband, to serve, to protect, to cherish, in sickness and in health, for all the days of your life?” The Priest asked and Harry started at hearing the Dark Lord's name spoken allowed.
He’d known it, of course. Searching up the man’s background had been one of the first things he’d done after gaining access to the Hogwarts library. But it was still an incredibly hushed, secretive topic.
He turned to face the man in question, giving him a heartbeat to interrupt and end the wedding. The Dark Lord raised a perfect eyebrow and Harry decided that the couple of seconds was generous enough.
“I do,” he said loudly, clearly, allowing no confusion to be found in the words. He stayed staring right up into the others eyes, and only in doing so did he catch the satisfaction that slipped through them before they were closed off once more.
The Priest turned to the Dark Lord.
“Do you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, take Harry James Potter, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to serve, to protect, to cherish, in sickness and in health, for all the days of your life?” The Priest repeated the vows and the man didn’t even acknowledge him.
He remained staring at Harry as he opened his mouth and said the final, binding words.
“I do.” His voice was soft, deep and silky. Harry felt a shiver run down his back.
”You may now kiss,” the Priest finished the ceremony and Harry started. While he hadn’t forgotten that important detail, he certainly hadn’t thought it would be included in their particular wedding.
He studied the Dark Lord in an attempt to see if it had been a mistake, but instead of looking annoyed, the man was moving closer. Oh. So this was really happening. Harry stayed super still, entirely unsure how to act.
He’d never willingly kissed anyone before.
One of the Dark Lord’s hands wound around Harry’s frame to rest lightly on his back, sending a harsh shiver down his spine. The other rose to Harry’s face, softly, ever so softly, resting against his cheek with his thumb pressed under Harry’s chin.
He felt his face being tilted up slightly, the hand on his back gently applying more pressure to guide Harry further into the man’s space. He was aware his breath was speeding up, but couldn’t think of anything to calm the rising feeling.
His eyes stayed locked on the more prominent tinge of red in the other mans. It was oddly grounding. And then their faces were pulling closer together, the hand on Harry’s cheek gently tilting Harry slightly to the side and he let his eyes flutter shut.
The next thing he knew there was the lightest pressure of feather soft lips on his own. They lasted a heartbeat, and then a second heartbeat, before pulling gently away again.
It was far softer and far far sweeter than Harry would have ever anticipated.
Harry’s eyes opened immediately, to see a flurry of emotions in the Dark Lord’s eyes before his thumb brushed one, quick stroke down his cheek. And then his hands were pulling away, the Dark Lord forcibly removing himself from Harry’s presence through taking a rather large step back.
There was unexpected clapping, a certain whooping that had Harry spinning around to face the front and was horrified to realise it was Fred and George.
He hoped the Dark Lord wouldn’t kill them.
He looked at Hermione next, seeing a singular tear fall down her cheek before she was brushing it away. His heart broke for her even as he watched as she physically strengthened her resolve to join in with the applause.
He looked to Ginny next just as the girl in question decided to say fuck it and let out a whoop right alongside her brother. Her mother pinched her side. Harry felt a genuine smile pulling at his lips.
An arm suddenly wrapped around his waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his suit, and he was startled enough that he turned to stare right back up at the Dark Lord. The man in question was staring down, gaze burning, and Harry felt his breath shortening once again.
And then he spotted a certain elderly wizard approaching them.
Bloody Dumbledore.
“Ah, I do wonder if we might perhaps averse to a more private setting to clarify the magical bounds of the marriage?” The old goat requested and Harry felt a frown pulling on his face. He didn’t want to do the draining magical bounds just yet, he was much more looking forward to the after party, and the dancing and food.
“I thought you said those could wait a week?” Harry blurted, realising suddenly that he should definitely have just stayed silent, and Dumbledore looked at him over his moon shaped glasses in disapproval. Harry braced himself for the coming words.
“I’m afraid this matter rests between myself and Voldemort,” the Headmaster said, offering Harry a helpless smile and Harry felt annoyance itching beneath his skin, some seeping out.
He quickly focused on wrapping it up under his controls again, but not before he felt the Dark Lord still from beside him.
“Harry is my husband. These matters will always include him now. Do not disrespect him in such a way again,” the Dark Lord answered evenly, and it took a moment for Harry to clock the words before he had to fight very hard not to turn in shock.
He hadn’t expected the man to even acknowledge his existence, let alone outright defend him. He reminded himself it was probably just to go against Dumbledore’s wishes. They weren’t exactly best buddies.
“My apologise, my boy,” the Headmaster said, looking only briefly thrown of kilter, and Harry felt a rush of satisfaction. “Of course we can wait a week.”
And then he was turning back into the crowd. Harry bit his lip, considering his words for only a heartbeat before he turned to the Dark Lord again.
“Thank you,” he told him softly, because no matter his intentions, the other had still defended him and Harry was grateful for that fact, and surprise flooded the Dark Lord's expression.
And then there were arms pulling him forwards into a tight hug, away from the Dark Lord who was forced to let him go, and Harry stumbled heavily, pulling away in a panic before realising who it was.
“Sirius?!” He practically shouted, confused and shocked and delighted all at once before he was throwing himself back into his Godfather's arms. The man let out a rugged laugh, head thrown back, and the sound of it left Harry to burrow further into the warmth provided.
He rarely saw his Godfather, the man was constantly flitting through different countries after he’d finished his sentence for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, a man who’d betrayed his parents and resulted in their murder.
The sentence had been highly generous, only 10 years, as the Dark Lord had decreased it once rising in power due to ‘understanding where Mr Black was coming from.’
Harry had often daydreamed about the man returning from his exotic countries with the decision of staying in England to take Harry in. Safe to say it had never come into being.
“I thought you were in Australia for the month?” He asked, still wide eyed in shock. Sirius laughed again, pulling away to shove Harry lightly on the shoulder.
“As if I would miss your wedding,” he huffed before turning to acknowledge the Dark Lord who Harry had forgotten was still standing behind him. He felt a light hand press against the small of his back, and warmth from another body stood close behind.
He struggled not to blush, unused to so much physical contact.
“My Lord,” Sirius said, dipping his head respectfully. The Dark Lord nodded back, a shallower nod but still respectful. Harry was still staring at his godfather incredulously.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” He couldn’t help asking, shaking his head in disbelief. Sirius’s eyes lit up as he studied Harry.
“It was a surprise, you silly thing. Your expression was so worth it,” the man laughed again and Harry rolled his eyes.
“If you will excuse us, Mr Black, Harry and I must lead the progression to where we are dining,” the Dark Lord cut in again and Harry felt another shiver down his spine at the sound of his name in that velvety voice.
He really had to get a grip.
Sirius was nodding immediately, sending Harry a quick wink before swooping off, no doubt in search of Remus. So predictable.
Harry was very excited by the idea of dining. That meant food. Yum.
At the light pressure on his back, the Dark Lord guided Harry down the room, setting the trend for the others to begin following behind as well. There were lots of people, milling and chatting and staring, and Harry focused on his feet as walked so as not to feel too overwhelmed.
They got to the end of the church, exiting through the main doors, rather than the side one Harry had entered in, and Harry was surprised by how dark it was outside. He titled his head up in the fresh air, gazing at the stars that shone brightly against their dark canvas.
It was only when his brain caught up with his body that he turned to look at the man standing a hair's breadth away, hand still pressed lightly to his back, and gaze fixed on Harry.
“Are you alright to side along apparate with me to where we’re dining?” The Dark Lord asked Harry, as if actually giving him a say in the subject, and Harry looked at him in surprise before realising he should probably answer, and nodded quickly.
The next second the man was holding his elbow out to Harry, who only hesitated a heartbeat before slipping his hand carefully into the crook of it. There was a moment, a silent pause, where the two simply looked at each other.
It was a peaceful moment, untouched by the tensions of the surrounding circumstances, and it was only broken when the Dark Lord, seemingly reluctantly, apparated them away.
They arrived in the middle of a long dining room, a large number of the guests joining there, including the Weasley’s who were already fretting over where to sit.
Harry found himself being led right to the front, where there was a table Harry had presumed specifically separated for the Dark Lord’s inner circle. There were two obviously taller chairs side by side and Harry was even more surprised when the Dark Lord pulled away from Harry to wave a hand and pull out the chair for him with a casual show of wandless, wordless magic.
He felt the flow of the magic like a brush of warm air, a soft, safe feeling that Harry could bathe in, given the chance. He could feel his own magic reaching out to it and quickly clamped down on that, knowing that to be an intimate feeling not at all suitable for this situation.
He murmured a quick thank you, moving forward to sit in the chair provided. He stiffened immediately when Bellatrix sat on his other side, but the lady who was rumoured to be totally batshit crazy simply flashed him a warm smile.
Her curls were also truly beautiful, dark and cascading down her head. Harry wanted to tug on one to see if it sprang back up like a yo-yo.
Luckily he had enough sane mind to refrain.
He was delighted when the Malfoys sat opposite, specifically Draco who he sent a grin to. The young heir shook his head hopelessly, but gave Harry a special smile back. Harry preened.
The Dark Lord watched the interaction with curiosity.
When the food arrived Harry was starving. He helped himself after waiting for the others to do so first, and placed a little of everything onto his plate. Draco passed over the crispy potatoes from further down, one of Harry’s favourite foods, and he sent a rush of thanks.
Then he paused again, glancing around to make sure the others had started eating, and he allowed himself to have a forkful of sweet tender pork and beans. It was ridiculously divine, Harry momentarily closing his eyes at the flavours bursting over his tongue.
This already made the entire marriage well worth it.
It was just as he’d taken another forkful of food that a thin, reedy looking man sat opposite Bellatrix decided to speak to him. He jumped.
“So, Mr Potter, is it true you lived with muggles before?” The man asked, seeming genuinely curious but Harry choked on his food. A large hand gently patted him on the back just as Draco swung round to glare at the poor man who seemed hugely repentant.
Harry took pity on him, clearing his throat quickly, and blushing lightly in embarrassment.
“Yes, I did, my Aunt, Uncle and cousin,” he said simply, offering the man a smile in hopes he’d leave the subject alone. Luckily, he seemed to understand the message. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord didn’t seem to have.
“Oh so that’s where you’ve been hiding all these years,” the man mused and Harry offered a tight lipped smile. This was not what he wanted to talk about at all.
“How old’s your cousin?” Bellatrix asked and Harry felt his smile grow even more fake. One of his hands fell to his knee where he began to tap mindlessly.
“Same age as me and Draco,” he responded, turning to the other boy with eyes that clearly said ‘help me right now.’ Luckily Draco delivered, turning to Bellatrix with a practised smile.
“Aunt, how is Rodolpho doing?” He asked and Bellatrix’s attention was successfully diverted.
Harry tuned it all out, focusing on calming down his heart. He placed his fork down carefully to bring his other hand into his lap, fiddling his fingers as his gaze dipped to watch them.
Unfortunately, after a minute, his heart rate wasn’t decreasing and Harry knew it was time to evacuate. He considered who to ask for a second, knowing he shouldn’t speak directly to the Dark Lord, but seeing most of the other guests in conversations.
Luckily, his helplessness must have come across because Mrs Malfoy paused whatever she was saying to her husband, tilting her head at him in question and he smiled thankfully.
“Sorry to bother you, but where’s the restroom?” He asked softly and she waved off his apology, quickly pointing him in the direction. He smiled again, offering his thanks, before placing his cutlery together to show he was finished with eating and carefully pushing his chair back to stand up.
He refused to look at anyone, aware of eyes on him as he moved away from the table to cross the large room, before he felt himself cocooned on either side. He glanced up to see Hermione and Ginny walking beside him and felt immediate warmth all at once.
They always seemed to know.
They walked silently out the dining hall, Harry abandoning the instructions Mrs Malfoy had given him in favour of opening the nearest door and practically falling inside. His breathing was quickening immediately, the panic attack he’d been studiously ignoring engulfing him in its midst and it was all he could do to crumple in Hermione’s arms and wait it out.
They were used to it, simply holding him close, letting him breathe and shake until he was slowly calming down once more.
“Would you like to talk about what happened?” Ginny offered, leaving the decision entirely up to Harry and he smiled gratefully at her before shaking his head. He was fine now, feeling a bit silly actually for such dramatics, and bracing a hand against the wall, he pulled himself to his feet.
Hermione squeezed his hand in solidarity and together, they returned to the Hall. Harry paused, eyes widening as he stared at the new room. The place had been transformed and he suddenly realised they’d been gone much longer than he’d perceived.
The tables had vanished leaving the space large and expanded, a live orchestra in one of the corners and a long drinks table up one side. People were drinking, laughing and some were even dancing, swishing long dresses around what Harry realised must be a dance floor.
It was.. lively and fun.
“Your new husband sure knows how to throw a party,” Ginny teased, staring around the room as well and Harry rolled his eyes at the title she’d given the literal Dark Lord of Britain.
Speaking of the man, Harry looked up to see him striding across the room, eyes fixed on Harry. He froze, unsure what was about to happen, and Hermione and Ginny both pulled closer to him.
The man paid them no mind as he stopped a step from Harry, eyes briefly assessing him before he was holding out a hand.
“Would you do me the honour of a dance?” The Dark Lord asked, head tilted slightly and Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, that certainly hadn’t been it. A nudge on his side had him spurring into action, nodding demurely and reaching out to take the man’s hand.
He was led towards the dance floor, people parting to move out of their way, and all at once the lively music was changing to something gentle and soft. Pretty. The people dancing were now joined by partners, hands clasping onto one another and standing close.
Were he and the Dark Lord really going to dance like that? He felt the sudden need to warn the other man, turning to look up at him even though he hadn’t been addressed first.
“I can’t dance,” he blurted, blushing immediately as he realised what he’d said, and looked back down at the floor. He was once again wholly surprised when he felt a gentle hand press against his chin to tilt it back up again.
“That won’t be a problem. The difficulties of a dance rest solely on the leader,” the Dark Lord told him, words silky in their sincerity and a second later a hand was slipping down his side, leaving shivers where it touched, before resting on the curve of his hip and flexing once into the fabric. And then it tugged, guiding Harry smoothly right into the Dark Lord’s space. His lips parted, a breath of air slipping out as he stared up with wide eyes.
The other hand gently clasped Harry’s own before raising it into the air right as a new song started. The Dark Lord’s eyes bore into Harry’s own, his breath quickening helplessly at the close proximity, he could feel the heat from the other man, and then they were moving.
The Dark Lord really was an amazing dancer. He guided Harry around effortlessly, and it was all he could do to keep up, following where the other stepped, the hand on his waist guiding him through the different movements.
Once he’d settled into it, he found the rhythm easily and it was actually rather.. enjoyable. It felt easy and smooth and freeing and when the Dark Lord released his waist to spin Harry around, he tilted his head back as a laugh of all things bubbled out of his mouth.
He was back in the others tight hold a heartbeat later, their gazes catching once again and Harry’s smile remained firm even as he looked up at the Dark Lord. There were emotions swirling in those dark eyes, obvious and yet hidden, and Harry was hit with the sudden desire to pick them all apart and study them intensely.
He blushed, looking away as he focused on the other dancers all around them. His gaze immediately landed on Mr and Mrs Malfoy who were dancing properly, so in sync they could almost be considered one person, and unexpectedly Bellatrix was being swirled around Fred Weasley who both seemed to be having a Ball.
“Was everything alright earlier?” The Dark Lord suddenly said, dragging Harry’s attention straight back to him and it took Harry a second to differ the meaning behind the words. Then he was plastering on a fake smile, offering the man a gracious nod.
“Yes, quite, thank you for inquiring, my Lord.” Harry told him, watching as the Dark Lord’s expression pinched slightly, a flicker of distaste passing over it before it was blank once more.
“There is no need for you to refer to me by such a title. You are my husband, and therefore my equal,” the Dark Lord told him, head dipping closer in a way that told Harry the words were only meant for him.
There was no way the man could possibly mean that. His equal? An equal to the literal Lord of the entire country? Harry could hardly think, let alone form words, so he had no way of knowing how the next sentence fell from his lips.
“What would you like me to call you, then?” He’d asked without meaning to, before realising that it had maybe been a bit presumptuous. But the Dark Lord didn’t seem to mind, instead looking rather pleased, before his head was dipping even lower to breathe his next words directly into Harry’s ear.
“Why, by my name of course,” the man practically purred, and Harry’s breath stuttered. “I know you know it.”
”Tom Riddle,” Harry breathed in response, barely believing his own audacity and he physically felt as the Dark Lords… as Tom’s breath hitched before his hands were tightening onto Harry and his body was guided ever closer.
There was now no space between them at all, and Harry could feel all the hard lines of Tom’s body where it was against his own, arms cocooning him in a way that made him wonder why he didn’t feel trapped, and instead safe.
There were no more words shared as they spun together, Harry barely keeping up as the tempo of the music changed and quickened, the dynamics crescendoing, and Harry felt exhilarated, almost as if he were flying.
And then the song was ending with a final spin as Harry felt himself spinning away from the other before the hand on his own tugged him back in and he ended with his back pressed to Tom’s chest, their faces turned towards each other and their lips only an inch apart.
Harry’s gaze dropped for only a second before he was blushing and stumbling away. Tom looked decidedly pleased, the most clear emotion Harry had ever seen from him, and Harry could only stare speechlessly up at him.
“Thank you for the dance, my dear,” Tom was then saying, and before Harry could even begin to process the term of endearment, the other man was leaning down to lightly brush his lips against Harry’s hand. His head spun, mouth slightly agape as he felt the soft touch, and couldn’t even hope to form a response.
And then Tom was being pulled away by another man Harry didn’t know, a frown marring Tom’s features briefly before there was a more serious expression but before Harry could analyse it any further, he was being pounced on by a certain Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.
He hadn’t even known they were there but felt immediately delighted as they were two of his favourite people at the school.
He opened his mouth to ask where they’d spawned from but Neville beat him to it.
“What on earth was that?” He demanded, eyes wide as he tugged Harry away to the side of the room and Harry could only shake his head cluelessly.
He had no idea.
He had absolutely no idea.
“They are married now, silly,” Luna giggled, looking light as air and beautiful in a ruffled, purple dress with heavy dangling gold pear drops hanging from her ears.
Married. Christ, they were married. Harry was married to the Dark Lord. Harry was officially out of the Durlsey’s. They didn’t even, couldn’t even remember him. He was out, he was safe, he was free. Harry burst into delighted laughter, bracing an against Neville as he practically folded over, laughing, laughing, laughing.
He was free.