Chapter Text
With a groan, Harry was roused from his impromptu nap. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt parched as if he hadn't drunk any water in weeks. His head rose an inch off the pillow—he couldn't tell whether it was a pillow—and thumped back down. He couldn't seem to get his eyes to open, no matter how much he tried.
Holy Morgana, what the hell had he done last night? His mind was racing. He sighed as he squinted his eyes open after rubbing them with the hand that was closest to his face, relieved that the room was dark. This wasn't his room, was it? This wasn't his bed, either.
Okay, Harry shouldn't be panicking since if he did do something incredibly stupid last night, he wouldn’t be lying comfortably in a bed. Lord Voldemort would kill anyone who dared to touch him; he was sure of that much at the very least.
He shook the man next to him or under him, as Harry suspected, and was met with muscles and a groan.
"Yes, Harry, it's me," the Dark Lord grumbled.
"Oh, thank god," he whispered back, before deciding that waking up wasn't that necessary and returning to bed was a priority. The Dark Lord’s bed, to be precise; he was so bragging about this to Draco. Who knew morning voices were so sexy?
When Harry woke again, he found himself alone in the bed. Which was impolite because he would have preferred the Dark Lord to wake him up or wake up with him, but as he assessed his appearance, he thanked the gods—if there were any—for small mercies. He looked like hippogriff shit, and he sure as hell felt like it.
He was going to have to swear off drinking for a while at the very least; his head was pounding, and all he could do was sit there miserably as he held his head in his hands delicately.
The fragrance of the place was strong.
It smelled exactly like The Dark Lord now that he thought about it—a scent so specific that it had become etched in his mind. It was the finest Hodgen's whisky, with a tiny hint of parchment and sweat, yet it was so appealing to Harry.
So he got up, groaning all the way, and opened what appeared to be a wardrobe, deciding he needed a shower and a change of clothes. Now. He strolled up to what appeared to be the bathroom and walked in, holding a shirt that smelled like the Dark Lord.
The Lord's dark bathroom was unexpectedly bright. The room was big, with a white marble tub in one corner, a shower across from it, and a wide mirror in the middle—presumably to stare at his own exquisite face. Harry did not blame him; if he had such a pretty one, Harry would be staring at it all day too.
He walked over to the counter and placed his t-shirt on it, closing the door behind him.
He walked to the shower, tried it out a few times before figuring out how to use it properly, and showered the night away. He felt his muscles loosen and all the grime from the night out wash away. He's not really to blame for taking a little longer in the shower than usual—use it properly, and showered the night away. He felt his muscles loosen and all the grime from the night out wash away. He's not really to blame for taking a little longer in the shower than usual—it's just that he felt super cool. Why did this man have to have such extravagance in everything he owned? Did everything have to have such a weird flair to it? Not that Harry was mad at such luxury, but the opposite.
He cleaned himself and immediately fled the bathroom after putting on his clothing, transforming fresh underwear with the handkerchief he had on him from the night before.
He realized he couldn't leave without saying goodbye; he was raised with manners, so he walked back over to the bed and sat down again, pondering his options. He looked around the room with intrigue. He wondered if the Dark Lord had brought anyone else [read: Bellatrix] here with him.
He'd been thinking about his aunt and Marvalo's apparent closeness. If you had asked him before, he would have answered that they were definitely lovers, but now that he was far closer to Marvalo than he ever wanted Bellatrix to be, he could not really say so. He smirked in satisfaction, even though he still wasn’t sure as to the nature of their previous relationship. It wasn’t like it mattered now; Marvalo had asked him for courtship, and he was a far more appealing option than his batshit insane aunt.
He didn't want to appear jealous in any way, especially to Bellatrix, who would see it as fuel to be even more malicious, but he also wanted the man to himself, so he resigned himself to confronting the Dark Lord and facing the weeks of teasing afterward.
Harry had now moved on to reading a book he'd discovered on the Dark Lord's painfully well-organized table, and he smiled faintly as he read the words.
Cassius Selwyn, the author, had written a fascinating book about the effects of runes and how to apply them in everyday life. It also described how infusing magic into them extended their longevity. It was surely one of a kind because Harry did not think he had seen this in any library he had been to, and the Black Library was one of the most extensive in the world. Of course Marvalo would have a one-of-a-kind book; it was just like the man to collect things that were one-of-a-kind.
When Lord Voldemort-Marvalo eventually appeared, he was engrossed in the world of magical theory. "Hello, Darling, I see my books have kept you occupied," the Dark Lord said smugly as he strode into the room.
"Have you had sex with Auntie Bellatrix? I hope not; otherwise, this entire arrangement is going to be far more awkward than it needs to be," Harry asks curiously. If Harry was being honest, it would be repulsive if he responded yes to Harry's question. He couldn't bear the thought of his maternal aunt being in any kind of sexual situation. Not with his Marvalo, for instance, or anybody else for that matter. It was just disgusting.
The Dark Lord choked and sputtered in disbelief. The nerve of the boy
"No," he managed to get out before turning away from Harry as if he would do something he might regret.
"How did I get here, Marvalo?"
"Last night, I believe, you got drunk and arrived at my manor. You're quite a talker when you're drunk, you know."
Harry hummed, pleased.
"I'm glad I came to you."
And then Lord Voldemort bled. Harry wondered if he was living in a dream. The fucking dark lord of wizarding Britain had just turned pink in front of his very own eyes.
After speaking with Lucius, Marvalo expected to find his bed visitor still asleep when he returned to check on him. Some primal base instinct inside him screamed with joy when he discovered him awake and in his clothes, reading one of his favorite books on his nightstand.
Harry appeared unconcerned with his surroundings and looked entirely absorbed in what he was reading, and Voldemort felt compelled to smile. This. It was for this reason that people sought out a spouse. This appeared to be a worthwhile endeavor. He finally understood why people gave up so much for another person. To keep Harry safe, he'd make many irrational judgments as well. He would go to any length to maintain this image in his head for the rest of his life.
"Greetings, Darling I see that my books have kept you occupied, "he remarked playfully. He hoped Harry liked the book and asked him for the next one as well. He enjoyed debating with Harry, but the minx never seemed to be able to hold his tongue and always had a catty reply to give back. Marvalo enjoyed seeing Harry so worked up and fuming. It would give him an excuse to visit Harry anyway, so Marvalo was very pleased to admit that his careful placement of the book seemed to have worked.
"Have you had sex with Auntie Bellatrix? I hope not; otherwise, this entire arrangement is going to be far more awkward than it needs to be," Harry inquired nonchalantly. He coughed in a haphazard fashion, choking as he heard the end of that sentence. What did he say?
"No," he said flatly. He couldn't believe Harry's first question was about that. He's hoping the next time it'll be about the book he's reading rather than who he's slept with.
And how could anyone imagine he slept with Bella when they were hardly friends? No matter how much Bella wanted it, it was not to be. He was interested in the clinically insane, no matter how much they seemed to beg for him.
"Marvalo, how did I get here?"
"I suppose you got drunk and came to my manor last night. You're quite the talker when you're drunk, don't you know?"You're quite the talker when you're drunk, don't you know?" he said.
"I'm glad I came to you."
And Voldemort felt himself turn red.
He understood perfectly well what liking a person so very much that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with them felt like, and he felt it all for Harry.