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Chapter Text

Four of the six people stood with their backs straight, gazing ahead, unbothered. Though, on the inside, they were just as terrified as the other two who kept their eyes on the floor.

It didn’t matter how aloof they tried to appear, because the moment the doors to the room opened, and a man with confident strides entered the room, their heads dropped too. The sound of his boots clacking against the polished marble echoed across the empty hall they were in. This was where Death Eater meetings were usually held, but when only the six of them were called to meet with their lord—well, that was concerning.

Would they get sent away on months-long missions like Dolohov? Would they be asked to fill a Ministry position they weren’t qualified for but couldn’t turn down? Would they be punished for an error on their end?

Each of the Death Eaters recounted all their actions to get a hint of what the issue could be. The severity of the fuck up determined their punishment. It got to the point where he involved their families in the torture. Just a few months ago, their lord brought in Selwyn’s wife. Rather than punishing her to punish him, he had her torture her own husband.

How was one to recover from that? How do you go back home to the family you’ve worked hard to protect from the Dark Lord, only to never be able to look your wife in the eye again?

The Dark Lord stood in front of them, his scrutinizing eyes taking in their stature.

“Lucius,” he hissed in a cold voice. Lucius looked up, directly into his lord’s eyes. They assessed him for a moment before he asked, “How is Narcissa?”

“Fine, my lord,” Lucius choked, before clearing his throat. He turned his gaze down to the Dark Lord’s shoes.

“Look at me,” the Dark Lord snapped. Lucius whipped his head back up, meeting his eyes evenly. “And how is Draco?”

“Doing well, my lord… thank you for asking,” he added the last part in hopes that his lord would get on with why he was asking.

Draco got out—it was immunity that Lucius was able to miraculously buy him. Nothing was set in stone, as the Malfoys were very loyal to the Dark Lord and always would be, which meant that if he required Draco’s services in the future (and he would once Lucius dies), then Draco will have to agree. But at least until then he will have gained more sense, more power and have grown away from the Dark Lord’s vicious habits.

“I hear… he has a child now. A boy?”

Lucius' heart gripped. After years of being together, Draco and Astoria finally tied the knot last year. Scorpius, Lucius’ pride and joy, was born just a few weeks ago.

“Yes, my lord. A boy. Named… Scorpius,” Lucius said softly, feeling less and less in control.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” the Dark Lord added. “I would have sent my well wishes to Draco as well, had I known.”

Lucius gulped.

“It’s his wife, my lord, she is not yet well and does not wish to spread the news yet—”

“Rookwood,” the Dark Lord continued, disinterested in Lucius’ excuses.

“Yes, my lord,” Rookwood instantly looked up and met his eyes.

“How is that project you were working on in the Ministry?”

“Going well, my lord. We hit a couple snags, but it’s nothing I wasn’t able to smooth forward. The Head of the Department has just been switched out, as well—Jerome Tywick. He and I get along very well, I don’t foresee any more complications in the future.”

“Perfect,” he murmured. Rookwood let out a soft exhale and nodded.

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at him for a short moment. Then he took a step forward, eyeing Alecto Carrow suspiciously. She gulped and met his gaze nervously. Majority of the Death Eaters were trained in Occlumency, so looking him in the eye wasn’t to reveal access to their memories. It was to show, upfront, that they had nothing to hide. Whether the Dark Lord bought it or he felt it was required to delve into their mind, depended on the situation.

His gaze slid from her to her brother, Amycus, who cowered.

Next to Amycus, Rowle was the picture of resolute confidence. Back straight, hands clasped in front of him, he only faltered a little when the Dark Lord met his gaze.

And then finally, Pettigrew. He was so nervous and jittery, he nearly dropped to the Dark Lord’s feet to kiss his robes in an effort to save himself from who knew what.

“You must be wondering why I’ve called you all here,” the Dark Lord spoke, glaring at Pettigrew in disgust.

His question was greeted with silence as all six waited for him to answer. A long, dragged out moment later, he spoke again.

“You are all aware that Dolohov is away on a mission,” he said. “He… has failed to report back to me.”

“My lord, is he okay?” Rowle asked instantly. He was close friends with Dolohov.

“I haven’t heard from him in two weeks,” the Dark Lord continued, pinning Rowle with a cold look. “Have you?”

Rowle’s face paled. He shook his head.

“I would strongly advise against hiding anything from me, Rowle,” the Dark Lord said softly.

Lucius’ eyes flicked between them in interest. So this was about Dolohov’s disappearance? Why was he here then? He had no connections to Dolohov or even knew what he was away for.

“Make no mistake,” the Dark Lord added coldly, “I will find out what happened to him and if I figure out that you helped hide him, you will pay the price twice as dearly.”

Rowle’s lips pressed together in an effort to contain himself. His eyes were wide and stricken. Lucius vaguely recalls the fact that he had recently eloped. He has someone dear to him, and everyone dear to you becomes a target when you work for the Dark Lord.

He warned each of them that love is weakness—they all heed that warning until a certain someone stumbled into their life and they threw his advice out the window.

Lucius has no room to complain here. He was a teenager when he had his first meeting with the Dark Lord, they had a long conversation about how love was for fools and it was something they bonded over. A few years later, Narcissa would make a fool out of him. He hung his head in shame when he announced his wedding to the Dark Lord, but rather than sneering at him, the Dark Lord simply congratulated him and wished him a happy life.

They were constantly warned and yet they succumbed to the comfort of love and a family that wasn’t their fellow Death Eaters. They knew better, but they continuously gave the Dark Lord ammunition against them.

“I swear to you, my lord, I have not had any contact with Dolohov since he left,” Rowle said solemnly. “Should he reach out to me, I will let you know at once.”

The Dark Lord pressed his lips together in annoyance. Clearly, he had been hoping Rowle would be able to give him all the answers now.

He moved down the line and paused in front of Amycus.

“What do you know?”

Amycus took in a shuddering breath, “N-nothing, my lord… we don’t even keep track of Dolohov—”

“What he means is—” Alecto cut in, only to have the Dark Lord’s wand come out for the first time since he entered the room, and pointed right at her throat. She gulped.

“If I wanted you to speak,” he hissed coldly, “I would have asked you. How dare you speak to me out of line?”

“F-forgive me, my lord,” she whispered, blinking fast.

“Continue, Amycus,” he ordered, his eyes still on Alecto and his wand still at her throat.

Amycus was now sweating twice as much. Not only could his sister not save his skin right now, but she was also being threatened as he spoke.

“We-we didn’t… That is to say—not that we deliberately are not looking for Dolohov—but that… our focus—”

The Dark Lord sighed in annoyance. “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped, silencing Amycus and turning to Alecto.

“You have thirty seconds to explain.”

She wasted the first two just sighed in relief then she spoke quickly, “We haven’t picked up on any of Dolohov’s activity, my lord. He has not shown up at any of the Ministry of Magical Transportation logs. If he Apparates using a wand that isn’t his own, we would have no way of knowing. If he creates his own unauthorized Portkey, we also would have no way of knowing.” His wand touched under her chin and she tilted her head up as he drew it closer. “A-and what my brother meant to say was that, using Ministry resources, we don’t draw any attention to Death Eater activities,” her voice got higher and higher, “as the Dark Mark would alert us and thus, you would know if he was in the country before the Ministry does.”

He removed his wand and grunted in frustration. Breathing heavily, his red eyes swept over to Pettigrew who had been shamelessly watching with a hint of entertainment. He gasped and dropped his head again, cowering.

“Peter,” the Dark Lord said quietly. “You must have heard something, being the sewer rat you are.”

“N-n-no, my lord, I have not heard anything,” Pettigrew stammered. Lucius rolled his eyes at his blubbering. The man was not up to Death Eater standards at all. The only reason he made it here was because his Animagus form was a rat and that made him a good spy.

“No?” the Dark Lord said. “You mean to tell me you don’t skitter around eavesdropping on conversations the others have? Hoping to rat out a fellow Death Eater? Well, now is your chance to get the recognition you deserve. Tell me what you heard.”

“I-I haven’t, I-I swear to you, m-my lord!”

It was quiet for a moment. Lucius figured the Dark Lord step back, give them all a set of strict instructions and then—

“Look at me!” he shouted, startling all of them. Pettigrew shook like a leaf as he looked up to the Dark Lord’s piercing red gaze. His eyes widened when his feet were no longer on the ground and an invisible force clutched his throat and lifted him up slowly. “Bella told me she’s seen rats scurrying around Malfoy Manor.”

Lucius’ blood froze. Bellatrix spent majority of her time at his house. Not only did this mean Pettigrew spied on some of their conversations, but it shined light on why he might be here. The Dark Lord potentially believed that Lucius was withholding information too.

“Now, I know Narcissa well enough to know not a single pest lives in her house as long as she does,” he continued. “So tell me what you heard.”

Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, don’t tell him—

“N-nothing about Dolohov, I-I swear!” Pettigrew choked out.

Lucius closed his eyes. Pettigrew knew better than to rat him out. Why throw Lucius under the bus if he could instead bribe him?

And just like that, Pettigrew was released and the Dark Lord moved down the line to stand in front of Lucius. Lucius held his gaze confidently.

“What were you talking about, Lucius?”

There was no point in lying, you couldn’t lie to the Dark Lord and he had already admitted it before.

“My wife and her sister were discussing Draco’s family.”

“What were you discussing that Peter would keep secret from me?”

Lucius’ eyes flicked to Pettigrew for a moment. The rat was going to pay for spying on him. Lucius didn’t need to be bribed by him at all.

“He must have heard our discussion about keeping Scorpius’ birth… away from the public’s knowledge. And the Death Eaters’. As for why he wouldn’t tell you anyway, I assume it was because he hoped he could blackmail me with the information.”

One look at Pettigrew and it was clear this was true. The Dark Lord didn’t care about Scorpius Malfoy's birth, but he cared that one of his spies heard information and deliberately kept it from him so he could blackmail another Death Eater.

“Crucio!”

The corner of Lucius’ lip tugged upward. It was always fun seeing Pettigrew being put in his place. Especially when he thought he could one-up a man like Lucius.

When the Dark Lord finished taking his frustration of Dolohov’s mysterious disappearance out on Pettigrew, he blinked to clear his eyes and mind of the darkness.

“All of you are to keep your eyes and ears open. Any whisper of Dolohov’s whereabouts and I want to hear about it immediately. Am I understood?”

Murmurs of ‘yes, my lord’ sounded but the Dark Lord was not appeased. He was getting increasingly agitated.

“Rowle, go to Norway and find Dolohov,” he ordered. “I need him back in a week.”

Rowle’s eyes widened but he nodded, and excused himself to get on with his search. He would need Merlin to find a missing Death Eater and bring him back to England within a week.

“Augustus, you’re taking up Dolohov’s research. He might not turn up any time soon, but I need answers before the month is over.”

The end of the month was in only two weeks—what was happening that was so important?

“Lucius,” the Dark Lord turned to him and pinned him under his hard gaze. “Ask around discreetly. Find out anything you can that can assist Rowle in his search.”

Lucius nodded.

The Dark Lord let out a heavy sigh, before turning sharply and walked out of the room at a brisk pace. The four left standing shared an uneasy look.

***

Lucius was good at gathering information, he knew just the right people to ask and just the right questions to ask to narrow down the search. It took the full week for Rowle to find Dolohov and another three days for them to return to England, despite the Dark Lord’s haste.

The Dark Lord paced the main hall of his Manor on the third day, fuming at how long it was taking for them to come back. He made countless threats on both Dolohov and Rowle’s lives, promising to make them pay dearly for it.

When Rowle finally stumbled into the Manor, no one expected him to look so shaken and haggard. Dolohov, on the other hand, well by the looks of him, it was clear why he hadn’t reported back in nearly a month.

If he wasn’t practically on his deathbed, the Dark Lord would have definitely Crucio’ed him because as it stood—Dolohov came back emptied-handed.

The Dark Lord waited until he was recovered and coherent to admit that he failed his assignment. Then he tortured him in a room full of Death Eaters.

His punishment was simply cut in half when Rowle vouched for him that the tribe he was assigned to negotiate with were vicious and unrelenting.

Lucius learned a lot that day. Apparently in northern Norway, there was a tribe of witches and wizards who did not wish to be found by the rest of the wizarding world and had Dolohov tied to a stake to bleed dry until Rowle rescued him.

It was silent for a long moment when Rowle finished speaking while the Dark Lord took in how disastrous of a failure this mission was.

Annoyed, he stood up from his throne and paced. His hand raised up and then flexed angrily before fisting as other thoughts occured to him and he yelled, “Fuck!”

No one dared approach him. Lucius was not optimistic enough to offer they find a different solution to whatever his issue was.

His snake was not afraid though. She went up to him and hissed, only to be shouted at by the Dark Lord in Parseltongue. She said some other words before slithering out of the room and the Dark Lord returned to his chair, sighing deeply as he rubbed his forehead.

Bellatrix stepped up. All eyes turned on her. If anyone could speak more candidly to him, it was her. She was his second in command, after all.

“My lord?” she tried. He made no response except glaring holes at the ground. “Perhaps… Rookwood could find a solution that doesn’t involve the tribe?”

All eyes turned to Rookwood, who looked equal parts horrified and murderous that Bellatrix would volunteer him. He already had dark circles under his eyes from overworking to find whatever it was the Dark Lord needed him to find.

The Dark Lord raised his head from his hand but didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He steepled his fingers, his jaw clenched.

“Perhaps, but not before Friday,” he said.

Friday—the end of the month. What was happening on Friday?

“And—if I may—what is happening this Friday, exactly?” she muttered, her voice getting higher towards the end.

They waited with bated breath for what would happen next.

The Dark Lord stood and walked down the steps of the platform, standing next to Bellatrix as he glared at her. Then his gaze flicked to all the others, who immediately looked down.

“Someone very important is arriving on Friday,” he answered. “Someone I wouldn’t want to… disappoint.”

Lucius’ eyes widened and he gulped in fear.

Being higher up in the Dark Lord’s ranks had it’s perks and he was comfortable in his position. But only when he was dealing with him.

Dealing with someone even the Dark Lord wouldn’t dream of disappointing… someone who required something from them that nearly got Dolohov exsanguinated?

Merlin help them all.

Chapter Text

The day had finally come and Voldemort didn’t know what to do.

Everything he planned didn’t go the way he expected and this resulted in scheduling the Death Eater meeting to happen earlier.

“My lord, will you tell us who is coming?” Bellatrix asked when he walked down the two rows of Death Eaters standing in a line.

He paused and turned his icy eyes to her. She instantly dropped her head. Bella was closer to him than the others, but not as close as she liked to think she was. It didn’t give her the privilege to speak out of turn.

However, she was his second in command because if she didn’t ask such questions, he would completely forget to prepare his Death Eaters.

“You shall treat them with the utmost respect,” he began listing the rules. “I shall not catch any of your eyes lingering. Anyone who speaks out of turn will receive a Crucio, as you would if you were to interrupt me. Anyone who is disrespectful will feel not only my wrath, but in addition to that—”

Voldemort paused halfway down the line, his face falling. The Death Eaters looked at each other in confusion and massive apprehension. Fear and confusion was not a good mix and it was especially worse when it seemed like the Dark Lord was also confused and worried.

He took a breath to brace himself and spun on his heel, facing the closed double doors. Everyone’s gaze followed his to see them being pushed open with magic.

From the other side emerged a figure. A smaller figure than they expected, but nothing else about her was small. Clad in a floor-length, black lace dress and a dark green, fur-trimmed cloak. Her heeled boots clacked against the marble floor, as she made her way into the room. Her hands pulled the cloak covering her head back to reveal long, dark red hair that fell in elegant curls. Her face was practically flawless. Straight nose, pink lips and her eyes—her eyes were a bright green, as if staring into the Killing Curse.

There was a collective intake of breath as she walked with determined steps up to Lord Voldemort.

Her eyes searched his face and his did the same to her.

Then the corner of her lip tugged up in a smirk.

And in return, he smiled.

No one had ever seen such a tender look on Lord Voldemort’s face. Of course, it wasn’t the softest of tender looks—but for him to even manage this much was shocking.

“Darling,” he murmured, picking up her hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss, while he kept eye contact. “How was your trip?”

“Exhausting,” she answered without hesitation.

“I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“There was an opening to arrive earlier and I took it,” she explained, unbothered. Her gaze flicked to the people surrounding them before coolly sliding back to him. “Can we get on with this? I’m tired.”

“Of course,” he answered quietly, still gazing at her in loud desire.

He walked her down to where his throne expanded to seat the both of them. Holding her hand as she climbed up the short steps, he waited for her to sit first then sat next to her.

When his gaze set upon his followers again, he looked less happier.

“This is everyone?” she asked, assessing each person in the room.

“Yes,” Voldemort said. “If you would like to rest, I could get them all to return tomorrow.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. They were all busy people. Keeping Friday evenings clear for Death Eater meetings was already a struggle for most, it was even more inconvenient that today’s meeting was held earlier.

“That won’t be necessary,” she brushed off. “Let’s just get it over with now.”

“Everyone,” Voldemort said, lifting a hand to motion to her, “This is Harry Potter.”

Murmurs instantly rang across the room, her name being whispered repeatedly.

Over two decades ago, rumours that were tied to the Dark Lord had spread about a Harry Potter but no one ever heard from her again. The rumour was that she was hit with the Killing Curse and lived.

The people closest to her were dead or missing, and no one knew what happened to her after her supposed not-death. She became a legend that some told their children about, but majority didn’t believe it. Because if it was true that she sustained the Killing Curse, then in theory she would be more powerful than the Dark Lord Voldemort. Yet he was here, and she was not, so did she really exist?

Apparently, she did. Everyone in the room could only assume that the rumour-turned-legend was actually true and perhaps the reason why her green eyes were so vivid, so reflective of the Killing Curse.

Voldemort spoke over the mutterings, rendering them all silent.

“Each of you are to come up and swear your allegiance to my wife. My lady,” he added, kissing her hand again as he looked at her.

Silent and shocked.

Voldemort swept his cool gaze across the sea of astounded Death Eaters. Of course, none of them ever would have guessed he would get tied down. For decades, he sneered at their disgusting need for love and reassurance. He warned them against falling for such weaknesses, but humans were curious creatures and as long as they cared about other people’s lives more than their own, he could bend them to his will.

But he had to admit that he surprised himself too when the desire to tie himself to Harry Potter bloomed in his chest. It happened rather suddenly.

When he first found her, he had been intent on exerting his power over her. Not as easy as he thought it would be. It soothed his angry and spiteful soul to find out she was very competent because the prophecy had declared her his equal, and his match shouldn’t be someone who was easy to overpower.

After that, he worked tooth and nail to recruit her. Harder than he worked to recruit anyone. Even when he had nothing to his name but his good looks and charm, he didn’t work this hard. That’s when it hit him that perhaps he could seduce her into joining him. Sure, she wasn’t instantly fazed by his handsome face, perfect features and luscious locks, but if he worked on charming her—she may succumb to him.

It took him several months to get to that stage and then it would take several more months of attempting to court her. It was nearly a year after that, a year of writing her letters that she didn’t respond to, sending her harmless but exciting gifts to warm up to her, even showing up at her doorstep unannounced on special holidays, demanding she go on a date with him (only half of which she agreed to), that he realized what happened. It was during one of the fancy dinner dates that he whisked her away to another country—she was animatedly telling him a story and the truth hit him like his Killing Curse that ricocheted off her when she was a baby.

His plan backfired, royally. She was just as unfazed by him as she was over a year ago, at most she found his affection and determination endearing. Meanwhile, his heart was constricting just at the thought of being away from her for a long period of time again. His chest felt tight at the realization of what happened, how he had no one to blame for diving into this headfirst except himself. He really underestimated her power, because not once in his entire life did he imagine he would feel anything close to this for another person, yet here he was.

He knew he had to have her. He realized then that she belonged at his side, not beneath him. When he told her this, she held his gaze for a moment, then smirked and said, “Now, we’re talking.”

And nothing was the same ever since.

For the first time in his life since he got a taste of magic—back before he kept biting for more—he felt balance. He felt complete and whole and balanced and right. She knew just the right things to say to him, knew exactly what he needed to be successful. The Death Eaters that he could never understand before, she helped him realize how he needed to communicate with them. His solutions to delicate problems were halted and she made him proceed with more thought and emotion before acting.

He was forced to eat his words about love and weakness right up, because ever since Harry Potter accepted him into her life, everything fell into place perfectly. It was as they said: behind every great man, is a great woman.

He was forced to eat his words right back up, but the timing was his own choosing. He kept her a secret from his followers, even for a few years after their marriage. But her decade long training in Latvia under an esteemed witch was complete and to celebrate, she wanted to come see his home.

Even with magical transportation available to them, he had far too much on his hands running the British Wizarding World to step away for long periods of time. And that didn’t mean that when he was available she could see him. Her training was rigorous. Not only that, but she taught part-time at a magical school for young witches in Belgium.

That’s why Voldemort would rather continue to drink in her beautiful features than address his followers. But this needed to happen and the sooner it was over, the sooner they could be alone.

Their resounding silence irked him.

“Why is no one coming up? Do you not consider my wife worthy of your respect?” he hissed. He would Crucio every last one of them, he didn’t care. No one disrespected Harry under his watch and certainly not his own followers!

Harry put a gentle hand over his when he reached for his wand to stop him.

Their reaction was the opposite of what he thought—they were just too stunned by her, but now they’ve snapped out of it and the first person up the steps was Barty Crouch Jr. He was one of Voldemort’s favourites.

“My lady,” he whispered, his eyes shining in reverence. This was the reaction Harry deserved. Voldemort smiled at Barty.

Barty dropped to his knees, swore loyalty to Harry and kissed the hem of her dress.

Behind him, Lucius and Narcissa came together. Then Rabastan. Then Rodolphus and what looked like a reluctant Bellatrix.

Voldemort watched closely to see if she would say anything out of order, he couldn’t have any of them embarrass him in front of Harry, and especially not Bellatrix. More often than not, she spoke out her vulgar thoughts.

“My lady,” she bowed deeply.

Voldemort sat up straighter, narrowing his eyes at her. “On your knees.”

Bellatrix obeyed right away, and only hesitated for a few seconds before bending lower to kiss the hem of Harry’s dress. He sat back, relaxing, while Harry shot him a look and raised her eyebrows.

“Thank you—Bellatrix, is it?” Harry asked. Bellatrix looked up in surprise, she hadn’t said her name yet.

“Yes, my lady,” she answered, her eyes flitting from her to Voldemort and back.

“I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” Harry said with no hint of malice, but there was no reassurance or kindness in her voice either.

“Nothing too terrible, I hope?”

In lieu of a response, Harry simply smiled.

Bellatrix swallowed and nodded at Voldemort once before rising and walking back.

The hour dragged on as man after woman came up to Harry. Some shared a few words with her, expressing their excitement that she joined them. Voldemort wished they wouldn’t just so they could get through this faster, but he couldn’t bring himself to prevent people from praising his wife.

For her own part, Harry clearly looked like she didn’t want to be here. Her blank expression did little to faze the Death Eaters, they didn’t exactly expect a warm and sweet woman to marry their lord.

(And how wrong they were about that.)

Dolohov was assisted up by Rowle, as he was still weak from his mission.

“Antonin Dolohov, my lady,” his words slurred a little because even after everything he’d been through, Voldemort had still tortured him, hadn’t he? “F-forgive me, I’m physically unable to—” he motioned to his bad leg and the hem of her dress.

“Dolohov, did you say?” Harry asked, sitting up straighter. She looked at Voldemort questioningly. Sighing deeply, he gave her a single nod. She turned her eyes back to Dolohov. “You were the one who went to Vadsø.”

Dolohov nodded.

“Did you find her?” she whispered, eyes wide. He gulped and shook his head. His frightened eyes flicked to Voldemort for a moment and he began to tremble lightly.

Even Dolohov didn’t know why he was looking for a witch nobody heard of in centuries, but now he saw enough to know it was for the Dark Lord’s wife. And he let him down, and he let her down too.

Harry frowned and turned to Voldemort. “He is unwell. What is he doing here?”

Voldemort raised his eyebrows in annoyance. “Showing his respect for his lady, of course.”

She looked disappointed.

“Absolutely not,” she said, standing and putting a hand on Dolohov’s back while she turned to the man next to him. “Rowle, was it?” she said to the other man.

Dazed and worried, Rowle nodded.

“What happened to him?”

Rowle quietly gave a recount of the events, while Dolohov looked like he’d rather die than have her hear of how weak he was. But unlike the Dark Lord, she didn’t sneer or roll her eyes once. She was stern and focused, gave Rowle clear instructions and suggestions for healing Dolohov and sent them on their way, refusing to let Dolohov stand unattended for another minute.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Voldemort said quietly. Surely, Dolohov wasn’t in that bad a condition.

“If he found the tribe in Vadsø and not the witch—we’re lucky he’s alive to tell the tale. I would set him up with a mind healer too and don’t give him any important assignments for a few months, until he recovers properly.”

He was almost annoyed that she was telling him what to do in his own Manor, but then again—this was just as much her Manor now as it was his. And besides, he remembered that he liked Dolohov because he was the best at field missions. It would help him in the long run to make sure he’s in the best condition he could be.

When at last they were done, Voldemort shot out of his seat and Harry followed. He took her hand again and they walked down the steps. He thought she would make a cheesy speech about how wonderful it was getting to know each of them and how she was looking forward to learning more, but he underestimated how much she wanted to leave.

Putting a hand on the small of her back, he guided her out of the room.

“You still have your cloak on,” he noted with his brows furrowed.

“It was quite cold in that room,” Harry said, but she unclasped the tie around her neck and pulled it off. A house elf instantly took it off her hands and disappeared, leaving Harry to frown for a second at it’s place.

“You’ll get used to that,” Voldemort remarked with a grin. His eyes roamed her figure appreciatively as they walked down the corridor. Behind them, the Death Eaters were making quite a ruckus as they spoke over each other and exited the Manor. “Come, dinner is ready.”

“Was that not the dining hall?” she asked, craning her neck as they passed an open room with a long table.

“That’s not where we’re eating tonight.”

He led them to the terrace, where a round table was set up with steaming plates of food and decorated with flowers and fairy lights.

Harry’s eyes lit up.

“You like it?” Voldemort smiled.

“This is beautiful, I love it,” she said. Though she was speaking of the scene and intimacy of their first dinner together in ages, she was looking directly at him. Her arms slid around his waist and she brought her face close to his but he stopped her before she could kiss him.

“If you do that, I won’t let you go and we’ll never have dinner. You must be famished, so let’s eat first.”

She giggled and nodded, biting her lip. He wanted to curse for doing that because it made pulling away that much harder.

They took their seats and while she picked up her cutlery, Voldemort filled her glass up with the best wine he could get his hands on. He bought it a whole two years ago, when she was supposed to visit the Manor originally, but was unable to.

“This is delicious,” she moaned, taking a bite of the food.

“Try the wine,” he insisted, finally picking up his own cutlery to dig in. She took a sip of the wine and nodded slowly.

“Amazing. This is the best wine I’ve had in my whole life.”

“These are the luxuries you denied yourself, living in a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s a perfectly fine lifestyle,” she argued lightly. “I don’t need much in Latvia. Just Silvija and my wand. And the girls, of course.”

‘The girls’ referred to her students, all under the age of thirteen who were just getting comfortable enough with their abilities to advance to defense magic.

Would she go back to them? He had a feeling the answer was yes which is why he didn’t ask. For now, he selfishly liked to think that his wife left her own life behind to be with him.

“Would you like a tour of your Manor?” he asked after they were done eating.

Harry smiled at him tiredly.

“Maybe tomorrow? I’m really tired, I’d like a tour of your bed first.”

He grinned devilishly.

In his bedroom—their bedroom, it gave him a thrill to think of this as a room they shared—they finally let go and allowed their desires to take over.

His lips were on hers instantly, hands cradling her face. The warmth she spread through him was delicious after months of being so cold. His hands roughly fisted her dress and tried to pull it off as she lightly protested.

“This was an expensive dress, please be careful with it,” she said.

“I could buy you ten of these.”

So could she, actually. After months of him doing everything he could to woo her, he finally revealed how rich he was, hoping that would sway her. But it turned out that despite living like a hermit, she was also loaded with gold. She was never not surprising him.

Voldemort carefully peeled the dress off her. He picked her up and tossed her on the bed, immediately ridding himself of his own clothes before climbing on top of her.

That first push inside was a shot of ecstasy. They groaned in unison, both pushing their hips together for friction and relief. Voldemort cupped her lovely breasts, dipping his head down to press kisses on it, before he decided he would give them more attention next time.

Harry’s eyes were glazed over as she looked up at him with her jaw slack and hands cupping his face. He seared the image into his mind, the way he did every time he fucked her. She was a goddess and he counted his lucky stars every time he had the opportunity to do this.

In heat and desperation, their fingers slotted. Bodies, slick with sweat, pressed close and then their lips were on each other’s again.

Far too soon for his liking, Voldemort reached his high. His thumb rubbed her clit furiously, making her cry out in pleasure as her cunt squeezed his dick and she came.

“Sweet Salazar, I missed you so much, my dear wife,” he murmured in the dark.

Harry pulled his head down closer so their foreheads touched.

“Me too, my love. I missed you too.”

My love. No one had ever called him that before except her. No one had ever given that word meaning to him, except for her.

Voldemort pressed their lips together again, for a long languid kiss. He was content to continue exploring her body with his mouth, but she pulled his face back and frowned sadly.

“It’s not possible, is it?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said, pulling the covers up over them and wrapping his arms tightly around his wife.

“Tom,” she sighed. “This is kind of a big issue.”

“I have Rookwood trying to find an answer.”

She brushed his hair back and stroked his cheek. “Rookwood can’t find an answer. The British Ministry wouldn’t know—”

“Then we’ll have to resort to the other method,” he stated.

“No,” she scowled. “Tom, I told you—I’m not making a Horcrux. I will not kill someone—”

“Half your life you’ve been mastering the art of defensive magic, and you’re telling me you won’t kill?”

“That’s in defense,” she argued. “To make a Horcrux you have to kill in cold-blood. I won’t do it.”

“Well, you’ve seen for yourself what happens if we try to contact the old witch directly again,” he snapped. “There’s no other way to achieve immortality, Harry.”

It was an issue that plagued them both the moment they accepted that their relationship started. Harry would age, but Voldemort would not. There would come a day when Harry is old and wrinkly and she would probably die in her sleep because if they’ve established one thing about her it’s that she’s too skilled to die in battle.

At first, the thought distressed her and she brushed it off every time it came up. It was weird to think that her husband would stay young while she does not. More and more, the thought of dying disturbed her. Death itself was a heavy topic with Harry, seeing as she’d been exposed to it so much growing up. Enough to mess with her mind. Enough to look at the man she loved—who was corrupt on his own—and agree to defy the laws of nature so they could live in harmony. After all, she was an expert in not dying at this point. She was a master at defensive magic, she survived the Killing Curse once, she was even married to an immortal man.

The idea appealed to her, certainly enough to agree with her husband that it only made sense for her to secure immortality too so she can live alongside him forever. Harry had no other family or friends. She never quite felt like she belonged anywhere, that was one of the reasons Silvija took her in like a stray. Until Voldemort came along and made it his mission to have her one way or another—until she felt that spark of desire that manifested into something stronger—she never belonged anywhere.

It was just the execution of achieving immortality where things got muddy. Voldemort made Horcruxes, mastering some of the darkest magic their kind has ever come up with. Dark Magic was not an area Harry was confident in at all, it was Voldemort’s domain. He would gladly walk her through the process, assist her, help her make at least two, and then they could live happily together.

But Harry had strong morals. She couldn’t kill. She wouldn’t kill, like she said, unless it was for defense. And defense from death at the cost of an innocent’s life was not worth it.

So they had to research alternate methods. The most promising one had just turned out to be a disaster.

“There’s no other way,” Voldemort repeated.

“There is,” Harry insisted, eyes wide and shining. “There’s another way—”

“I assure you—”

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” she interjected. He froze, blinking at her.

“That won’t work,” he said right away.

“Why not?” she asked, frowning in disbelief.

“The Elixir of Life does prolong your life—but it doesn’t preserve you. Do you know how annoying it’ll be to live out eternity in a growing body? A hundred-year old body?”

“We can find a way to work around that bit,” she offered. “If we put our heads together, I’m positive the two of us can work something out.”

“It’s not that easy,” Voldemort said firmly.

Harry lifted herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. She could see his face clearer this way and he didn’t let it affect him. He had an excellent poker face.

“Why are you against this idea? How is this not worth trying but sending a man to Vadsø is?”

Voldemort pursed his lips in annoyance.

“Do you know who owns the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Nicolas Flamel,” she answered. Of course she looked into it extensively.

“And do you know who is close friends with Nicolas Flamel?”

That she did not know. Voldemort could tell by the dip in her brows.

“Albus Dumbledore,” he answered. “There is no way Flamel is letting that Stone fall into my hands or my wife’s.”

She paused, considering this.

“Does Dumbledore know I’m your wife?” she asked. Their marriage was kept very secret. Up until today, very few people even knew she existed. Up until today, no one would have guessed that Lord Voldemort had a wife.

“No, but I fear he will figure it out,” Voldemort said bitterly. “If you rejoin British society, they will look into your background and history.”

“They have no way of finding anything out about me,” Harry said dismissively.

When she left Britain, at a young age, there was already very little to track her with. At age fifteen, she completed her private magical education, came back to Britain to wipe any record there was of her and then went out to search for Silvija Balodis.

“You were the only hope he had to take me down. He will put in a lot of resources into figuring out where you went.”

“Then I will go to him willingly. Tell him enough to satisfy him but not reveal everything.”

“The Elixir of Life is not the best method of gaining immortality!” he snapped. “You have to drink it regularly for it to be effective. Should the potion get contaminated or the Stone stolen—what then?”

“Then I will make a Horcrux,” she said to appease him. “Let me try this first.” She laid back down and rested her hand against his cheek, softly running her fingers through his hair.

He sighed.

“You need not be afraid of dark magic,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I will guide you through it and ensure the best results.”

“I know,” she said, smiling at him gratefully. “If this doesn’t work then I promise I’ll make a Horcrux.”

He stared at her for a moment.

“Three of them. At the very least.”

Her eyes bugged out.

“That’s too much—”

“If something happens to the first—”

“One is more than enough,” she said firmly, while he glared at her. “Maybe two at most.”

“Fine. Two, then,” he said, satisfied. Harry sighed and shook her head at him. She pressed a light kiss to his nose and Voldemort pulled her close again, allowing himself to fall into the best sleep he will ever know.

Chapter Text

He woke up first in the morning. This wasn’t a surprise as she was very tired last night. Voldemort would have loved to have a few more rounds of sex with her, it had been months since they last saw each other, but she was drained after the first time.

Gently, he pulled her face out from where it was resting, in the crook of his neck. Tendrils of red hair obstructing the view of his gorgeous wife. He pushed her hair back and trailed his thumb down her cheek. Her lips were darker pink in the mornings and so plump, he couldn’t resist pressing the softest kiss to them. Then he returned to admiring her beauty. The freckles that adorned her nose and cheeks were his favourite, but she always covered it up with makeup. Especially yesterday, when she wanted to look her best for his followers. There was a light bit of eye makeup left on her lids that she hadn’t been able to wash off properly in their haste to get to bed.

Voldemort trailed his hand lower, down her neck, past her chest and closed it over a mound of soft flesh. His thumb circled over her nipples and again, he had to tell himself he would give them the proper attention they deserved later.

He wanted to wake Harry because if she woke up any later, she would grumble about sleeping in.

Voldemort peeled the covers of their naked bodies but turned up the heat in the room so she wouldn’t get cold. Situating himself between her legs he spread them apart to give himself a good view of her cunt. Licking his lips, he dipped his head down to cover her lips with his own. He pressed wet kisses around her vulva, on her clit, and dipped his tongue between her folds, but she still did not wake.

No matter. He will simply continue.

With his fingers he gently pried her lips apart to see the glistening pink skin and dragged his tongue up slowly. He repeated the motion, flicking his tongue back and forth, creating obscene noises. And then her breathing picked up. He grinned and continued his ministrations.

Harry let out a slow whine, shifting slightly. Voldemort held her hips down and circled the tip of his tongue over her clit, waiting for her to wake up.

When her eyes flew open and she gasped, he flicked his tongue over the nub and she let out a loud moan. Her gaze dropped to him between her legs and she wasn’t even surprised. She simply threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed him closer to her core.

“Oh, fuck, Tom!” she cried, as her orgasm washed over her. Voldemort licked away all her juices, feeling some of it smear on his nose and cheek but he did not care.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice low and raspy, smiling up at her.

“Morning,” Harry breathed, her face flushed and mouth open. He climbed back up over her and kissed her, neither caring of where his mouth had just been. “Shower?”

In Latvia, Harry had a small tub in her cottage. It was enough for her and it was even cozier when he joined in. But here, in his Manor, she was fascinated by his black marble bathroom and the square showerhead attached to the ceiling. The water distribution was better and he knew she preferred showers, especially with him because sex was easier standing than cramped in a small tub.

See, isn’t this so much better? Stay here, with me. Don’t go back.

The question of whether or not she would return to Latvia was one he still didn’t want answered. Especially when he was pushing for her to immortalize herself, how could he argue he isn’t seeing her enough when they would have eternity together? But he wasn’t seeing her enough. He wanted her around everyday, it’s why he married her!

Voldemort knew pressuring her to stay was out of the question. Harry couldn’t be forced to do anything, he knew that well. And if she began to feel pressured she would get suspicious and retreat.

After the shower, Voldemort showed Harry the closet that was full of dresses and robes for her. In the same elegant fashion as the one she wore yesterday. He had them stocked and waiting for her ever since they got married.

Harry put on a deep green, floor-length dress with a high, lace neckline. The sleeves were also lace and fitted. While he dressed, she waved her wand over her hair in a series of motions until she got the updo she wanted. Voldemort watched as she looked at her appearance in the mirror.

“There’s some jewelry for you here, too,” he said, opening a drawer to show her the glittering jewels. She had never worn such lavish items or fancy dresses so her eyes widened taking in the collection. He helped her pick out a set and put it on, then they both stood in front of the mirror.

***

Harry blinked at the sight before her in awe.

She stood in front him, arms loose, while he wrapped his own around her waist. The cool colour of her dress paired nicely with his sophisticated black robes. The glittering of the jewels, the elegant twisted style of her hair, the way she looked majestic next to him. They looked just as a dark lord and lady should.

“What do you think?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

“I like how we look,” she whispered, resting her hand atop his. Powerful. Magnificent. Regal.

It wasn’t wealth she was after, it was power. Wealth came as an afterthought, something that granted power. Her rigorous training, her life’s mission to be the best, it was all in line with gaining power. Gaining what she didn’t have growing up. Living up to the name and standards people placed upon her before she was even born.

But she wasn't doing it for them. Fuck them. Let them think what they want. Except for the Dursleys, she didn’t know any of the people Harry Potter was related to before she left England.

All she knew was her own potential and that she was going to do whatever it took to achieve the greatness she was destined for.

Voldemort was a hindrance to her plans, she had told him that on their wedding night. That him finding her, coming in and disrupting the steady life she had, was originally a bad omen for her. Until she saw herself within him. What took him a year and a half to realize, Harry had realized about three weeks into his “courting” stage. He had power she didn’t and she had power he didn’t. They balanced each other out. The prophecy had apparently stated they were equals as well—there was a very clear outcome to this that did not require her to bow down to him.

So Harry did what she did best: sit back and deal with things calmly. She read and kept each of his letters, but didn’t respond to a single one because she knew he would see it as a sign that he was winning and she couldn’t have him thinking that. Harry admired the gifts he sent, even though she was highly cautious of everything that entered her little cottage. Occasionally, he got fed up with her silence and would come to her doorstep to throw a temper tantrum, unable to comprehend why his “wooing” wasn’t working. Half the time, she crossed her arms, leaned against her door frame, and waited patiently for him to finish before slamming the door in his face and moving on with her life. The other half, she indulged herself in the presence of a man who seemed to genuinely admire her. It took much longer than she expected, but it was necessary for him to come to the conclusion himself because if there was anything she understood from him, it was that he valued his own opinion above everyone else’s.

And he finally did realize: they were meant to do this together, side-by-side. This was the only way to balance their power, for alone, they were too chaotic.

Against each other? That was out of the question.

Harry could only imagine the terror that would be unleashed on their world if she and Voldemort were to oppose each other. She wouldn’t put it past them to start out a full-blown war.

That is why she was happy the way things turned out. This way, she kept her life a secret until she was done with her training and ready to return. With her marriage, she had the power she wanted. No one would ever tell her what to do, she had access to people and resources she never would have gained on her own. And the best of all: she had a lifelong partner. A love that was as pure as it was tainted.

They both got involved with the other with the goal of coming out stronger (and they did) but along the way they truly fell in love.

Harry loved the confidence and prestige that oozed out of the image before her. This was the epitome of success and it wouldn’t have been possible without the man behind her.

She reached a hand back to angle his face towards her. Voldemort instantly touched his lips against her.

“Thank you, my love,” she whispered earnestly. “For everything. The dresses, the jewelry—”

“It’s what you deserve,” he murmured. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve him. So loving and caring. She had seen firsthand how ruthless he could be, had experienced (also firsthand) how devastating his power was. Yet despite it all, he showered her with love and affection.

The only thing left to do, to nail the perfect life, was to secure this forever.

***

Harry touched up her makeup and the two of them headed down to the dining hall for breakfast. Halfway through their meal, an elf arrived with a note for Voldemort.

She carefully set her cup down and watched as his eyes flit across the note before huffing and setting it aside.

“What is it?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he watched her closely. The same forlorn look in his eyes that he had all night. Now she was worried about this.

“Tom?” she said softly, reaching for his hand. “What’s the matter? What’s bothering you?”

It was slow progress, but he was learning to open up to her. Harry had proven that her advice involving his work had a ninety percent success rate, and that was the only reason he shared those things with her. She hoped with time, it would be easier to be open with each other.

“What are your plans… now?” he asked, his tone emotionless.

“What do you mean?” she frowned.

“You’re always off working on something. Whether it’s teaching at that school, or hunting beasts for sport, or curse-breaking, or that trip to Africa to search for a phoenix—you never settle down. So I’m wondering when you’re off again.”

Harry frowned, “Those were all a part of my training, Tom. But now I’m done. Sure, I might still head off to a part of the world if I hear about something interesting, but I hoped you’d come with me.” She squeezed his hand.

“What about the school? Your students?”

“They already gave me a tearful send off,” she said.

His face brightened and rather than making her happy, it made her sad that they were so distant he assumed that was what their entire lives would be like.

“I’m staying here for quite a long time. I don’t know when my next project or mission will be, but I won’t leave until I get a satisfied dose of you.”

All their meetups in the past three years have ended before either were ready to leave the other. She wanted to take full advantage of having her husband close for longer periods of time.

“You don’t do well with being idle,” he pointed out. He was the same way. Both of them had to be working on something in order to shake the restlessness.

“Well, I do have the matter of the Stone to figure out, I’m certain that’ll keep me plenty busy. And there’s all your work, I can lend a hand there.”

So far she only got a taste of what life with her husband is like. Just a toe-dip in the water. It included being around him, to start, it also included beautiful gowns and a giant Manor, and scores of witches and wizards at their command. Admittedly, she didn’t like the whole ‘kneeling and kissing the hem’ part of yesterday’s meeting, but Voldemort was insistent that it was necessary.

She didn’t mention to him that she had plans to be more involved in his work than ‘lending a hand’. Harry was certain he didn’t treat his followers well, she needed to make sure they were loyal to him for loyalty’s sake, not for fear of their lives. And she was in the best position to ensure that, now that they knew her as his wife and viewed them as a team.

Voldemort picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her wedding ring before smirking in delight. Her cheeks warmed and she smiled shyly down at her plate.

The house elves offered to give her a tour of the Manor, but Voldemort brushed them off because he wanted to be the one to do it. They could through the first floor before he was called away to deal with a matter and a house elf ended up finishing the tour.

“Wonderful,” Harry said in awe, taking in the library, which was the last stop. She expected Voldemort’s Manor to be darker and older but it was kept in pretty good shape. Harry liked it. “Where is he?”

“Master be in this drawing room, Mistress,” the elf said, pointing her to one of the drawing rooms down the hall of the second floor.

“Excellent, thank you, Tilly,” she smiled. Tilly, the house elf, beamed in pride and bowed deeply before leaving.

Harry was about to open the door when she thought twice about it. Pausing, she knocked and waited for a response.

“Enter,” Voldemort’s smooth voice called. She already missed him and hearing his voice again sent a flutter through her.

Harry twisted the doorknob and stepped into the drawing room adorned in green and gold. Typical proud man he was, he just had to show off his ancestry and decorate everything in Slytherin green. It explained why so many of Harry’s outfits were the same colour.

Inside the room, Voldemort sat on a chair, legs crossed with his ankle over his knee. With him, there were two other men, one she recognized as Lucius and the other was one of the Lestrange brothers, the older one, Rodolphus.

They looked startled to see her. Both immediately stood and bowed their heads, saying, “My lady.”

It was this part of the ‘power’ that made her uneasy. Harry liked wielding power, but she didn’t enjoy holding it over so many people. Even the house elves—she wasn’t fully comfortable with how they were made to work.

“Hello,” she greeted them, walking with confident strides to the seat closest to Voldemort. She smoothed the back of her dress and sat down. It was times like these that she understood why Silvija ran etiquette lessons with her. She heavily believed that expressing confidence got you halfway to where you needed to. Harry did not intend to let any of the Death Eaters see her as anything less than she was. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“Not at all,” Voldemort said easily. “In fact, it was quite dull until you entered.”

Harry smiled but inwardly she wished he wouldn’t make such comments in front of his closest men. They needed to like him. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He knew what she was thinking from that comment, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“We were just finishing up, my lady,” Rodolphus said politely. He looked over at Lucius and they both stood. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

“Oh,” Harry rose too. She had been hoping to listen in and learn more about the Death Eaters, not make them leave.

The both of them bowed their heads to Harry and to Voldemort, who hadn’t bothered to move until now. He stood next to her and put his hand on the small of her back. Just a small gesture, but she loved that he did that.

Lucius hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he began with a charming smile, “but my wife, Narcissa, insisted that I must convince my lord and yourself to have dinner at Malfoy Manor tonight. We wanted to give you a proper welcome.”

Harry blinked and then smiled. “Well, there’s no need to convince us. We will come.”

Voldemort squeezed her hip, but she knew it wasn’t because of a conflict in schedule. Well, it was. His schedule to fuck her all night.

“Excellent,” Lucius laughed in relief, his eyes briefly flitting to Rodolphus who was frozen.

“Bellatrix and myself would also be honoured to host dinner for you,” he said quickly. “We would like to extend our warm welcome—”

“Now, Rodolphus, she’s already agreed to having it at the Manor,” Lucius quipped, chuckling. “We don’t want to tire our lady, she’s made a long journey over here.”

They had no way of knowing where she journeyed from, but Harry didn’t interject. She watched the exchange curiously.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to overwhelm you, my lady,” Rodolphus said. “Perhaps next week? The both of you can decide when would be appropriate and suitable for you,” he emphasized, glaring at Lucius, “and let us know so we can arrange a dinner party.”

“Or, perhaps, Rodolphus, you can come over with Bellatrix to the Manor tonight and we can give my lady a warm welcome from both the Malfoys and Lestranges,” Lucius suggested, clearly not wanting to risk the Lestranges hosting a better dinner after theirs.

“Yes, that’s what we will do,” Voldemort decided and it was final. Harry nodded in agreement as she considered the fact that Bellatrix would have dinner with them.

“Perfect,” Lucius said. Turning to Rodolphus, he good-naturedly added, “Bellatrix is over at our house so often anyway, might as well come with her and bring Rabastan so we can make a party out of it.”

Rodolphus grunted in response.

“Lucius, are you and Narcissa living alone?” Harry asked. She knew they had a son, named Draco. Harry already knew quite a bit about some of the Death Eaters from what she learned from Voldemort over the years. She wondered whether Bellatrix went over to her sister’s house because she wasn’t happy in her marriage, or whether Narcissa was lonely.

“They have a son,” Voldemort answered for him. “His name is Draco and he just had a baby with his wife.”

“Oh, how splendid,” Harry gasped in delight. “Will Draco be there, as well? I must see the baby, I simply adore children!”

Harry never wanted to tie herself down with children, it was simply not something she ever believed she was built to do. Being a mother was a power in and of itself, and Harry was a long way away from being prepared to take on that kind of responsibility. Voldemort thought similarly. Neither of them grew up in a safe enough environment to long for a family. She thinks that is why she adores children so much, and likes to play with them. It’s easier to have fun with kids that aren’t your own.

“Of course, my lady,” Lucius replied, smiling tightly. “Whatever you wish.”

***

Harry changed into a long black dress that hugged her waist then flowed down into a loose skirt. She liked this one because it had bell sleeves that were almost as long as her skirt. The best part, however, of this dress was the queen anne collar that made her feel like royalty.

Voldemort had really good taste in fashion, she had no doubt that he chose each of the garments the closet was filled with.

He didn’t wait to be let into Malfoy Manor when they arrived on the grounds. Voldemort walked in like he owned the place, so Harry just followed. Narcissa bowed her head and greeted both of them graciously before leading them to the parlour.

“My lord,” a younger man with platinum blonde hair said, instead bowing his head to Voldemort. A pretty woman next to him followed his actions.

“Draco,” Voldemort drawled. “It’s been so long.”

“Astoria and I took to travelling for a few years,” he answered, still looking at the Dark Lord’s feet. “We’ve only just returned.”

“That’s not true,” Voldemort said lightly, a hint of amusement on his face. “I hear you had a baby, three months ago. Long while to be back and not pay your lord a visit, isn’t it?”

Harry frowned. She understood that he had let Draco off—the boy was released from his duties on a favour cashed in from Lucius years ago. Why was he tormenting him now? It was simply for entertainment, and Harry wished she could say she was shocked, but she wasn’t. As it was, she knew exactly the man she married.

She gave a light cough, attracting everyone’s attention to herself. Harry’s lips stretched into a smile.

“My lady, this is my son, Draco,” Narcissa said breathlessly, stretching a hand towards him. “And his wife, Astoria.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, nodding at them. She had to remind herself at the last second to not stretch out her hand to shake theirs, like she was used to doing. “Pleasure to meet you.”

They both gaped back at her, as if they couldn’t believe she was standing before them.

Voldemort put a hand on the small of her back and guided her into the room. Draco and Astoria instantly moved to give way to the sofas where they sat.

“I don’t believe I need to tell any of you that Harry’s identity is to be kept top secret?” Voldemort said, picking up the tea cup and sipping from it.

For a moment, each of their eyes widened as they tried to recall who they might have told that wasn’t a Death Eater.

“Of course, my lord,” Narcissa confirmed. “I can get Lucius to spread word to anyone who might not have gotten the message, if you’d like?”

“Yes.”

Lucius entered at that moment, barely greeting his guests before Narcissa urgently told him to see to it that none of the other Death Eaters reveal Harry’s identity. Her main worry being her sister.

Harry met Voldemort’s gaze nervously.

“We should have said something last night,” she grumbled to him.

“I doubt they’ve had the chance to spread the news yet,” he reassured her, resting his hand on her thigh.

“It’s been a whole day,” she pointed out.

He sighed in annoyance. “I’ll Obliviate anyone who finds out,” he mumbled.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and whispered quietly, “It won’t be enough to fool Dumbledore if even a single person—”

“Then it’s a good thing we have a backup plan, isn’t it?” he quipped, referring to the Horcrux method if the Stone didn’t work out.

Harry pressed her lips together and turned away from him, only to see Draco and Astoria still staring at the two of them in shock. This was quickly getting boring.

Taking Voldemort’s hand off her thigh and tossing it back in his lap, she sat closer to the edge of the couch and said, “Is your baby here?”

“Yes, my lady,” Astoria said, “he is sleeping—”

The baby’s cries could be heard from outside the room. Astoria sat up and they watched a house elf carry the small bundle into the room.

“Mistress, he won’t stop crying,” the distressed house elf told Astoria.

She sighed in frustration and took the baby.

“Forgive me,” she said quickly to Harry and Voldemort, “he’s still young and he won’t stop crying—” she looked embarrassed at the ruckus her baby was causing.

“May I?” Harry asked, holding her arms out. Astoria looked between her and Voldemort nervously, then down at Draco. He gave her a meaningful look and she held the baby out to Harry.

Harry managed to make the baby—Scorpius—stop crying within seconds. It was a superpower she had. She didn’t know why kids liked her, but babies usually did. Astoria started to relax around her until the rest of the guests arrived and they all moved to the dining hall for dinner.

Not for the first time did Harry feel blessed that it was Voldemort she was married to and not anyone else, because had she been a regular guest, she would have gotten hounded with questions right now.

No, instead, it was just Bellatrix making subtle comments to emphasize her position in the Dark Lord’s ranks. She really was a fanatical. Before meeting her, Harry thought Voldemort simply exaggerated the woman’s devotion to him, but now…

Now, it rubbed her the wrong way.

This was probably how Bellatrix felt too. Up until yesterday, she believed herself to be the closest person to Voldemort, to be his confidant. Harry was a bitter revelation that she had her own marriage and the Dark Lord didn’t view her the same way she did.

Harry wondered how far she would take it. She hardly felt any jealousy towards the matter. How could she, when she saw the passive looks Voldemort sent Bellatrix, versus the way he looked at Harry as if she held all the answers to the secrets of life?

“How come you didn’t attend Hogwarts, my lady?” Rabastan asked, when Bellatrix was speaking too much. Even this didn’t stop her.

“Yeah, they called your name at the Sorting Ceremony during Draco’s year—didn’t they, Draco?”

Harry blinked at him in surprise. She imagined Draco to be a few years younger than her. He still had that youthfulness about him that Harry had lost a long time ago. But they were the same age and would have been in the same year at Hogwarts.

“I left the country,” Harry answered.

“Where did you study then?” Bellatrix followed up.

Harry’s eyes flicked up to her in annoyance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said coldly.

Bellatrix continued to ramble. Narcissa’s face flushed and Voldemort looked murderous but not like he was about to torture her. Harry could only deduce her prattling to be a side effect of the mind damage she sustained in Azkaban.

“I just mean, with you being so close to the Dark Lord, that it would reassure us if—”

Not looking up from her plate, Harry lifted her hand and closed her fist in the air, silencing the woman.

What started out as a slightly warm gathering, changed once Harry’s mood dropped. Everyone felt the shift. She wasn’t happy with Bellatrix's questions and her anger was much more subtle than the Dark Lord’s, which they were used to.

“I’m not a stationed bodyguard, Lestrange,” Harry said calmly, her face cut from stone as she clasped her hands together in front of her. “The Dark Lord doesn’t need anyone to protect him. I would also,” she added, picking her spoon up again as she met Bellatrix’s wide eyes, “refrain from speaking so candidly with me again. I am not your friend.”

The silence was loud as her words sunk in. Narcissa and Astoria, who had begun to warm up to her, closed up again, assuming the words applied to them too. Harry wasn’t bothered, she would treat them kinder because they clearly respected her and she hoped that they would see she wasn’t a bitch. However, she wanted none of that friendliness with Bellatrix. Any respect she might have had for her for being Voldemort’s second in command, vanished yesterday when she refused to acknowledge Harry the same way she did Voldemort.

She would love nothing more than to keep the woman silent, but Harry thought that was taking it a step too far. Humiliation was Voldemort’s tactic, not hers. She undid the spell and the dinner proceeded with Narcissa quickly changing the subject.

Chapter Text

Within a month, Dolohov’s recovery was nearly complete. Harry sat in on a Healer’s appointment with him, to ensure his health was being taken care of seriously. She wasn’t impressed with the man he was assigned so she called in her Healer, a friend from Latvia, to have a look and since then there has been a significant improvement.

She made it a priority to keep up with the Death Eaters’ families, as much as she could. Draco was still wary of her, but Astoria was getting closer to her because Harry loved to see baby Scorpius.

Slowly, she was learning more and more about them and their relationship with Voldemort. There was a lot he didn’t tell her about how he operated, so she found out from them.

“I thought you said you weren’t torturing them anymore,” Harry said in disappointment one day. “You told me a year ago that you would work on that.”

“I have been working on it,” Voldemort murmured, leaning against his desk as he pulled her between his legs. He unfolded her crossed arms and worked on untying her blouse to free her breasts. Harry lightly pushed his hands away.

“Is it true you tortured Dolohov after he returned from his mission?”

His eyes darted up. “Failed mission.”

Harry’s scowl intensified. “It was already too much to expect him to succeed, how could you worsen his state because you gave him an impossible task?”

“Because I didn’t want to let you down.”

“Oh, and I am so much happier now because of that,” she rolled her eyes.

He sighed in annoyance. “I don’t think you realize just how much I worry about you,” he snapped, fingers wrapping around hers wrists. “You’re still mortal because he was unable to find the witch who could make you immortal without Horcruxes.”

“I thought we established that I’m not going to die so easily.”

“I was still angry. I was running out of time—I had hoped he would return with the answer in a neat little package before you arrived. It would have been perfect.” She still glared at him, not finding this reasoning good enough. He had to work harder. Lifting her hands up, he pressed light kisses to her fingers and peered up at her with wide eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Harry sighed. “What about Pettigrew? I heard—”

“That was a single Crucio,” he dismissed. “Not even ten seconds. He deserved it because he deliberately kept information from me to blackmail Lucius.”

She accepted this, mainly because she knew Peter Pettigrew’s history and what made him a Death Eater. Since the night of her introduction, when he couldn’t meet her eyes once, he had been suspiciously absent from every event. Harry, frankly, did not care what happened to him. She did blame him for how her childhood turned out, but it was that terrible childhood that led her to other places and eventually Latvia, where she trained under an esteemed witch, where she would one day meet Lord Voldemort and fall in love. Still, that didn’t mean she was happy with Peter Pettigrew, far from it: she’d kill him if his Animagus wasn’t useful to Voldemort.

“And Selwyn?” she asked quietly, just when he thought he was off the hook. Selwyn’s torture was still being talked about, of course she would hear about it. Voldemort brought in the man’s wife and made her torture him. It was fucked up in several ways, she had no idea how he would justify this one—

“He deserved it,” Voldemort said darkly. “He was abusing his family. He would lock up his wife so she couldn’t protect their daughters, he even took away her wand. None of them were safe.” Harry's stomach dropped in horror. “So I gave her the opportunity to get back at him by making everyone think I was forcing her to punish him for me.”

Selwyn was currently on assignment in South America, looking for a myth that Harry knew for a fact didn’t exist, while his wife and kids had full access to their vault and were living comfortably in their home.

“Well, that’s nice then,” Harry said quietly, feeling bad that she doubted his actions so much.

“Back in your good books, then?” he smirked, picking her up and walking to his chair.

***

“Hogwarts is looking for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Harry said one morning as she went through her letters.

Voldemort’s head snapped up. “He’s contacted you?”

She nodded. Harry paid Nicolas Flamel a visit, after finally tracking his location down. They had a long chat about everything under the sun until eventually he asked her why she wanted the Stone. Harry denied wanting the Stone and instead claimed she wanted a mentor—which wasn’t too far-fetched. Having just let go of a mentor, she wasn’t opposed to gaining a new one. Alchemy was a dying practise and he was the best in the field. She would be honoured to learn from him.

It hadn’t even been two days since her first visit and Dumbledore was already writing to her.

“Said he’s heard about my skill and would like to offer me the position. I think Silvija mentioned being friends with him, so perhaps she was the one to inform him of my skills.”

Harry would claim she trusted Silvija with her life, but that would be false. She trusted her as a mentor in magic and life, but only because she met her when she had no one else to look up to. By the time she was twenty-one and Lord Voldemort showed interest in her, Harry was capable of making her own decisions based on her wants and abilities. Decisions—such as her relationship with him—that Silvija didn’t know about.

“I’m going to meet him,” she said, making him scowl.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Why not?” she asked, meeting his eyes evenly.

“Because I hate him. And I don’t want you anywhere near him. It could be dangerous.”

“I can handle myself,” she said quietly.

“Not against him,” Voldemort hissed. “He’s too powerful. Even you won’t be able to defeat him.”

Harry stared back at him, silently seething. But she forced herself to be patient, he was only looking out for her. Though demanding, he had good intentions.

“I have to meet with him, Tom,” she said, her voice still low and calm. He usually responded better to softness than he did when they were screaming. “Flamel clearly is waiting for his assessment of me before taking me in. Besides, it would be better that I go in and see how much he knows before he investigates. Forgive me, but I don’t have as much faith in your Death Eaters to keep a secret as you do. Especially when one is a fucking rat,” she rolled her eyes as she stood from the table and made her wait out.

Harry dressed into more appropriate clothes for her journey to Hogwarts. A set of robes that she brought from Latvia. It would help her story if she was dressed as a common witch, rather than a Dark Lord’s wife.

Voldemort leaned against the doorframe of their bedroom, arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face. He looked like he had more to say about her seeing Dumbledore but before he could make a single point, Harry lifted herself up on her tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his lips.

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” she whispered.

His expression softened and he drew her in for another kiss.

“I know,” he said. He walked downstairs with her, giving her warnings and tips about Dumbledore that might help.

Harry was slightly nervous by the time she arrived at Hogwarts. This was a powerful wizard who had about a hundred years on her. Voldemort, the most formidable wizard she had ever seen, was even scared of him.

All the more reason for her to get on his good side, wasn’t it? She wished her husband could see things her way.

“Harry Potter,” a soft voice muttered. Harry turned to meet the brilliant blue eyes of one of the greatest wizards alive.

“Albus Dumbledore.”

***

“Toffee?” he offered, when she sat down across from him in his office.

“No, thank you,” she replied.

Dumbledore made tea by filling up a kettle in the corner of his desk. It boiled in an instant and he picked fresh tea leaves from a plant behind him, dehydrated and aged them with magic and divided them between two cups. The flavour of tea is lessened when the process is sped up with magic, a better cup would be with leaves that were harvested and dried appropriately. However, Silvija told her that it was common courtesy for powerful witches and wizards to prepare their tea from scratch in front of their guests, to avoid any fears of being poisoned.

Harry sat back, relaxed, while her eyes followed his actions obsessively. When he offered her the teacup, she took it graciously and sipped.

“I saw you admiring the castle,” he said smiling, “did you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very beautiful,” Harry answered.

It was an understatement. A deep part of her felt a connection to this place. Perhaps it was because she was supposed to live the most important seven years of her life here. Or perhaps because her parents met here and fell in love. Or perhaps because she knew how important it was to her husband—his heritage could be traced back here.

Or perhaps it was just the magic.

Harry hated that she felt warmth, acceptance and nostalgia—it almost made her wonder what her life would have been like had she not escaped from Britain and came here instead.

Harry smiled at him awkwardly, suddenly very unsure of herself now her mind was taking her to places she wasn’t prepared to venture into. She was happy with the life she has—she couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

“I normally start by asking my candidates for this job to brief me what qualifies them for this position,” he said. “Now, I know I’ve already offered you the position, but I would like it if you’d share some of your stories with me anyway.”

Clever way of asking for her life story—Harry couldn’t help but be suspicious of every word that escaped him. Voldemort had warned her of his scheming and manipulations so she treaded carefully.

A burst of flames caught her attention.

“Is that a phoenix?” she said in awe.

“Yes, this is Fawkes,” Dumbledore chuckled, holding his arm out for his bird to perch on. He stroked the top of his head.

Harry held her arm out too and whistled. Fawkes looked at her curiously before flying over. She grinned in delight and stroked his feathers.

“I am fascinated by phoenixes,” she shared. Their tears had healing properties. They die by burning and are reborn in their ashes. “I always thought if I could be any animal, I’d want to be a phoenix.” It would solve the immortality issues and healing tears would solve a lot too.

“You’re quite familiar with them,” he noted curiously.

“I spent three months in Kenya, trying to locate a phoenix in the Mau forest.”

“Ah,” he said. “Why?”

“Beats me,” she chuckled. “Sometimes I think Silvija just sent me away because she got sick of me.”

He laughed lightly and some of the tension between them lessened for a moment. Just a moment.

Dumbledore sighed deeply.

“Why didn’t you come to Hogwarts, Harry?” he asked seriously. After all, he had sent Hagrid to get her, take her to Diagon Alley, purchase a wand for her, her books, uniform, everything she needed to start at Hogwarts. Then on September first, the train brought the new students and Harry Potter was missing from between them. “I sent countless letters to your relatives—”

“My relatives hated me,” she interrupted.

“I came personally to see you—”

“How generous of you,” she said bitterly. Her eyes narrowed at him and she couldn’t stop the abandoned, hurt child within her from rising. “If you knew where I lived, why didn’t you come before?”

You could have seen what they did to me. Stopped them. Taken me out of that godforsaken house.

“I am merely a school Headmaster,” he said gently. “I did not have the authority to make such decisions. Your parents wanted you to go to them and they were the only family you had left.”

See, it was this part that never added up to her. The Dursleys never gave her the impression that they had a sit down with Lily and James Potter and an earnest conversation about what would happen to their kids if one set of parents died. Harry was a burden to the Dursleys. She actually didn’t even know her parents' names until she met Hagrid. They tried to stamp the magic out of her—how could her wizard parents have wanted her to go there?

“They weren’t my family. I had no family.”

No one in her entire life except a harsh mentor—and then Voldemort.

“Your place was at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore continued. “Your name has been down ever since you were born.”

“I changed my mind about attending,” she said, still stroking Fawkes’ feathers.

She ran away from the Dursleys when they threatened to snap her wand. Harry had always been good at making her own way so that’s what she chose to do. Her first stop was Diagon Alley. The kind barman at the Leaky Cauldron let her eat without charging—only because he thought she was a student of a Belgian lady on a trip to London with her students.

The Belgian woman, Madam Eloise, was a teacher starting her own school for girls. She would end up taking her in, and it was this same school that Harry returned to years after graduating from to teach at.

So yeah, she was good at making her own way and she didn’t regret not attending Hogwarts. Madam Eloise only taught about twenty of them and because of that she was able to ensure each of them got the proper attention they needed to learn.

Dumbledore leaned his chin on his steepled hands.

“I take it you’ve been abroad since then?”

“That would imply Britain was my home and where I belonged—which I didn’t. So no,” she answered calmly, “I was right where I needed to be.”

“Why come back now?” he asked in a low voice. There was little trust in his eyes, not that Harry was surprised.

“There wasn’t anything keeping me there anymore. I finished my training.”

“But something brought you back here, to Britain. The country you left without turning to look back at.”

“Yes,” Harry said evenly. She pressed her lips together and adopted a face of discomfort. “Love.”

He was surprised at that answer.

(Which offended Harry a little—she deserved love too, no matter who she was!)

“I’m by no means tied down,” she lied, “romantically or geographically. I’m as free as the wind. Your job offer came as a surprise to me, but not one I would be opposed to taking up.”

Dumbledore sat up straighter. His opinion of her shifted in the moment she mentioned she was here for love. He wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his surprise and relief.

He didn’t expect her to find love and move back to a country she didn’t like for it, but the fact that she did, sparked some hope in him.

“My friend, Nicolas Flamel, reached out to me,” he shared, his eyes inquisitive. “He said you showed interest in him.”

Harry stared back blankly. Was she supposed to run every thought and decision with this man? What’s it to him who she wanted to talk to? This was yet another thing Voldemort warned her of, he advised her to be an open book.

“Tell me, why does the girl known for surviving the Killing Curse, want the Philosopher’s Stone?”

Harry’s jaw clenched and she narrowed her eyes.

“That reputation is exactly why I left the country. I never wanted it. I do not seek immortality,” she spat, offended. “I have told Flamel this. I simply wished for a mentor. Alchemy is a dying practise and he is the best in the field—I would have loved to learn from him. But if he is so distrustful of me, I’ll leave him alone. My bags are already packed for Argentina.”

Harry sat up, urging Fawkes to get off her arm so she could leave.

“Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said, when she stood.

“Forgive me, sir, but this isn’t a dramatic exit. I simply know a lost cause when I see one, and I do have a Portkey scheduled to leave very soon—”

“Please sit.”

“But the Portkey—”

“Can you give me a few more minutes of your time before you go?”

Harry sighed deeply and sat back down, impatiently.

“What of the love you claimed is keeping you here?” he asked. “You seem quite eager to hop off to Argentina where we would likely not see you again for another decade or so.”

“I told you, it’s not tying me down,” Harry said. “When I didn’t know where to go, I followed them here to Britain, but if I see an opportunity I want to take—I will. I’m free to go where I please.”

“I see,” he answered, clasping his hands together on his desk. “Now, I know I can’t offer you the skill or knowledge Nicolas Flamel possesses—or whatever it is you’re going to Argentina for—but if you’re interested… I am still in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. And if you would like a mentor… a few people have told me I am quite good at what I do.”

Harry widened her eyes, as if this was greater than what she could have possibly expected. Truthfully, she was surprised it worked out all in one meeting. Dumbledore had a desperate reason to keep her close, and she would find out why.

“Sir, with all due respect… you’re on chocolate frog cards. I think it’s quite more than ‘a few people’ that believe you’re good.”

He chuckled lightly and Harry allowed a small smile as well.

“Will you take the job, Harry?” She took a deep breath and pondered her answer. This type of decision should take more than a short interview where they barely discussed the position or her qualifications.

“I’m afraid I know nothing about the post, Hogwarts’ curriculum, or the staff. In fact, all I know is that it’s a cursed position…”

A light knock sounded at the door.

“I’m afraid that’s the Minister,” Dumbledore muttered, staring at the door in disappointment. Harry’s eyebrows rose. “He’s earlier than I expected. I’m sorry to cut our meeting short, but I think I know a way of answering your questions in the meantime.”

The door opened and Harry turned to see Yaxley, one of Voldemort’s men, enter the room followed by a much younger woman. Harry’s blank face showed no indication of having met him before, though she distinctly remembered him boasting about his recent promotion after he kneeled before her. Aside from a curious glance, Yaxley paid her no mind either.

“Minister, please take a seat,” Dumbledore said, motioning to the other chair next to Harry, while beckoning her over.

Harry walked up to him, scowling at the younger woman who he kept in place by putting a hand on her shoulder.

“This is Hermione Granger,” he introduced. “She is the Muggle Studies professor and has been on the Hogwarts staff for four years now. Hermione, this is our promising Defense post candidate. Would you mind showing her around the castle and filling her in on the position, while I speak with the Minister?”

“Oh, of course!” Hermione said, her face brightening at the fact that they had an applicant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

Before Harry could shake her hand and give her name, they were both gently pushed out of the office and the door closed behind them. Both women blinked in confusion.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione apologized, “the meeting with the Minister must have been urgent.”

Harry shrugged and smiled, unbothered. It was clear that Dumbledore didn’t want to introduce her in front of Yaxley because then the news would definitely get back to the Dark Lord that Harry Potter was alive and back. When she shared her name with Hermione, the woman’s eyes widened and Harry knew she made the same connection.

Granger was alright. She spoke a lot once she got over the fact that she was in the presence of a person they long believed dead.

“Why would you think I was dead?” Harry snorted, as they walked down the castle corridors. “Just because I didn’t come to Hogwarts, everyone thought I must have died?”

It was very amusing, how seriously they took attending Hogwarts in Britain. Like it was a rite of passage. Voldemort certainly lamented the apparent ‘shitshow’ it turned to now that it was under Dumbledore.

“Well, no,” Hermione said quickly. “It’s just that… I mean you were already quite a legend, being the Girl-Who-Lived and all. I remember the first train ride to Hogwarts, there was a rumour going around that Harry Potter was attending this year. But when the Sorting Ceremony happened and they called your name, and no one went up, we thought it was just the teachers playing with us because everyone had been so excited.”

How were there rumours already? Technically, no one in the magical world could confirm her existence except Dumbledore and Hagrid. Hagrid must be terrible at keeping secrets, because Dumbledore certainly wouldn’t have let anything slip. Harry decided she was going to befriend him too.

Hermione went above and beyond to answer all her questions. Even going as far as letting her into the staffroom to show her past lesson plans.

But there was another surprise waiting for them there. Hermione’s loud rambling irritated an occupant already inside.

“Oh, sorry, Professor Snape,” Hermione said. “I was just showing the new Defense candidate around—”

“And you brought them inside the staffroom?” he grumbled, turning around to face them. The moment his eyes set on Harry, his face fell.

She regarded him in cool indifference. He was not a deserter, per se, but he was excluded from her introduction ceremony because Voldemort didn’t trust him completely. He was a double spy with too many layers so Voldemort only called him in when necessary and he didn’t find revealing her as his wife necessary to him.

Harry would be startled by his reaction, but she knew everything about his involvement in her parents' deaths. She knew he requested to have her mother’s life spared. Though she resented the fact that he informed the Dark Lord of the prophecy, Harry couldn’t speak much for the results. Because sparing her mother was what resulted in the curse on her backfiring, it’s what solidified her status as being Voldemort’s equal, what pushed her to become the witch she became and what eventually brought her and husband together.

Still, like Pettigrew, it didn’t mean she had to like him. He did nothing to get her where she was today, Harry only had herself to credit for leaving Britain and finding her path.

“Harry Potter,” he muttered, still reeling from seeing her.

“How do you know who I am?” Harry asked coolly. It likely meant she resembled her mother enough that he was able to recognize her from one look. Harry wouldn’t know, she’d never seen any pictures of her parents.

“I knew your parents,” he drawled.

“Hm,” Harry hummed, disinterestedly. If he thought she was going to gasp and beg him to feed her crumbs about dead people she didn’t know, he was mistaken. Nothing about this man felt reassuring or trusting. Perhaps that was Voldemort’s influence. Regardless, she’d rather not interact with him unless necessary.

She turned back to Hermione. “You were going to show me the lesson plans?”

“Yes, here they are,” Hermione scrambled to pull out file folders and spread them across the table. From the corner of her eye, Harry watched Snape get up and leave the room.

Harry examined the notes before her.

“This is very…” easy, she wanted to say, as she flipped through the lesson plans and notes from past teachers. “Doable.”

“Really?” Hermione beamed. “Do you think you might take the position?”

“I don’t know, you seem very eager for me to do so and that’s making me suspicious,” Harry said bluntly. “Is the position really cursed?”

Hermione’s face fell. “We haven’t been able to keep a teacher for longer than a year since the sixties, I think.”

“It must be horrible for students to adjust to a new teacher every year. I’m glad I didn’t come to Hogwarts now.” She was being truthful, but Hermione laughed as if she told a joke. “Who cursed it?”

“I mean no one knows,” Hermione said nonchalantly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know.”

“Well, it’s just speculation.”

“So who was it?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“I don’t know for certain,” Hermione emphasized. “But rumour has it that… You-Know-Who applied for the position… and Dumbledore turned him down… and it’s around that time that the ‘curse’ began.”

Harry blinked at her in confusion.

“Who?” she asked.

Hermione blinked back. “You-Know-Who.”

“No, I don’t.”

“No—You-Know-Who.”

Harry stared at her seriously. “No, Hermione Granger… I don’t. That’s why I’m asking—”

“No,” Hermione huffed, “It’s You-Know-Who. He Who Must Not Be Named?”

And then an old, old memory resurfaced in Harry’s mind of her first trip to Diagon Alley when she learned of the ridiculous names wizards insisted on calling someone they were afraid of.

“Oh, you mean Voldemort?” she said. Hermione gulped and nodded. “Wait—Voldemort cursed the position?”

“Yes,” Hermione whispered nervously. “I understand if that means you won’t take the position—”

“On the contrary,” Harry smirked, “I think I owe it to myself to break his curse.”

***

“You cursed the position because you were bitter that he didn’t hire you?” Harry laughed, barging into Voldemort’s study when she came home.

He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

“He told you that?”

“No, one of the teachers did,” she answered, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of desk, in front of him. He smoothed his hands over her thighs. “I took the position just to see if I could break your curse.”

“Just for that, huh?” he chuckled.

“Okay, true, there were many other factors, but that was the main selling point for me,” Harry giggled, threading her fingers through his hair. “He bought everything, I think. Yaxley came in and Dumbledore wouldn’t say my name in his presence, so he certainly doesn’t know about us.”

“Good,” Voldemort murmured, kissing her wrist. Harry was overwhelmed by the rush of affection when he kissed her so lovingly and tenderly.

“I missed you,” she whispered, eyes glazed as she stared down at him and stroked his cheek.

“You’ve only been gone for a few hours,” he commented. They had to suffer worse before seeing each other in the past.

“I know, but now that I can see you everyday, I miss being away from you,” she said softly.

It was so refreshing dropping the battle warrior persona and letting herself relax in his presence. It took a long time for her to do that around him, but he provided the security and reassurance she had sought after her whole life. So around him, she was able to drop her guard and be herself. Harry had nearly forgotten what that was like.

He had a knowing grin on his lips. He indulged her in a few more tender kisses, before stating all the lovely things he wanted to do to her—after she told him about his meeting with Dumbledore.

“Way to kill the mood,” she sighed while he chuckled. Harry hopped down and sat on a chair, because Merlin knew that if she could touch him, there would be no talking happening.

Chapter Text

September first arrived and Harry spent the whole day being ravished by her handsome (and virile) husband. She wasn’t required to be at the school until the Sorting Ceremony, in the evening, so they took advantage of their last day together the way they had every other time.

Harry was going to be under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore. Both her and Voldemort agreed that her leaving the castle to visit him regularly might raise his attention, so coming back home daily or even weekly was out of the question.

The very little evidence they left behind was what ensured she went on nearly the whole year without Dumbledore having a clue.

By April, she managed to establish trust with him. For her part, Harry made good connections with the other teachers to solidify her trustworthiness. Hermione Granger was a formidable witch that Harry was happy to befriend. Minerva McGonagall was another extraordinary witch that took a liking to Harry. Hagrid was also one of her favourites. She visited him regularly and enjoyed his bizarre stories and interactions with creatures.

She kept away from Snape, on Voldemort’s command. The man was extremely intelligent and he feared that Snape would pick up on something. Either in his magical signature on her, or the way she spoke, or her actions that might emulate him. He was very watchful, probably more dangerous than Dumbledore, he said.

When Harry came to let Dumbledore know she was leaving for the Easter holidays, he pried. Just a little. Expressed his curiosity on her home life, and who it was that caught her attention, being as talented and skilled as she was.

“I’d rather not say, if that’s alright,” Harry replied. Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. “I’m a very private person, as you figured out. I learned the hard way that privacy is the only thing that can ensure safety. I don’t want to compromise his safety, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to him,” she said earnestly.

“I understand completely,” he said at once. “It was a gentle question, nothing urgent.”

Harry nodded and dipped out of the office, going home to her husband. She meant it when she said she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if anything happened to Voldemort. But she wasn’t as frightened as she just painted herself to be. Voldemort had seven Horcruxes—his life wasn’t in any immediate danger. If anything ever happened to the other Horcruxes…

Well, there was always the one inside her that would live on.

***

At the end of the school year, Hermione threw a goodbye party for the staff. Half of them stayed for only an hour before leaving. Harry would have been the first one out the door, but she felt like she owed it to her friend to stay later than the others.

“How much longer are we going to ignore the hippogriff in the room?” Hermione said loudly, a little tipsy from her Firewhiskey.

“What hippogriff?” Harry asked.

“You!” Hermione exclaimed. Harry blinked in confusion, suddenly feeling very nervous. What about her? “You’re still here! You’re not dead, or fired, or revealed to be a secret dark witch with her own agenda—”

“Wait, people have died for this job?” Harry spoke over her, in shock. “I never knew that!”

“We don’t advertise that aspect of the job,” McGonagall said. “Obviously.”

“The point is—wait,” Hermione said suddenly. “You are coming back next year, right?”

Everyone looked at her, eagerly waiting for a response.

“I mean… if you’ll have me back…?” she shrugged and that was all it took for them to cheer.

“The curse is broken! The curse is broken!” Hagrid clapped.

Harry laughed and joined in the cheer. The curse was broken her first month. Voldemort didn’t think she could dismantle it at least until before Christmas so they made a bet. Seeing as she was not going to get his Dark Mark tattooed on a part of her body that he would get to choose, she put all her effort into breaking it. Her years of curse-breaking came in handy, but the biggest advantage she had was knowing him and understanding his magic enough to figure it out.

In July, just a week before her birthday, Dumbledore called her into his office to finalize her lesson plans and to express his gratitude that she kept the job. It was the first time in decades he didn’t have to search for another teacher to fill the post.

“You’re the one who figured out how to break the curse,” he said with a knowing smile. Harry’s stomach lurched for a moment, thinking he knew her secret. She smiled bashfully and waited for him to elaborate. “I should have known if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Oh, just that… when it comes to Lord Voldemort… you’re probably the only one who can oppose him.”

Harry’s expression sobered up. “So it really was him that cursed the job?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said seriously. “Can you tell me how you took down the curse?”

Harry let out a slow huff, trying to piece together how she did it without giving away much.

Quietly, she said, “Is it bad that… I could kind of understand the curse? And the possible steps he took to put it up, so I could reverse it? It didn’t feel all too different from my magic. That was the most worrying part.”

Her vulnerable expression sold her lie as he quickly jumped on track.

“No, Harry, it’s not bad at all. There was… a prophecy,” he said slowly. “About you and Voldemort. Made before you were even born.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

Harry thought it would be a good few years before he dived into this, but apparently not.

She pretended to be learning for the first time about the prophecy and had to sit through the boring talk of how the abilities she shared with Voldemort did not mean she would have to go down the same path as him.

“I admit,” he continued after a silent moment, “When you first stepped into my office, I thought I was speaking to another version of Tom Riddle. But then you told me that you moved back to a country you wanted nothing to do with for love. That’s what sets you apart, Harry.” She frowned deeply at this. “You are nothing like Voldemort, because he could never love anyone, much less to the extent that you can.”

She hardly ever got fazed by anything he said, so this should be no different, but it wasn’t. It hurt her. For him to sit there and so comfortably speak about how her husband, who admitted to never being in love before he met her, as if the thought that he could love someone other than himself was so out of the realm of possibilities—

He mistook her frown for being upset about the similarities between her and Voldemort. Similarities that she cherished, similarities that existed because of his soul piece in her. He gave her the ability to speak to snakes, to feel his strongest emotions—though it was unintentional—he gave her a piece of his soul and after finding so much of herself in him, it was the best news for her to realize he found himself in her too. Spiritually and literally.

So for Dumbledore to shit all over one of the most precious things in her life…

It upset her how much it upset her. Why should she care what he thinks? He’s a senile, old fool. She was married to his fucking enemy and living right under his nose and he had no idea!

That night when she was back in bed with her husband, her actions were frantic and hurried.

Voldemort pulled back, a little startled, by her desperation to disrobe him. He had lost yet another bet, and the rules for this one were that he had to make her come at least three times before he could come. With how focused she was on pulling his dick out and lining him up with her entrance, he was a little confused.

“Love, I had a whole plan before we get to that part,” he said, pulling her hand off his cock and pinning both of them down on the pillow. He could make her come three times without coming himself, but only by using his fingers and mouth—not his cock. And he won’t add another challenge when he was already heated as it was.

“No,” she whined, freeing her hands. “I don’t care about that.” Harry hooked her legs around his waist and after a couple fumbles, pinned him under her on the bed. She ground her cunt over his cock. “I don’t care about that anymore. Fuck the bet. I just want you inside me.”

He hissed in pleasure and nodded. Harry bit her lip as she sunk down over him. Her gaze moved back up to his face where she leaned closer to kiss his lips. Voldemort squeezed her hips as she ground herself over him, until she decided she still needed to feel closer.

Prying his hands off her hips, she laced their fingers and pinned his hands down. His mouth dropped open and he let out a delicious groan at a particularly nice thrust. Harry licked her lips and memorized his features, his face, his eyes.

Then she uttered the words she swore she would never say to any man in bed, “Do you love me?”

But it was different with him, right? He wasn’t just ‘any man’, he was the man for her.

His eyes opened wide and he stared at her for a moment, startled. It wasn’t that they never said those words to each other—they did, just not as often as regular couples probably did. And certainly neither of them had ever felt so insecure with their love for each other to ask it as a question like this. In the middle of—what in hindsight to Voldemort looked like emotional—sex.

“Yes,” he rasped, wishing for the millionth time that he could look into her mind to see what triggered this question. If it was a person, he would tear them limb from limb right in front of her to show her how much he loved her. He wanted to know what instilled the doubt in her so he could eliminate it, squash it like a bug under his boot, curse it to oblivion. He wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of their love, he wasn’t going to let anything live that made her doubt his love. Because he couldn’t fathom something coming between them and tearing her away from him.

He had all these emotions inside him and yet, when it came to reassuring her that her doubts were misplaced, he couldn’t. He was never one to comfort somebody, to hold them and whisper reassurances. It was a wonder to him that Harry even sought comfort in his cold body.

All he could do was speak his truth and hope that was enough until he got to the bottom of this.

“I love you,” he whispered. She closed her eyes and nodded. It wasn’t enough. He started to panic. “I love you,” he repeated, just as softly. And again. Until she opened her eyes and he saw they were tearful. “Why are you crying?” he demanded. He didn’t like this—he didn’t like this at all. She’s cried in bed before, but only from pleasure, not this. “Why are you crying? I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered wetly, her hands leaving his to cradle his face. “I know, I’m sorry. I love you, too. So much.”

Her lips joined his and she worked her hips to bring them to bliss.

***

Voldemort’s carefully worded questions over the next two days told her that he had an inkling as to who may have instilled doubts in her.

And it resulted in a fight, a really bad one.

They’ve fought before, but it was never anything more than a petty quarrel. Both were too aloof and inexperienced in relationships to put so much expectations on the other, and they usually put their energy elsewhere when they saw the other.

But this was a serious one.

Voldemort already hated that she worked so closely with Dumbledore, as his mentee, and the main reason was that he was worried the man would drive a wedge between them. If anyone could, it would be him.

Dumbledore had the advantage of knowing both her parents, of being the symbol of the Light side, the side of the war she was born into. He was a very intelligent and skilled wizard, a master manipulator, and dead set on seeing Voldemort fall.

The only reason he slept soundly at night knowing his wife wouldn’t be turned against him, was because he had more faith in her than he had in Dumbledore’s power.

Faith that was now slightly shaken, and worsened by her insistence to ignore it like it didn’t have the power to crush his entire world.

The tension in the Manor was thick. When Lucius came to see the Dark Lord, and Narcissa joined him to bring Scorpius, it was a disaster. Harry was cold and dismissive, declining Narcissa’s offer to play with Scorpius, and on the other side of the room, Lucius barely dodged a vicious curse from Voldemort.

They quickly left after that, leaving husband and wife alone to start yet another screaming match that only ended when Harry made a furious, dramatic exit.

She went to Hogwarts with the hopes of speaking to Dumbledore about Flamel. If there was anything she knew would help resolve the tension between her and Voldemort, it was the acquisition of the Philosopher’s Stone, her immortality. Or at the very least, a lead on that front.

“Harry!” Hagrid waved cheerfully outside his hut. Deciding she could do with a mood uplift before seeing Dumbledore about something important, Harry walked towards him.

“How are you doing, Hagrid?” she asked politely.

“Not bad,” he answered, “Just bought some new Flesh-Eating Slug repellent, and I’m on my way to the greenhouses.” He sighed deeply, scratching his beard as he thought about all the work he had to do. “I’d ask for your help, but… I can see you’re off to somewhere important.”

Harry glanced down at her outfit and realized that in her haste to leave the Manor, she hadn’t even considered changing. She was in a floor-length dress with long bell-sleeves, and her hair was done up like a proper lady’s—rather than the plainer Defense teacher she was here.

“Right, sorry about that Hagrid,” she said apologetically, though it felt more like a bullet dodged. “I’m on my way to see Dumbledore and then…” she needed an excuse for her fancy attire, “Some of my friends are throwing an early birthday celebration for me.”

“Oh, of course!” he smiled. “It’s almost your birthday! How old are you turning now?”

“Twenty-six,” she answered.

Hagrid then got very emotional and teary about this fact, stating he remembered when she was ‘just a baby’.

“Oh, I didn't know we were friends when I was a baby,” she said. She knew he knew her parents, but didn’t know they were that close.

“I only saw you tha’ one time,” he sniffed, “that terrible, awful night. You were just a little baby, crying in your crib, with your parents on the—it was horrible. I took you, this tiny little thing, strapped you on me and we rode to your relatives—”

Her blood ran cold.

“You were there before the Aurors came?” she asked.

He stopped his sniffling suddenly, muttering, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Hagrid…” Harry narrowed her eyes. “Why were you there before the Aurors came? I thought my relatives took me.”

“I, uh, I—”

“Hagrid.”

“It wasn’ safe, Harry,” he insisted. “You couldn’t trust anyone in the Ministry! The ‘Aurors’ might have just been Death Eaters there to kill you another way—”

“Right,” she said, to agree with him so he would loosen up more.

And he did. He sighed lightly and said, “We were lucky we got there before anyone else. Dumbledore insisted we take you to your relatives.” Dumbledore insisted? “He said your mother’s protection would extend if your Aunt took you in. Explained it all in a letter that we left with you on their doorstep.”

She knew the Dursleys never wanted her, she knew her parents wouldn’t leave her with them. Petunia said she didn’t have any contact with her mother for years—why would they have agreed to this scenario? They didn’t, instead she was dropped off on their doorstep in the dead of night with a letter from Dumbledore that probably guilt-tripped Petunia enough to keep her rather than putting her up for adoption.

“I see,” Harry whispered. “I’m sorry to have dredged up awful memories, Hagrid.”

“No, don’t you be sorry!” Then he wailed about how kind she was to feel bad for him when it was her tragic past they were talking about.

Eventually, Harry cut in with, “I better go see Dumbledore before he leaves for France.”

“Oh, he’s already gone,” Hagrid said. “Left early this morning.”

“Hm, damn,” she muttered, cursing her bad timing. “I’ll see him when he gets back then. Have a nice day, Hagrid.”

Harry walked off the school grounds, before sneaking back in from a different way so to Hagrid it looked like she left. If Dumbledore wasn’t at the castle, and neither was no one else, this was the perfect moment to snoop around his office, maybe have a look into his pensieve and memories. See what else he was hiding about her, see if he knew where the Stone was—she could get Voldemort to steal it to protect her cover—

“Headmaster,” Harry said in surprise, in the Entrance Hall.

“Harry,” Dumbledore smiled, walking down the last few steps. “What a surprise, you look lovely—”

“Glad I caught you just before you left for France.”

“Oh no, I’m done in France,” he waved off. “It was a very quick meeting, I never did get the impression that the French Minister liked me.” He narrowed his eyes at her strange expression. “Are you alright, Harry?”

“Sorry, sir,” she blinked out of the blind hatred she was feeling for him. “I’m not feeling the best today.”

“And what… do you feel exactly?” he asked cautiously, stepping closer to her.

Harry’s eyes snapped back up to him, watching him approach her like she was a wounded and scared animal. Like she was dangerous, about to attack—

“Just anger. Rage,” she muttered. “Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

His eyes widened slightly and she could see him debate how to approach this. They heard a clunk from down the hall, Harry was certain Snape was about to gatecrash their little meeting, because he was always at the castle. Good. Let him. She had a lot of steam she wanted to take out on him too.

“Perhaps we should move this conversation somewhere more private, without any interruptions,” Dumbledore suggested, offering her his arm.

It went against every “rule” Voldemort had. Apparating somewhere with Dumbledore, with no guarantee of where it will be, if she will be able to find her way back, or what would happen—was a strict no.

But Harry was fucking pissed at him too.

She took his arm, hoping they would leave Hogwarts, which was Dumbledore’s domain so long as he was alive.

Chapter Text

When her surroundings materialized, she did a short spin. They were smack dab in the middle of nowhere. An empty field with nothing but an old cabin behind them.

“Where are we?”

“A secret location, where I hide valuables,” he answered. He had to modify the wards just to let her in. Harry’s heart raced. Was the Stone here?

The cabin was pretty clean inside which meant he must be visiting it often.

“How many others know of this place?”

“Just myself… and Severus. And now you.”

What did Snape do to know this place? What did he have that made Dumbledore show him? Harry had so many questions.

“Sit,” Dumbledore said, and she did just because she wanted to, not because he had more control of the situation since he brought her to an unknown location.

(Or so Harry told herself.)

Her eyes darted around, planning escape routes because she refused to believe that she may have to tell her husband of this situation. This idiotic position she got herself in because of her temper.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

Dumbledore sat at the small table across from her.

“This… rage that you feel,” he began, looking at her closely, “Have you felt anything like this before?”

Harry glared at him. “Yes, sir, I’ve felt angry before.”

“Not angry,” he clarified. “Rage, that feels like it’s out of your body. Not your own.”

“This is my own rage,” she countered, not understanding what he was getting at. She was done answering his questions. Placing her arms on the table, she leaned forward and pinned him under her own hard gaze. “You were the one who sent me to live with my relatives.”

His expression cleared.

“Hagrid?” he murmured quietly.

Harry didn’t satisfy him with an answer. “You had me taken out of that house, before even the Aurors came, and sent to live my fucking Muggle relatives. Why?”

“What your mother did that night saved you,” he said slowly and clearly. “It’s old magic, Harry, her sacrifice protected you, and as such Voldemort could not touch you. That’s why the curse backfired. And it would keep protecting you from him as long as that protection lived. Living with your Aunt, having her accept you into her home, would keep it alive and keep Voldemort away.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Sure, that makes sense,” she said. “But you made the decision to keep me at my Aunt and Uncle’s house, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t so much my decision as it was God’s. I didn’t control who your family was. They were your last living relatives, it was either them or you’re vulnerable to Voldemort’s threats.”

“Voldemort fell after the curse backfired!” she shouted. “I was in no danger!”

“Until he would inevitably rise again,” he said.

“We couldn’t know when that would be—or how—”

“Are you angry at me because I made sure your mother’s sacrifice wasn’t for naught?”

“I’m angry at you for forcing people who didn’t want me, to take me in, Dumbledore!” she shouted, rising from her seat. “You have no idea what it was like living with them! What growing up there did to me!”

He leaned back and considered her, before softly asking, “What happened?”

“What happened?” Harry scoffed. “What happened was you left me on the fucking doorstep of a family who wanted nothing to do with me, with nothing but a letter and you expected them to be happy? You knew I was there the whole time! Why did you never come check on me?”

If Harry had known that she was magic, if Harry had known that there was a small place in the world where she belonged, everything would be different.

“Mrs. Figg did. I put her there to check on you.”

“The fucking cat lady?!” Now Harry was angrier. “But she knew I was unhappy, she knew how they treated me—”

And then a terrible thought occurred to her and she turned to look at the man as if seeing him for the first time. He claimed that as a Headmaster, he had no authority to take a child out of the care of their guardians, and sure, she could pretend like it was true that their Ministry didn’t care about magical children. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done this, possibly, deliberately.

“You knew how they were treating me.”

“Harry, sit down, let me explain.”

“You knew,” she repeated. “And you let me live there. You said you couldn’t get me out, but you didn’t even try, did you?”

“There was no safer place for you. Except Hogwarts.”

“Oh, of course, Hogwarts! You let me live with my abusive relatives because it was safer for me, but it backfired didn’t it? They were too cruel and I fled just before Hogwarts started, just before you could sink your claws into me.”

This was the real Harry Potter talking and the intensity of her frustration made him nervous.

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his forehead. “There are so many things about yourself that you don’t understand, Harry. I am sorry that you had to live with your relatives, but it was only until Hogwarts started. Then you would only have to see them for two months out of the year until you turn of age.”

“You thought I would go back to them?”

“You had to because it was the only place Voldemort couldn’t reach you.”

“That’s funny because I remember turning seventeen, and eighteen, and nineteen, and twenty and still there was no Voldemort! It was possible for me to live safely away from him!”

Dumbledore stood too, finally, and he was much taller than her but Harry wouldn’t let him use his height to overpower her. Her glare simply intensified.

“There is a lot you don’t know about yourself, Harry. When the curse backfired that night, it changed everything. I couldn’t risk anything. It was vital—not just for your safety—but everyone else’s that Voldemort. Does. Not. Find. You.”

“Why?” she spat. “Why was it so fucking important? I could fucking take him if it came to that!”

Because she had—she met him and she held her own in their duels. Meeting him actually turned her life for the better. She spiraled out of the endless doom she thought she was fated for, and instead had something promising to look forward to.

“I’m sure you could,” he said, “Until he finds out that he stored a piece of himself in you.”

Her mind froze, ice ran through her blood and she blinked at him, mute.

“W-what?” she croaked after a long stretch of silence.

“Please, sit,” he urged her. Harry dropped into her chair.

He explained the concept of Horcruxes, how Voldemort made several, how he unintentionally turned her into one. How in their initial meeting, he saw so much of Tom Riddle in her, he feared she was a lost cause, until she stated that she had love in her life. He stated that today, when she was angry, her eyes flickered red and that was confirmation to him that the Horcrux in her lived.

Harry stared silently the whole time, with only a single thought running through her head.

He knows about the Horcruxes. He knows about the Horcruxes. He knows about the Horcruxes.

“Harry?” he said gently, after minutes of silence. “Are you alright?”

“What are you going to do now?” she said hoarsely. Harry should have listened to Voldemort. Made a Horcrux a long time ago. Because now she was in danger of not only dying herself, but having the one inside her destroyed and potentially killing Voldemort too.

She couldn’t forgive herself if anything happened to him. Not when it was her fault. Not when she insisted on taking the moral high ground to achieve immortality.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. Her hands shook and her body was paralyzed in fear.

Dumbledore, for someone who was likely going to kill her, looked really concerned.

“Well, first we’re going to make sure you’re safe from him. I can offer you the best protection at Hogwarts. What do you think of staying there for the rest of the summer?”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“No, Harry, of course not,” he scowled.

“Then how will you destroy the Horcrux?”

“We will find a way. Together, we will figure out a way to remove the Horcrux from you so you’re safe.”

She didn’t buy it. Of course he would say this to lure her into a false trap.

“Right,” she said robotically, still trying to find control of her limbs. Her arms and legs felt like lead.

“Everything is going to be okay, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “In the year that I’ve known you, you’ve managed to impress me with your skill and tenacity time and time again. You’re very brave and I have no doubt in my heart that you will get through this.”

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. She was so fucked. Harry cleared her throat. “What about the rest of the… Horcruxes?”

In an effort to ease her worries, Dumbledore led her to a magically sealed cabinet in the room.

“I’ve found half already,” he said. “I was hoping you could help me find the other half.”

And inside the cabinet was the Gaunt ring, the Slytherin locket and Ravenclaw’s diadem.

Harry’s heart dropped fifty feet. She stared transfixed at evidence of her husband’s mortality—in the hands of his greatest enemy.

She let out a slow hesitant exhale.

“How will you find the others?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the precious objects.

“I believe one of the objects is Hufflepuff’s cup. The others might be his snake, and a diary from his youth.”

“How do you know all this?” she asked, her heart racing.

“I’ve had years to research. I met up with people who’ve interacted with him, gathered memories and clues that lead to all this. I was able to get my hands on these ones, but I’m afraid my efforts to acquire the other three have been fruitless.” He looked at her in interest. “But now you’re here, and you have a better understanding of his magic. You took down that curse like it was nothing. If there’s anyone who I trust can help me locate the rest of the Horcruxes it’s you.”

“Right,” she said, nodding. Harry tore her eyes off the objects and looked at him. “I don’t think you’re going to like my idea.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

“We need to wear the objects to help us find the others,” she lied. “Have you tried that?”

“I put on the ring once,” he said reluctantly. “It has many… nasty curses. The locket is dangerous too, it darkens one’s feelings and perceptions.”

“And the diadem?” she asked, reaching for it. He stopped her.

“I fear it’s too dangerous.”

Harry pulled her hand out of his grasp and took the diadem anyway. A warmth travelled through her, his soul piece recognizing the one inside her and wishing to be closer. The diadem reeked of his magic, another comfort that helped her gain the confidence for what she needed to do.

“Well, you should have started with the diadem,” she murmured, inspecting the lost artefact of Rowena Ravenclaw. “It’s what can hold information.”

She lifted the diadem with the intent to wear it when he stopped her again, more urgently.

“Harry, don’t, that can be very dangerous,” he demanded. His eyes held fear. Fear for this Horcrux joining the one in her and turning against him, rather than fear for her safety.

“It’s the only way, sir,” she whispered.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Then let me do it,” he offered. Harry kept her face blank, to not show her glee, and handed him the diadem. Even though he was handling it with care, fury erupted in Harry just seeing him holding one.

“Perhaps you should set your wand aside?” Harry suggested. “Just in case it makes you do something terrible.”

He considered this and eventually nodded. “You’re right. Besides, I have you here. I am not worried.” He set his wand on the small table and braced himself. “Before I put this on,” he said seriously, “Should anything happen to me—call Severus. Send him a Patronus message. He can heal me. Hide the other Horcruxes, and we’ll destroy them at a later time.”

Harry gave a slow nod.

Dumbledore put the diadem on and not even a second later he fell to his knees. His eyes rolled back so only the whites showed, his body jerked and convulsed and his mouth hung open as he choked on his own tongue, while she watched.

“Harry—” he gasped, blinking and his eyes directed themselves to her. “Call Severus—”

“Yes, right away, sir,” she said calmly. Harry strolled into the other room, waited a few moments before she was sure that the Horcrux had done enough damage and came back. “He is on his way.”

But she lost all care for keeping herself in character and he knew she was lying.

The diadem had been knocked off his head and a weakened Dumbledore held himself up on all fours, panting.

“You called Severus?” he gasped.

“Yes,” Harry said lazily. He looked up at her with fiery, distrustful eyes.

Finally, he was seeing the truth.

“You did this on purpose,” he muttered, keeping her gaze. She acted just a second before he could, by waving her hand and having his wand fly across the room. Dumbledore’s eyes widened at her ability to do wandless magic. “Who are you?”

“I am Harry Potter,” she said, wasting no time in restraining him to the ground.

This might be her best accomplishment to date—bring Albus Dumbledore down to his knees, wandless and weak. Not even Voldemort could do that. She felt the sheer magnitude of curses on the diadem, there was no way she would have let herself wear it. Just as she knew he would, Dumbledore offered to wear it instead. Now the effects have weakened him significantly enough that she wasn’t worried about him using wandless magic, but she still wanted to act quick, just in case.

“No, you’re not,” he grunted, breathing heavily. “I’ve met Harry Potter. She is kind, generous and loving. You are the Horcrux—”

“The Horcrux was always a part of me,” she hissed, “and it always will be.”

He froze.

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

Harry tightened her grip on her wand, wondering what would be the best way to go about his death. Quick and easy, or drag it out? She would prefer to have something grand to share with Voldemort later, but she was also not arrogant enough to believe she could get away with this murder if she dawdled. What’s to say Dumbledore hadn’t contacted Snape already?

“I don’t understand…” he mumbled.

“I went twenty-five years of my life before I met you. Did you really think that in one year, you had me all figured out?”

The fantasy he had of mentoring Harry Potter, having her help in finding the Horcruxes, molding her mind just right so she could offer herself up to die for him—suddenly vanished. Either he fucked up his own plans by forcing her to live with the people who drove her out of England before she could be manipulated, or it was simply Harry’s stroke of luck that enabled her to set her own path and thus, dodging this bullet.

“Why did you come to England?” he rasped, realizing that he was too naive in trusting a woman he thought he knew well.

“I told you. For love.”

“Love? You have Tom Riddle’s soul leeching off of yours. These are his words and actions. He cannot love.”

She didn’t bother to correct him. Harry’s soul was very much intact and whole at the moment, but she decided to go along with his logic anyway. It didn’t matter what he thought, but she wanted him to see how terribly he lost when he thought he had the upper hand.

“You know Tom Riddle so well, don’t you? I know him better,” she shared, taking immense pleasure at the confusion on his face.

Harry walked up closer to him, forcing his head to tilt back so he could see her murderous face.

“You were a fool, Dumbledore, for thinking you know everyone from just a single meeting. All it took was one meeting with Tom for you to paint him as evil. All it took was one meeting with me for you to paint me as a saint. There is no good or evil, old man. There is only power and those too weak to seek it.”

“These are his words, Harry,” he implored. “Can’t you see how this is him? This is not you.”

She struck him across his face, relishing in the sight of his bloody nose.

“This is me speaking, this is Harry Potter. This is the orphan whose life you tried to mold to fit your plans. This is the person whose life you had very little care for, yet felt entitled to. I was never going to side with you, Dumbledore, because I make my own path. I carved my own destiny. I took the prophecy and I twisted its words to fit my plans. I have everything I could possibly need. I have wealth, I have power and I have love. I’m not the poor little orphan who craves a mentor.”

She waited for him to take that in before continuing.

“I’m surprised you didn’t put it together sooner. He gave you too much credit for thinking you would,” she said.

He frowned. “Who?”

“My husband. The love that I moved here for. The person you inquired about but I brushed off because I wanted to keep his identity private. I couldn’t let the secret get out. Have you figured it out yet, Dumbledore?” she smirked. “Have you figured out why I never spoke about him? Why I sound like Voldemort when I speak?”

The realization washed over his features like icy water, and it was glorious. He looked utterly defeated.

“It’s because he is my soulmate,” she answered. She had a calm smile on her face but her eyes were cold. “In every sense of the word. He is everything to me and I will not allow you to harm him.”

She gripped his long hair and roughly tilted his head back, holding her wand at his throat.

“Harry—don’t,” he choked. “He’s not what you think he is—”

She laughed. “How would you know? I know him better than anyone. He is everything I think he is and I still love him and you’re still going to die no matter what you say. It’s a good thing no one knows about this place, right? They’ll never find your body. No one will ever know what happened to you.”

He choked and coughed when she made a small slice in his neck. Blood didn’t repel her, but killing did. As it stood, she didn’t want to kill him or anyone. But he left her no choice. He was already on thin ice when she found out how instrumental he was in her shitty childhood. He sealed his fate when he declared his intent to destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

Dumbledore grasped at her minute hesitation and tried to convince her that he could help her. It was those words that snapped her out of her trance. Harry seared the memory into her brain, of him begging and pleading for his life, before she slashed her wand across his neck cutting it clean off.

His eyes blinked a couple times, even as his body dropped, before everything went slack. Harry’s fingers were still tangled in his white hair, holding his head. The gravity of her actions caught up to her and for a solid minute she stood in her spot, shaking.

Harry couldn’t bring herself to look down at him, but for some reason her fingers refused to let go.

What was she to do now?

Her chest rose and fell in quick breaths as she looked around the small cabin. She had no idea of the wards set up in this place—she had no idea what to do.

The Horcruxes, get the fucking Horcruxes.

Her eyes drew to the cabinet and she summoned those objects as well as the diadem and his wand, storing them safely in her pocket. Unintentionally, her eyes caught sight of Dumbledore’s decapitated body and she retched. Harry closed her eyes firmly then dropped to her knees, blindly feeling for his arm.

She had to leave and she had to take the body and she had to wipe the evidence that anyone was here. No one could find him here. How was she going to get rid of the body?

Hyperventilating, Harry grabbed him and Apparated herself to the manor. She needed Voldemort. She needed him to tell her what to do because she had no idea what—

“Harry?” Voldemort called, walking down the marble steps into the Entrance Hall. “What the fuck is this—”

She turned around, staring up at him in desperation and vulnerability. His eyes widened when he took in Dumbledore’s decapitated head in her hand, dripping blood on her dress. His startled expression turned to one of pride and glee at his wife delivering his most wanted death to his feet.

“He had your Horcruxes. Wanted to destroy them,” her voice cracked as silent tears streamed down her face. His face fell, eyes turning serious. “I couldn’t let him do that,” she whispered, tossing the head aside and looking down at her hands in despair.

“Oh, darling,” he said, coming up to her and engulfing her in his arms. Harry melted in his embrace, reluctant to touch him with her bloody hands. A few more tears slipped out, wetting his robes. He cupped the back of her head and held her closer. “You did the right thing.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

Harry cleared her throat lightly, “We should make my Horcrux now.”

His lips stretched into a wide smile that she couldn’t see.

“Yes,” he agreed, smugly looking down at Dumbledore’s dead body.

***

They paraded Dumbledore’s body that evening for all the Death Eaters to celebrate his death. Harry’s question of what to do with his body was answered when Nagini ate him.

Though they never explicitly stated which one of them killed him, it was understood among their followers that Harry had a large hand in the action. She was the one closer to Dumbledore, and with her help, their lord was finally able to achieve his long-term goal. She already held a lot of their respect, as they saw that with her around their lord was kinder with them. Now they appreciate her even more, because it's clear that she is consistently making improvements around here.

When asked where she wanted to store her soul, Harry’s mind first went to her prized possessions. There was the bracelet, Voldemort’s first gift to her. There was also her wedding ring. Yet neither of these felt like the right container. They held pure memories that she didn’t want to taint with Dumbledore’s murder.

She also cherished Voldemort a lot, and there was nothing pure about him.

“Can I put it in you?” she had asked in a small, uncertain voice.

Any worry that he may not consent to having his body used as a container vanished instantly. Voldemort smiled wide, his eyes roving her face hungrily as he nodded.

He derived some sort of sick pleasure from the idea that two of them, together, ventured deeper into the Dark Arts than anyone ever has before. That they experiment with creating human Horcruxes, something no one else aside from them has ever done. That they defiled their beings by tearing a piece of their souls and putting it in each other, the only other worthy human to carry such a precious thing.

And Harry had to admit, rather than being repulsed by it, the idea fascinated her greatly. They will quite literally be soulmates this way. Twisting their fate to suit their goals and needs. If their souls were tied spiritually before, now they were tied physically too, both ways.

The ritual was painstaking, drawing just as much energy out of him as it did her because it was his precision and careful hand that ensured he cut a piece of her soul out and not his own to put in himself.

For the entirety of the next day, he grappled with the strangeness of feeling so many of her emotions. Harry had a significantly bigger chunk of her soul than he did when his soul flitted in her, so he was left feeling slightly stronger feelings than she was.

At first it worried her greatly. She couldn’t imagine how inconvenient it must be to not only feel stronger emotions after decades of detachment, but to have to feel someone else’s emotions. Any annoyance he initially had cleared away from how strong the waves of guilt that wracked her body were.

“Love, don’t put yourself through this,” he said softly, cradling her face in their bed. “It’s not that big of a deal. In fact, it’s a very small price to pay for what it’s secured for us.”

He kissed her lips softly. It was only an inconvenience to him until he realized how advantageous and wonderful it was to know her stronger feelings.

That small, tiny comment from him made her so happy that he was nearly crippled from the effect. He barely made it through his second day of feeling her emotions—not because he physically wasn’t able to. But because it boggled his mind how much she loved him. That wasn’t to say his love for her was anything small.

Just that, he didn’t realize all the little, insignificant things about him that she loved. When he realized they separated overnight and lazily threw his arm over her waist, half asleep—her heart raced. When he kissed her fingers, hand or wrist—it sent warmth through her. When she ran her own hands through his hair—it made her heart flutter.

It was—strictly—the result of the fresh new emotions that he had to pretend he got shampoo in his eyes so he could close them tightly and wipe them clean. When she inspected his red ‘shampoo-filled’ eyes, she even found that endearing and Voldemort was left to wonder what he did to deserve such a woman. To deserve such love, beyond what he ever imagined he would get. Beyond what he ever received, too.

And on the third day, when their bodies, drained from the ritual, were finally able to move like normal—they learned how elevated sex was.

Harry had lived her whole life with his soul piece in her, but sharing her own with him had an almost renewing effect on the Horcrux in her. As such, they had several rounds of mind-blowing, heightened sex. Because they could feel both their feelings, the pleasure was doubled.

“Was it always like this for you?” he panted, driving into her at a relentless pace. His eyes closed of their own accord, unable to keep up with all the sensations his body was still adjusting to.

“Not this strong, no,” she replied, tightening her grip on him. “Merlin—fuck! This is an eternity I could certainly live with,” she smiled.

He smirked down at her and captured her lips in a hot kiss as both of them hit their climax.

“Mm,” he hummed, slumped over her sweaty and naked body. His eyes flicked to the clock reading midnight. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Harry grinned and drew him in for another, softer kiss. “Thank you.”

“And here’s to many,” he continued, in between kisses, “many, more birthdays.”