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Chapter Text

Harry still didn’t like apparating, but he didn’t mind it so much when Thomas did it while holding him in his arms. He had given Hedwig’s cage to the blond man, Barty Crouch Jr.— “Always at your service, young Master, you can ask me for anything.”— and picked Harry up rather than just holding onto his arm. 

They landed on a large white platform made of stone with four pathways branched off of it. As soon as Harry’s vision steadied, he saw they were surrounded by high stone walls that reminded him of Hogwarts. They were in a courtyard of some kind and he could see through large archways to a nearby hallway where a cluster of people walked past in dark blue robes. 

Barty started talking almost as soon as they landed. “The others have worked themselves up into quite a state, Master, Bella in particular.”

“She is prone to dramatics,” Thomas said, setting Harry down on his feet beside him. He smiled fondly at him, brushing his dark curls back and cupping one cheek. “We’re almost home, darling, I just need to swing by my office before I can take you up to our rooms, okay?”

Harry nodded. “Can I take Hedwig back now?” 

“Of course, love,” Thomas said. He straightened up but he didn’t have to say anything as Barty was already handing over the cage. “Here, allow me to revive her.” He drew his wand and cast silently at her.

Harry lifted the cage up with both hands, peering in and watching as Hedwig stirred back to awareness. She hooted softly at him, fluffing her feathers in that way she always did when waking up. Harry grinned at her and said, “We’ve finished traveling, Hedwig. Do you want to come with me and Thomas to our new room or should I let you fly?”

She fluttered her wings, shuffling back and forth on her bar so Harry set down the cage and let her fly free. She circled around them a few times before flying off, swooping in the direction Harry saw other birds moving. 

As Harry closed up the cage, Thomas said, “I’m sure she’ll get used to being here very quickly, love.” He held out his hand to him again. 

“I think she’ll love it here,” Harry said as he took Thomas’s hand. “Though, anywhere is better than the Dursleys and the only other place she’s been is Hogwarts. I can take her with me to Hogwarts here, right?”

“Of course,” Thomas said, “I wouldn’t have you bring your familiar with you and then make you leave her at home. Besides, I hope you’ll write to me while you’re away and have her bring them to me.”

They were walking down one of the stone paths and through an archway, into a covered hallway that soon turned into a true hallway as they stepped through some doors. Barty followed behind them silently enough that Harry almost forgot he was there. He squeezed Thomas’s hand. “You’re sure? My handwriting is kind of terrible… What if they’re hard to read, would you still want them?”

“Does the tree want the rain?” Thomas asked with a half-smile on his lips, “Darling, I want all of your letters and I know that given enough practice and motivation, you’ll write as beautifully as can be.”

Harry blushed a little at that. He did already feel quite motivated to write neater, knowing that Thomas would be the one to read his letters. Now that they were back home, he was sure Thomas would be busy all the time like adults always seemed to be, so it would be rude to make Thomas spend unnecessary amounts of time just trying to read Harry’s letters. 

They passed a group of people all wearing very similar dark blue robes, though the one at the head of the line also wore a pale yellow cloth that looked like a scarf but was much too long and smooth looking. They stopped and greeted Thomas by bowing and murmuring various greetings like “Good evening to you, my lord,” or “Blessed evening, Lord Prior.”

He saw a few of them glance at him curiously, but they didn’t ask and didn’t stare too long, seemingly much more interested in looking at Thomas. 

In response, Thomas nodded to them and said, “Good evening, all. Brother Walter, how does the orchard fare?” 

The man with the white scarf smiled broadly. Harry saw he had darkened skin, like he spent a lot of time in the sun, and there were wrinkles at his eyes and around his mouth, showing he smiled a lot. “The summer pruning is just about finished, my lord. We should have plenty of wood for working this autumn and even a good half-cord for drying and smoking. I believe Sister Genevieve has been minding the first harvest of apricots and nectarines.”

One of the others in blue, a much younger man that Harry thought might even only be seventeen or eighteen, piped up, “The apricots are better this year than even last year’s, my lord! They’re incredibly sweet!” 

Brother Walter closed his eyes for a moment, looking somewhat exasperated when he glanced at the young man, but Thomas just nodded seriously.

“Thank you for telling me,” Thomas said, “I am glad to hear the harvest went well. Excuse me, however, duty calls.”

The others all hurriedly bid him goodbye and walked off while Harry and Thomas, with Barty in tow, went on their way.

“Who were they?” Harry asked when he was reasonably sure they were out of earshot. 

“Those are a few of the others that live here as well, darling.” He must have saw Harry’s surprise because he chuckled faintly and said, “Don’t worry, I have a home separate from the Abbey that will just be for the two of us, but I do a lot of my work here for various reasons.”

“Like what?” 

“Well, for one thing, there is the presence of several strong ley lines that run through this area. You recall our conversations on ley lines, yes?”

Harry nodded. It had been one of their lunch-lessons; Thomas had told him all about the magical pathways of the world and how they interlocked with each other occasionally, making great concentrated pockets of magic that could be tapped into if one knew how. Stonehenge was near one, but apparently there was one here too! 

“Such ambient magic is what makes this place thrive,” Thomas said, “It also assists those who are less magically capable, allowing them to partake in the more passive magical practices of the average wixen. You’ve heard of squibs before?”

Harry nodded. Mr. Filch had been one at Hogwarts, and Thomas had mentioned that Ms. Figg had as well, which Harry thought was a weird coincidence since she lived down the street from the Dursleys. 

“Many of those who live here are considered squibs,” Thomas said. They were fully inside a building now, passing up a set of wide stone steps that were illuminated by glowing stones carved into flames that were high up on the wall. There were tapestries between the elevated lights and other doorways, much like at Hogwarts, but no paintings that he saw. The tapestries were mostly colorful patterns with strange letters stitched into them—runes, Harry thought, though he wasn’t good at identifying them yet.

“All squibs are welcome here at the Abbey, though they are free to choose to stay with their families. However, it is considered an honor to live here. They are taught the types of magic they can use, such as potioneering and herbology, various types of animal husbandry, and can help prepare the highly particular and often consumed ritual items necessary, such as the sand and candles that I used before.” Thomas explained as they walked. “There is even a second monastery in southern France that they can travel to once they are of age. It is important to broaden one’s horizons, after all.”

“Can we visit there?” Harry asked. 

“Of course,” Thomas said without even a moment of hesitation. “Would you like to go this summer or next?”

“Next, I think,” Harry said, “I’ve still got to get used to everything here, you know.”

“I do know, love, I do,” Thomas teased him with a smile. They came to a stop in front of a large set of double doors. “Now, the other reason that I often frequent the Abbey is for this room.” He let go of Harry’s hand and ushered him forwards with a gentle press against his back. “Go on. Open the doors.”

Curious and cautious, Harry walked forward and carefully pushed open the door so he could poke his head inside. 

His jaw dropped at the sight inside.

He had thought that Hogwarts’ library was the largest, most incredible library he had ever seen but that was wrong. That was so, so wrong.

The room in front of him opened up to a large open chamber with one, two, three floors at least. He could see balcony railings lining the walls, showing more shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books than he’d ever seen in one place before. Harry gaped at the sight and knew in his heart that Hermione would love this room.

“Wow,” he whispered. “This is amazing.” 

He saw books floating along through the air and saw a blonde woman on the third level walking past one shelf and over to another and out of sight. As he got used to the sheer number of books and amount of space in this room—space that he was slowly realizing must be magically made because there was no way this giant room fit inside of the building they were in now!—he saw more people all around. There were a few clusters of them at various tables, others who walked alone in the shelves, even a tall man with a younger teenager following behind with an armful of books. 

He finally noticed the librarian as well, sitting behind a large oak desk. The man there had long dark hair and gray eyes. He was older, Harry guessed, but he couldn’t be sure how much older. Considering how young Thomas looked when he was eighty-six, he could only guess that this man was at least thirty years old.

The man noticed him peeking in and gave him a slight smile. “Good evening, young man. Are you lost?”

Harry squeaked and poked his head back out. “There’s a man— The librarian—” He whispered to Thomas, “Who is he?”

“Shall I introduce you? Or would you like to do it yourself?” Thomas asked in response.

Harry hesitated. His heart beat a little faster at the questions, not because he was uncertain or even confused, but because Thomas asked. He would let Harry be mature and ask himself, or he would help Harry and take over for him— all he had to do was ask. 

“Introduce me?” Harry whispered back. 

“With pleasure, my darling,” Thomas brushed his hair back from his cheek, in a move he was very fond of doing, and said, “But first let me take care of this cage, hm? We can resize it for Hedwig later.” He tapped his finger to the cage and shrank it down. Harry put it into his pocket as Thomas pushed open the door and gestured for him to follow. 

As soon as Thomas stepped through, the man behind the counter straightened up, eyes widening, and he greeted them quickly, “Good evening, my lord!” 

“Regulus,” Thomas said in that semi-serious tone he used with everyone but Harry, “Good evening. All is well in the library?”

“Yes sir,” Regulus said, “Things have been a little restless in your absence, but nothing I can’t handle, sir. The worst of it was a bit of an argument in the Arithmancy section between Mr. Rookwood and Ms. Nott. But I do think they settled it amicably enough.”

“That is excellent to hear,” Thomas said. He rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, urging him to stand at his side instead of half behind him. “Regulus, this is Harry Potter.” Looking more at Harry, he said, “Darling, this is Regulus Black.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harry said politely. “Are you the librarian here?”

“I’m one of several,” Regulus said, “Though I’m the one most often here in the evenings. It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Potter.” He glanced up from Harry to Thomas, biting his lip for a moment before his expression smoothed out and he cleared his throat. “I take it your trip went well then, my lord?”

“Most certainly,” Thomas said with a touch of warmth. “Harry will be staying with me from now on, which I suspect means that you will be seeing a lot of him in the library. Darling?” His tone became even warmer as he looked down at Harry, meeting his gaze. “As one who is in charge of the often fragile tomes of the library, Regulus holds a great deal of my trust. While you will always be more precious to me than any ancient tome ever could be, I do trust him to look after you while you are in his company. He’s very well informed in the contents of this library and the world at large, so feel free to pester him with all those questions you have when I am unavailable to you, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said. Before he could say another thing, however, there was a sharp cry, much louder than the other noise of the library, and it made him jump, turning to face it with his heart leaping in his chest. The shriek was one of joy, he realized belatedly, as a dark haired woman came all but bursting out of the deeper shelves. 

“I knew this would be your first stop!” she cried, “I bet Pippa and Frankie both that you’d return and immediately return to the library, my lord. Oh they will be so jealous to know I was right yet again!” 

She was a very beautiful woman, Harry thought once he got over the shock of seeing her. She had dark red lips and dark eyes and when she smiled it was fierce, reminding Harry of a tiger about to pounce. She wore a dark red dress that hung off one shoulder, the open neckline revealing the colored edges of what looked like some sort of red-orange tattoo. 

“Bella,” Thomas greeted her.

“My Lord,” Bella swept into a deep curtsey once she was close. As she rose, her gaze fell on Harry and, after a split second of consideration, she curtsied again, just as deeply, “Little Lord.”

Harry blushed a little at the response. It reminded him far too much of people fawning over him for his ‘celebrity status’ as Snape always put it. “Um, hello. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Bella?”

Rising from her curtsey, Bella laughed brightly as she clasped her hands together at her chest. “Oh but you are such a doll. Miss Bella, did you hear that Barty? Such a sweetheart our little Lord is. Miss Bella. I do love how that sounds.”

“Where is Rod?” Barty asked her, “Or are you lurking in the shelves alone tonight?”

“Why Barty, it’s boy’s night!” Bella said with a wave of her hand, “They’re out causing a ruckus, the dear things. I thought it best to let them have their fun, it is the summer after all!” 

“And you wished to greet our Lord first,” Barty said, then with a quick smirk added, “After myself of course.”

Bella shot him a sharp look, but before she did more than open her mouth, Thomas said firmly, “Enough. No sniping tonight. It is my first night back in a while and I will not have bickering from either one of you. You can save that for a gathering of the flames later this week. I have an announcement I intend for everyone to hear, but not tonight. Tonight I am settling in with Harry and recovering from travel. Even I feel the strain after crossing through dimensions.”

“Of course, my lord,” Barty said immediately.

“Is there anything that I can assist you with, my lord?” Bella offered. 

“Get in touch with Rowle, inform him that I’ll be in need of his services…” Thomas’s words trailed off and he turned to Harry, “Darling, I’d like to have you fitted for a new wardrobe. When would you like to do so, tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Um,” Harry didn’t really know what that entailed. He had visions of standing on a stool for hours while someone poked him with pins and shivered. “How long will it take?”

“After the mannequin is attuned to your body, it shouldn’t be too long,” Thomas said, “It will mostly be picking out colors, patterns and fabrics.”

“Oh, okay, then the afternoon would be fine,” Harry said, “I don’t want to have to rush in the morning for company.”

“Then we will not,” Thomas said. He brushed Harry’s hair back and bent down to kiss his forehead gently. Harry blushed brightly, feeling nervous while the others watched them. Straightening up, his expression cooled again as he turned to Bella, “Tomorrow afternoon at two. I expect Rowle to be prepared with an unattuned mannequin and his entire selection of fabrics.”

“It will be done, my lord,” Bella said fervently. She bowed this time and rushed off, leaving Harry with Thomas, Barty and Regulus. 

“Come, darling,” Thomas said, offering his hand to Harry, “Shall we continue? I have a feeling we’ll be running into more friendly faces at my study doors.”

Harry nodded, taking his hand and letting Thomas lead him out of the library again. He did remember to wave goodbye to Regulus, though, and was happy to get a surprised wave back. 

Once in the hallway again, Harry tried to pay better attention to where they were going. If Thomas worked here, then Harry would be just as often. And if he knew anything about adults and their work, he’d never be allowed to stay in the same room as him while Thomas was busy because he’d be too much of a distraction. 

“This place is so big,” Harry said, a little bit intimidated by that fact. It felt almost as big as Hogwarts! He said as much to Thomas, which made the man chuckle a little.

“It is large, that is true, but that is because the Abbey doubles as a home not just for squibs but for any wix who desires to devote themself to their spiritual and mental edification.” He must have seen Harry’s furrowed brows when he glanced down, because he explained further, “In fact, part of the Abbey is devoted to a very prestigious Academy that is designed to further the education of adults. While Hogwarts is the preeminent education facility for youths, there has always been very little established in the way of educating oneself to a master’s degree in understanding of their chosen subject except exclusively through apprenticeship with previous masters. 

“However, with how sparse the population is and how prone wix are to self-isolation due to age and location, such masters are often lost to us and we remain at a lower level of understanding. Here at the Abbey,” he gestured around them as he spoke, indicating the whole building they were in, “Masters travel in from all over to reside and to teach. Sometimes they are here for a year or more, sometimes they bring whole families with them, once an entire village. 

“We have to have space for all of them, you see, and allow them to stay in the Abbey while more permanent settlements are made nearby, if they choose to permanently move here.” He paused here and gave Harry a wink, eyes glinting as he said, “And they very often do choose to stay.”

“So…there’s a village outside the Abbey?” Harry asked, because if people were moving in all of the time, wouldn’t that mean they’d have lots of people inside looking to build a home?

“Darling,” Thomas smiled, “There is far more than a village. I’ll show you after we go to my study, which is just through that door.”

Said door was slightly ajar, and as they approached it, someone inside pulled it open to greet them. 

“My lord!” Came a chorus of voices. There were five people waiting inside, all adults that Harry didn’t recognize, though one of them was vaguely familiar to him. “You’ve returned!”

“Welcome back,” said a shorter woman with light brown skin and auburn hair in ringlets around her round face. She wore layered robes of shades of red and golden earrings the glittered when she moved. She was the first one to notice Harry and gasped loudly at the sight of him. “Oh! You’ve found him?”

Thomas waved one hand and the cluster parted quickly, allowing him entry with Harry trailing behind, hand-in-hand. Barty followed Harry in and shut the door, enclosing them in a rather spacious sitting room. Harry kept close to Thomas’s side as he looked around. This was Thomas’s study? With the several plush chairs and couches, the walls covered in books and the large fireplace, he thought he could sort of see it. But where was his desk? 

The five new people quickly distracted him from looking around. There was another woman with even darker skin, hair and eyes. She was the second tallest besides a very pale man, and wore robes of a soft shade of purple. Once they were inside, she and the other woman both curtseyed while the men bowed, all of them properly greeting Thomas like Bella had done. 

Two of the men looked similar enough to perhaps be cousins, both tall and pale, though one was a little shorter than the dark skinned woman and had short light brown hair and matching eyes. The tallest man was the most pale and gaunt of them, with pointed, sharp features and dark eyes and hair. The last man was shorter, tanner, and broader, his cheeks round and eyes bright. He was barrel chested and looked strong. 

“Darling,” Thomas said, “These are more of my most trusted, much like Bella and Barty. Frank here was even one of my apprentices for a short time, isn’t that correct, Frank?”

The shortest man nodded. “Indeed it is, my lord. I learned quite a lot while at your side, sir, more than my mastery in Arithmancy called for.” 

“Our lord is very giving when it comes to one’s education,” the tallest man said quietly, “There is no greater effort than to better oneself.”

“That is true, Marcelinus,” Thomas agreed. Then he placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “Ah, but I should introduce you all first. Darling, these five are Marcelinus Nott, Elstan Selwyn, Zuhriyaa Shafiq, Frank Longbottom, and Patricia Macmillian.”

“Please, call me Pippa,” Patricia said with a titter of laughter. She was the shorter woman with the ringlets and Harry had to agree, Pippa was a good name for her. 

“Everyone,” Thomas said to them, “This is Harry Potter.”

They greeted him happily enough, Harry thought, some smiling as they came up to shake his hand, some just giving him serious nods. Harry was relieved about that; he’d worried that they wouldn’t like him because his counterpart had been a terrorist who fought against them. He couldn’t imagine why his counterpart would do such a thing, especially if this was the kind of place that Thomas helped make. 

Then again, Thomas had said that the group fought against the Ministry, not the Abbey, so maybe they never fought here? He’d have to ask later and find out.

“Now, I have just a few things I need to take care of in my office before I retire,” Thomas said and Harry’s stomach dropped as he realized he was about to be abandoned to these strangers who were staring at him with such curious eyes. “So if you’ll excuse us?”

It was with a powerful relief that Harry realized Thomas was steering him away from the new people and over to a door that he hadn’t really noticed before. It was narrow and tucked between two bookshelves, but when they went through it opened to a very nice room with a large window and, just as Harry suspected, a very large, dark wood desk. Harry was so distracted with how the room looked that he almost missed the shiver of magic that washed over him as they went through.

There was a much smaller couch nearby the window, a two-seater that had a throw pillow and blanket on it. Thomas urged Harry to go sit there while he went to the desk to write a few things down and Harry went readily enough. 

On the couch, he peered out the window which opened out to the courtyard they had appeared in earlier. The sun had fully set by now, but he could still see down into the courtyard from the moonlight above, the occasional beam of light from a lit window and, oddly enough, from the white stone pathway they’d walked. It almost seemed to glow in the darkness, like it had absorbed the sunlight and was reflecting it back like those glow in the dark plastic stars that people put up on their walls. 

Harry was lost in his thoughts, remembering those plastic stars and how much he’d wanted just one to put up in his cupboard when he was little. He had read about wishing on a star at night, but never got to see the night sky since he was always locked away right after dinner up until he was nine. At nine, he’d finally been old enough for Aunt Petunia to occasionally send him down to the market to pick up something she forgot to buy, like toilet paper or something. 

He’d stare at the stars the whole way back, wishing on each and every one of them that someone would come take him away from the Dursleys. When his letter to Hogwarts came, he thought that maybe that wish had come true but now he thought differently.

Thomas was his wish come true because Thomas took him away from not just the Dursleys but from everything he once knew.

The realization of that sat heavily on Harry’s chest, pressing down and making it hard to get a full breath of air. He struggled in silence for a while, panting and then gasping. Before panic could really settle in, Thomas was there in front of him, kneeling down with one hand on his chest and the other on the side of his neck. His skin was warm to the touch and Harry could feel the push of something soft leaving Thomas and entering his body through his skin. Suddenly, he could take a deep breath of air and he realized that Thomas was whispering to him, soft and worried. 

“You’re all right, love. You’re okay. Just breathe. Just take a deep breath in. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry nodded his head several times and Thomas slowly pulled his magic back again. He stood, but instead of just going back to his desk, he sat beside Harry on the couch and pulled him into his lap. Harry went readily enough, clinging to him and pressing his face against his neck. 

Thomas ran a soothing hand up and down his back. “You’re okay, love, I promise. You’re fine.”

Harry shuddered. 

“I want you to repeat it back to me, come on,” Thomas murmured. “Repeat it with me. I’m okay. I’m all right. I can breathe and I’m fine.”

Harry dutifully repeated the words until Thomas was satisfied and his breathing was totally under control again. He then continued to hide his face, ashamed of whatever that was, until Thomas coaxed him to lean back. He examined his face and then smiled, “There’s my handsome little love.”

Harry blushed even worse and tried to hide again, but Thomas wouldn’t let him, cupping his face in his hands to pepper him with kisses until he was squirming in place. “Thomas!” 

Everything came to a stop as Thomas’s lips pressed against his, gentle at first and then more firmly, a pressure that Harry couldn’t ignore. He kissed back, not sure if he was doing it right. Thomas didn’t complain, though, only drew back slowly with a soft, fond look on his face that made Harry’s insides all turn to mush. “Do you feel better now, darling?”

Harry nodded mutely. Kisses, it seemed, could fix almost anything.

“Do you want to stay here or sit with me at my desk?”

Shyly, Harry asked, “Your desk?”

“All right,” Thomas said. He tucked his arms around Harry and stood with a little grunt of effort. Carrying Harry over to his desk he said, “I know you’re so light because you’re underfed, my dear, and that is something that we must change, but I will miss being able to carry you around so easily.”

“Will I get taller too?” Harry asked as Thomas settled down in his chair again and rearranged Harry on his lap so that he was sitting with his back to Thomas’s chest. He twisted his head around to look up at him as they spoke.

“I would assume so,” Thomas said, “How do you feel about meeting with a Healer this week? I would feel more comfortable if we understood what sort of…damage the muggles did to you as you grew up. Knowing what was done, we will be able to make steps in fixing it.”

“We will?”

“Of course. Did I not tell you, darling? With enough will, there is nothing that cannot be done with magic.” He bent down to kiss Harry’s temple. “Either through rituals or potions, I will have your health restored to you as much as you wish it to be.”

“Oh wow,” Harry breathed out a deeply pleased sigh, leaning back against Thomas’s chest and staring up at the ceiling. “Magic is really wonderful. Thomas? Can we make glow in the dark stars for my room?”

“We can do better than that, darling,” Thomas said. His voice was soft and so warm, right next to Harry’s ear. It made him shiver all over. “We can transform the ceiling of our bedroom to act like the one of the Great Hall in Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry twisted around to look up at Thomas again, utterly delighted. “We can?”

Thomas kissed the tip of his nose and said, “Why don’t we consider it our first magical project together? You decide what you want it to look like and what you want it to show and I will write some equations to see how best to get it done. No matter what the final spell is, if it’s a ritual or something else, we’ll be sure to do it together. How does that sound?”

Harry loved the sound of that, he absolutely did. He threw his arms around Thomas and hugged him tightly, unable to express his excitement and happiness in any other way. He even kissed him, though it was a light kiss on the jaw, not really next to his lips at all. Thomas threaded his long fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and turning his head. 

Heart hammering hard in his chest, Harry stared up at Thomas as he brought their faces close again. They were so close that he could feel Thomas’s breath on his lips, feel them brush against him as he murmured, “I promised I would see to your happiness, didn’t I?”

Harry nodded, unable to form a coherent thought. His throat was dry, his eyes wide. Thomas was so close. Was he going to kiss him again? On the lips?

“Would you like me to kiss you, darling?” 

“Please?” 

With a smile, Thomas closed that distance, pressing his lips to Harry’s and giving him a warm, gentle kiss. This one went longer than the other ones as Thomas moved his lips a little against Harry’s and cradled Harry’s head as his neck went limp. With a teasing nip to Harry’s bottom lip, Thomas drew back and said, “Satisfied, my dear?”

Harry nodded again, blushing furiously. He ducked his head to hide against Thomas’s neck, his stomach twisting around in knotted butterflies while his heart bounced around his chest like it was jumping from rib bone to rib bone. Even though they were alone he still felt somewhat embarrassed about kissing Thomas and so he hid against him while Thomas got back to whatever his paperwork was. 

He swiftly lost track of time after that, dozing a little in Thomas’s lap while he waited. He woke up when Thomas stood up, one arm tucked under Harry’s knees and the other behind his back. Harry yawned and leaned against him, putting one arm around Thomas’s shoulders and pillowing his cheek on it so his glasses didn’t poke Thomas any. 

The door to the study opened with a soft word from Thomas and he swept out, still carrying Harry in his arms.

There were only two people left in the first room, Barty and Frank. Harry belatedly realized that of course he recognized the man’s name—it was the same as Neville’s, his classmate in Hogwarts. When that realization hit him, he sit up a little and made a noise of surprise, blurting out, “Do you know Neville?”

All three men stopped moving abruptly, Barty and Frank who were getting to their feet quickly and Thomas in stepping further into the room. The other two stared at him and he felt rather than heard Thomas’s chest moving like he was restraining from laughing. Embarrassed, Harry cleared his throat. “Mr. Longbottom, I meant to ask— Do you know a Neville Longbottom?”

Frank blinked a few times and then gave a bright smile. “Know one? Of course I do. He’s my son. A rather strapping lad these days, always has his head down in the weeds of the greenhouses, he does. Unless you meant a different Neville?”

“I don’t know my Neville’s parent’s names,” Harry admitted. “But I know he used to live with his gran. She seemed pretty strict and he talked about how she had hats with large dead birds on them.”

Frank laughed loudly, “Yes, that does sound like my mother. I take it that you knew of Neville from your world?”

Harry nodded and then hesitated. He peered up at Thomas and whispered, “Is it okay for him to know? I mean… It isn’t a secret where I’m from, is it?”

“It is not a secret from my most faithful,” Thomas responded, “Though I did not anticipate keeping it a secret from anyone. After all, everyone understands that a soulmate is very precious and that it was a terrible tragedy for mine to have avoided me at the behest of another.”

“We always hoped that he would see reason,” Frank said quietly, “My wife Alice and I, we both knew James and Lily before they got involved with the Order. We were friends and fellow Housemates in Hogwarts, but we couldn’t get through to them in the end.” He shook his head, looking somber.

“I never knew my parents,” Harry said quietly, looking down and away. “They died protecting me from Voldemort when I was a baby.”

Both Barty and Frank reacted to that, but not with the fearful jumping that Harry was used to. Barty grimaced and shook his head slightly while Frank gave a quiet gasp, eyes widening. “Voldemort is active in your world as well?” Frank asked, “And no one has bound him?”

Before Harry could ask what that meant, Thomas said quietly, “Frank.” 

Frank immediately put up a hand and bowed slightly, “Forgive me if I’ve misspoken, my lord. I was simply surprised.”

“What did he mean?” Harry asked, sitting up a little, much more awake and very curious now. “You can bind him? How?”

“I’m sure our lord has plans to explain it all to you,” Frank said with an apologetic smile, “I’m sure I would muddy it up somehow in the explanation, getting it out of order as usual.” 

“Thomas?” Harry asked him next, a fragile glimmer of hope shining through his voice, “Is it true? Can you bind Voldemort?”

Thomas set Harry down on his feet and then put his hands on his shoulders, going down to one knee to be at a more similar height. “Remember when I told you that the Voldemort of my world would be of no concern? Part of the reason for that is because I believe the one who inhabits your world and the one who inhabits this one are very different creatures. Yours is a wraith-being, barely strong enough to possess a man— There is fear that powers him, but not true faith and magic. It is a parasite, violent and desperate and unable to rise to true power. 

“However, the Voldemort of this world is quite different. He is wiser than his counterpart. He realizes that true power is not found entirely in oneself but in collaboration with others.” Thomas lifted his hands and held them up, pressing them palm to palm and interlocking his fingers together until he held them in a joint fist. 

“When I was on my pilgrimage as a young man, I came across Voldemort as one of the various beings of great power. He tried to trick me and possess my body for his own benefit, however I was able to trick him in return. When he sought to bind me, I used a powerful ritual to return the binding onto him, catching him in a net of my power.” Thomas lifted his arms up and over Harry so that he was caught in the circle and held there. Thomas smiled at him as he pulled him closer. “I was just strong enough to bring back the bound Voldemort to Britain, but I needed others to help me bind him further. Every holy day we perform rites as a community to offer our power to the binding that holds Voldemort so that we can have access to the vast realm of knowledge he has to offer us.” 

He pulled Harry closer as he spoke, his words so intense, so captivating, that Harry couldn’t look away from his face. When they were close enough that Harry was able to feel his body heat, Thomas whispered, “I promised you have nothing to fear from Voldemort while you are with me here and I meant every word, my love. Voldemort will do nothing to harm you as you are a part of me and I have bound him to protect what is mine as fiercely as he would protect his own self. Do you understand, darling?”

Harry nodded. He felt a little teary eyes, though he blinked quickly so he didn’t actually shed any tears. He felt as if a huge burden lifted from his shoulders, almost completely the opposite of the feeling before, where he’d felt crushed with the realization of what he’d done. “I’m safe?” He asked, his voice wavering slightly.

“You are safe,” Thomas told him.

“Promise?”

Thomas gave him a gentle smile, “I promise.”

Harry flung his arms around Thomas’s neck and hugged him tightly. Thomas hugged him back, one hand cradling the back of Harry’s head. He felt his feet being swept from beneath him once more as Thomas stood, lifting Harry up as he did. 

Still hugging onto Thomas, Harry mumbled, “Can we go home now, please?”

“Of course, love,” Thomas said soothingly. A little louder he said, “Barty, dispatch these letters. Frank, inform the full circle we will be assembling in three days time, at high noon in half-regalia. That is all, gentlemen, goodnight.” 

There was a murmur of ‘goodnight, Lord Prior,’ as Thomas turned away and Harry ducked his head so he didn’t see them staring at him as Thomas carried him away. 

Walking down the hallway, with only the sound of Thomas’s boots clicking on the stone to accompany them, Thomas asked softly, “Would you mind terribly if I carried you the rest of the way, love? I don’t feel like taking you out of my arms just yet.”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled, holding tighter to Thomas himself. He didn’t really want to be put down either, even if it was a little strange to be carried around. He adjusted his legs a little, hooking them higher on Thomas’s hips while Thomas put his forearm under his thighs. “I like being carried sometimes.”

Truthfully, Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d been carried except for by Thomas. He supposed Petunia had to have done so when he was very little but maybe not. Could he walk when he was left at the Dursleys? Had Petunia ever picked him up at all?

Before Harry knew it, they were going through another set of doors, however this time instead of the tiny magical shiver he felt, it was almost a complete change in pressure. Harry hadn’t noticed how cool the Abbey walls were until they were in this section, where the air was several degrees warmer and much more humid. 

Lifting his head, Harry noticed that the regular cool gray stone was different as well. The floor was made out of dark wood and the walls were made out large stone slabs that were light gray in color. The tapestries were gone but the lighting was still made out of those shaped stones on the wall, though these ones had a much more detailed look than the flames of the Abbey’s walls. 

“We have several rooms here. I’ll show them to you in the morning,” Thomas murmured as he headed to the end of the hall and then to a door on the left. “For now, the only room you need to worry about is this one. Our bedroom.”

He stepped in and with a casual wave of his hand illuminated the room. 

Harry looked up, turning around a little so he could see the room in all its glory. It was large, even larger than the Dursleys’ living room, with an enormous four poster bed with sheer white curtains. The bedding itself was dark blue and green, looking almost like a square cut of the ocean, even with a white pillow or two like seafoam. 

The room had a wood floor like the hallway, but there was a large rug that was spread across it and opposite the bed on the other side of the room was a large fireplace with a black stone mantel and a few couches that looked amazing for lounging in. Of course, there were bookshelves as well, though they carried more scrolls on higher levels than they did books. 

A few doors were attached to the room, which Harry assumed to most likely be the bathroom and the closet, though there was a door to a third room and he couldn’t guess what it was for. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Harry noticed that it was nice enough, though nothing fancy. He could already imagine a star-studded sky on the high arch panels and floating candles like in the Great Hall. He did notice the lighting was different in here as well, as a ring of lights appeared at the center of the room, slowly brightening when Thomas had waved his hand until they were as bright as moonlight on a full moon night.

Thomas set Harry down on his feet and straightened up, brushing a lock of hair back behind his ear. “The bathroom is just through there, the closet is there and that door leads you to somewhere nice I’ll show you tomorrow, okay?”

Harry nodded. He felt pretty tired after the travel and the excitement. “Are we going to bed now?”

“I was going to take a bath first, but yes,” Thomas said. He tilted his head to the side and his dark eyes ran over Harry for a long, evaluating minute. “Do you want to join me in the bath?”

Blinking a few times, it took a minute for that to sink in before Harry blushed brightly. Sitting naked in a tub with Thomas? Oh no. No he couldn’t! Thomas would see how skinny he was—He already mentioned how thin Harry was, how light he was to carry. Harry wasn’t going to show him just how bad it used to be. He shook his head quickly and blurted, “No, I’m okay! I can just shower!”

Thomas chuckled and then kissed his forehead. “All right, then let me get your trunk out so you can have something to wear…unless you want to borrow a tunic of mine? It wouldn’t be too dissimilar to what you wear to bed now.”

Harry could’ve sworn all the blood in his body was in his face. He nodded his head at that suggestion—getting to wear Thomas’s shirts? Yes please! They must smell as nice as he did! 

“I’ll pull something out for you while you shower then,” Thomas said. He drew out Harry’s trunk anyway and un-shrunk it, levitating it over to the wall next to the closet door. Harry went and fished out clean underwear before heading into the bathroom to take a shower.

He faltered a step when he was inside, confronted with gleaming gray tile and gold fixtures and a large mirror and a larger sink and an even larger shower stall with clear glass walls. All of this paled in comparison to the  rather enormous tub in the opposite corner from the shower. Harry gaped at it for a long time, long enough that Thomas came in after him and, with an amused chuckle, urged him to the shower. 

“Over there with you,” Thomas said teasingly, “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Harry almost said yes, but then he remembered that would put him naked in the pool with Thomas and he was just too nervous for that to happen. So instead he denied that he had changed his mind and hurried over to the showering area.

He stripped down to nothing very quickly, leaving his old trainers tucked under the bench he left his clothes on. After fiddling with the water settings, Harry found the perfect temperature and he stepped in. Almost immediately the steam began to fog up the glass walls, enclosing Harry in some lovely, lavender scented mist as he washed away all the grime from the day. 

While he showered, he heard the door open and shut again and then the sound of more water running. Curious to see what Thomas was doing, Harry brushed his fingers over the glass of the shower to smudge away the condensation that had gathered there so he could see through again. He caught a glimpse of Thomas’s side and back just as he stepped into the bath. Harry blushed, realizing he was basically spying on Thomas while he was naked, and hurriedly turned away. 

When Harry finished his shower, he suddenly realized that he was going to have to walk naked across the room in front of Thomas. He hesitated in the shower stall, not sure what exactly he should do. He could poke his head out, find the towels, dash over and hurry to wrap himself up, but would that make Thomas laugh at him for being so silly? Or would Thomas be upset if he realized Harry was trying to hide his body? They had dressed in front of each other for a while now, but that seemed so different than naked and wet. 

“Darling?” Thomas asked with concern in his voice, “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Harry chewed on his bottom lip and then sighed. Was he or was he not a Gryffindor? He should be brave about silly things like this. Thomas would understand the issue and know how to fix it. He wouldn’t make fun of Harry for something that he was worried about! “I forgot to bring a towel over? Um. Where are they?”

“They are on a hook by the door,” Thomas said, “Would you like me to close my eyes while you cross the room?”

Relieved at such an easy solution, Harry said instantly, “Yes please.”

“Alright, I will.” 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment as well. Thomas made things so easy. He never made Harry feel stupid or foolish or unnecessary in any way. He was just perfect. 

Harry stepped out of the shower and looked first to the door, spotting the towel just where he was told it was, then he glanced at Thomas in the tub. The water was up to the middle of Thomas’s chest and he was reclined back against the side with his head on what looked like a little pillow. His eyes were closed. Just like he promised.

Hurriedly, Harry crossed the room and then pulled down the large towel. He scrubbed his hair first and then wrapped it around himself. The towel was practically a blanket so Harry wore it sort of like a toga—around the middle and over the shoulder. Before he left the room, however, he was struck with an urge he couldn’t resist.

Sneaking back over to the side of the tub, Harry crept up close to Thomas. Once near enough, he leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He felt Thomas start to smile and when he leaned back again, his face was turned towards him, but his eyes were still closed. “There you are,” Thomas said quietly, “Did you find the towels?”

“I did.”

“Well, may I open my eyes then?” He asked with a smile.

“No you may not,” Harry said. 

“Then how will I be able to look at my handsome little love?” Thomas asked, brows arching up in an expression of concern. “I’m awfully fond of doing so, you know.”

“You can open them in a second, I want to do something first,” Harry said, feeling bolder with Thomas’s response. He put his hand on Thomas’s cheek, like Thomas had done so many times with him, and leaned in. 

He tentatively brushed his lips over Thomas’s. When Thomas did nothing but smile at him in response, Harry did it again, more firmly. Thomas kissed him right back. It was just as warm and gentle as before, though Thomas caught his bottom lip again at the end of the kiss when Harry began to pull away. 

“Oh darling,” Thomas murmured with a voice thick in affection, “May I have one more before you go?”

“Mmm okay,” Harry giggled, “Just one more.” The next kiss was as easy as the one before, though this time Harry pressed more into it. Kissing Thomas was so easy, so pleasant, so wonderful. Harry was beginning to understand why girls were always so interested in this sort of thing! 

“Thank you for indulging me,” Thomas said when they broke the kiss. “I left your clean clothes out on the bed for you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, feeling a little breathless, “You can open your eyes now.”

Thomas immediately did so, his gaze zeroing in on Harry in a second. In the warm light of their bathroom, Harry could clearly see the bright red ring around his otherwise dark brown iris. “Thomas?” Harry asked, “Why do your eyes sometimes turn red?”

“It has to do with a ritual I’ve conducted,” Thomas said. “I can go into more detail about it later on, when you understand more, since it was rather complicated. Is that okay?”

Harry nodded. “I’m gonna go get dressed then.”

Thomas bid him goodbye, but Harry could still feel his gaze on his back as he left the bathroom. He shyly glanced over his shoulder at the doorway before slipping out and into the main room.

Voldemort could not take his eyes off of Harry’s mark.

It was a livid thing, brilliant in color, enormous in size. Doubly so against the boy’s narrow back.

The towel he wore only covered the bottom half of the mark, leaving the gleaming gold and red lion’s head bare to the air. The mane around it was that of captured flame, so similar in appearance to true flame that Voldemort wanted nothing more than to touch it and feel if it burnt his skin. 

He half hoped that it did.

He knew, from having seen it up close, that his muggle birth name was the one that lay along the tongue of that great beast, which was fortunate. His only concern about the boy’s mark—the one thing that he could not control the outcome of—was what name would appear, all things considered.

Of course, that lion head was not all that was there. Half hidden under the dark towels that Voldemort favored was the body of the snake in a pattern of interlocking diamonds, comprised of vivid emerald greens, the sharp, poisonous green of the Killing Curse and a far more muted rich forest green that reminded him of those ominous trees in the Forbidden Forest. 

He had to more closely inspect Harry’s mark as soon as possible, but he had thought he’d seen more hidden in the green than just diamonds and the coils of the snake. With how Harry seemed somewhat body shy, at least in particular circumstances, he would have to tread carefully. 

But he had no fear that he would fail in this. After all, the boy himself hesitated at the doorway, looking shyly over his shoulder at him, so sweet and innocent. It was as if he was giving an invitation to something he did not even realize yet. 

Voldemort made sure to smile at him when their eyes briefly met, but that was no hardship. His little soulmate was the pinnacle of all he had achieved, years of effort spent, power gathered, magic learned. No one could do what Lord Voldemort had done; no one else would dare. 

Sinking further into the hot water of his bath, Voldemort chuckled to himself. 

There was nothing quite like the satisfaction of a job well done. Except, of course, the enjoyment of the fruits of his labors.

And Harry was a fruit he would savor. 

Chapter Text

Harry woke warm and comfortable, groggily blinking his eyes as he let sleep fade from them slowly. It was a wonderful way to wake up, he thought with a little smile, tucked in Thomas’s arms, with his cheek against the man’s chest. They were so close he could hear his heart beating, a rhythmic thump that soothed Harry. 

And it really did soothe him, too. He hadn’t had a real heart-stopping wake-up-shivering nightmare since he left Hogwarts. 

Harry snuggled closer to Thomas, smiling even more as he heard a sleepy hum from the man. They were having yet another wonderful, lazy morning and Harry was so happy. He didn’t know what today would bring, where they would go, or what they would see, but he was sure it was going to be great.

One of Thomas’s hands petted along his side and back, sliding down his body from almost his ribs to his hips. Sometimes his fingers trailed a touch lower, fingertips glancing across the skin of his upper thigh where his nightshirt rode up in his sleep. Sometimes he pressed a little firmer, not just petting but tracing the lines of Harry’s body through his clothes: following the path of his ribs with his fingers, smoothing his palm over Harry’s side, curling his fingers over hip-bone and then lightly gripping his leg. 

Harry squirmed a little as Thomas kept touching him. The longer it went on, the more it made his body spark and fizz, like he was bathing in carbonated soda. Harry had had one bottle once as a little kid, as part of a school luncheon where they also served slices of pizza, but more recently he’d had some while visiting the muggle places with Thomas. It had filled him with giddy pleasure then and he felt the same now as Thomas held him close, stroking his side and down to his thighs. 

Above him, Thomas shifted slightly, bringing his other hand to the back of Harry’s head. He grabbed a fistful of Harry’s curls, though his grip wasn’t too tight, and he tilted Harry’s head back so they were looking each other in the face. 

Sleep had softened Thomas’s features; his usually perfect hair was tousled, loose around his temples and forehead. His eyes were half closed, and up this close, Harry could see those perfectly long eyelashes of his and the deep color of his eyes. His lips parted for a slight smile and, softly, so as not to break the spell of such a peaceful morning, Thomas murmured, “I’d like to kiss you now, darling.”

Harry felt his face heat up with a furious blush, but he gave a little nod. He gasped a little as Thomas’s hands gripped him a little tighter, tugging ever so slightly on his hair and squeezing the top of his thigh. 

“Aloud, love,” Thomas said in that same velvet voice, “It would make me happy to hear you say the words when I ask. I want to hear your voice.”

Harry’s body was too fizzy and his mind too sluggish still to even question why. All that mattered is that it would make Thomas happy. He had done so much for Harry already, had made him feel happier and safer than he’d ever felt before in his life. If such a little thing would make Thomas happy, Harry would do it forever and ever.

“I’d like you to k-kiss me too,” Harry said, stumbling over the words as he looked up into Thomas’s eyes. The man’s intense gaze always seemed to bore into him, but never inspired the same anxiety in Harry as the attention of others. No, Thomas’s attention only seemed to make his body even fizzier. “Please?”

“Oh my dearest little love,” Thomas whispered as he pressed closer, his hand sliding down to cup Harry’s cheek. His gaze was molten, red and brown, and reminded Harry distantly of candy-coated chocolate—a fitting thought, some part of his mind said, since Thomas was nothing but sweet with him. “How could I resist such a plea?”

And then Thomas was kissing him. Harry knew that it was just the same kissing as before, just lips pressed to lips, but it felt somehow so much more. His whole body seemed to sparkle as Thomas pulled him close, kissing him for much longer than before. Harry’s hands gripped the loose sleeping robe Thomas wore tightly, unconsciously desperate to keep Thomas from pulling away from him, holding him close as Thomas kissed him and kissed him. 

A surprised sound escaped him when Thomas nipped at his bottom lip and then sucked on it, teeth pinching the flesh a little. Then he swiped his tongue across it, soothing the slight ache and making Harry’s face burn even hotter with a blush. That was his tongue! On Harry’s mouth! It felt so good and yet so strange! 

Harry pulled back, panting for breath like he’d just sprinted across Hogwarts lawn. Who knew kissing was so intense? 

He could feel Thomas smiling with his lips against Harry’s cheek, since he’d let Harry break the kiss but didn’t let him go far. A series of shorter kisses were pressed along his jaw and then to his ear. Harry shivered at the breath there and made another surprised squeaking sound when Thomas nipped at his earlobe, tugging lightly on it. 

It made goosebumps rise up and down his arms, making Harry shiver in his arms. His breath caught as Thomas pressed a kiss just under his ear and Harry imagined him kissing lower and lower, perhaps even following the path his hand had taken before: down Harry’s ribs, his side, to his hips, his thighs. Was that something that people did? Could you kiss more than lips and cheeks and faces? Would Thomas kiss his chest, his hips, his legs? Did he want him to?

“A very good morning to you, my darling,” Thomas whispered into his ear. He was everywhere, surrounding Harry with his arms and his scent and his magic. Harry put his wild questions out of his mind so he could cling to Thomas, arms winding around the man’s neck and shoulders and one leg curling over his side to keep him close. “What a little spider monkey you are this morning,” Thomas teased, his lower hand squeezing Harry’s thigh slightly.

“G’mornin’,” Harry mumbled back. Should he let go since Thomas had said something? But he sounded happy about it, didn’t he? Harry could still feel him smiling and he was helping Harry stay close, shifting in the bed now so that he was lying right on top of Harry but wasn’t squishing him.

Trapped beneath Thomas, Harry shivered again. The weight of the man on him was strange but good. It was like being under a very heavy blanket, one that was very warm and could hold him back, but still. The tingliness in his body was even stronger now, especially when he noticed that Thomas was right between his legs, pressed against his private parts. 

Thomas lifted his head, smiling down at him with half-open eyes. Harry stared back at him, wondering at how soft his hair looked, how red his lips were, wondering if he could get more kisses. 

“Shall we have breakfast?” Thomas asked.

Harry was about to nod in answer when he remembered what Thomas had said. He wasn’t sure if hearing his voice was only for kissing things or everything else, but Harry wanted to make him happy either way. “I guess so,” he said, “I am kinda hungry.”

Yesterday had been strange, he recalled, since they had magically skipped the whole day. He didn’t remember eating dinner but hadn’t been hungry either, just tired from the dimensional travel. 

He wondered what kind of breakfast they would have now, here at the Abbey.

And just like that, Harry remembered distinctly that they weren’t in his magically transfigured bed. They were in Thomas’s bed, in the Abbey. They had done the ritual and they were in the new world—well, new to Harry anyway. It was suddenly far more exciting to wake up and get out of bed, even though he would have loved more kisses. 

“Actually,  yeah, I’m hungry and I want to explore?” Harry said, “Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay, love,” Thomas said. He pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek, which just made him smile, and then he moved off of him.  

Then it was just a matter of getting dressed and cleaning up for the day. Harry was quickly dressed, wearing the clothes that Thomas had adjusted magically to look nicer and fit him better, but were still muggle in nature. On the other hand, Thomas took a while to even decide what to wear, perusing a wardrobe that was much deeper than it appeared to be from the outside, until he decided on a burgundy and dark gray suit: gray slacks, burgundy shirt, dark gray vest and a gold colored tie. He didn’t wear a jacket, though, but a matching thinner robe of burgundy with another, heavier gray robe on top. The burgundy robe had broad hems and cuffs with gold stitching in them. The thicker gray robe was shorter, both in sleeve and in length and on the back of it was a very large stitched design in black, making it almost invisible to see. 

After dressing, Thomas fixed up his hair with a mixture of magic and pomade, running long fingers through it until it lay exactly how he wanted it to.  Harry thought that would be it, but no, then Thomas went to a vanity and started to pick out jewelry. 

The first thing he put on immediately: it was a large told medallion with a heavy chain. The medallion was almost the size of Harry’s fist, though it looked to be almost as thin as parchment. Thomas took time looking over the other items, ultimately deciding on a pair of black rings that he wore on either middle finger and, to Harry’s surprise, two golden studs for his earlobes in the shape of crescent moons. 

“Your ears are pierced?” Harry asked, shocked as Thomas placed the earring in his lobe. 

The man gave him a smile through his reflection in the mirror. “They are, in several places. Metal takes some enchantments better than cloth does, making them ideal both for appearance and functionality.”

“What kind of enchantments?” Harry asked. He hadn’t thought jewelry could be magical, but that made sense, didn’t it? Why wouldn’t it be?

Thomas tapped one earlobe, “These help me adjust my hearing to be sharper than it is with just a thought. It keeps me from having to cast and maintain a spell that someone might notice if they’re whispering around me.” Then he showed off his rings, first one and then the other, “These, however, are charged with my magic and act as focusers or conduits. In simple terms, these rings are like wands that can more easily cast an arrangement of predetermined spells so I don’t have to draw my wand as much.”

“That’s brilliant,” Harry said, admiring the dark ring, “Could I get something like that? Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the Trace!” 

Thomas blinked at him and then gave a little laugh, “Oh. I hadn’t heard about that in quite some time! Darling, there is no Trace here.” 

“What?” Harry gaped, “There isn’t? But what about when muggleborns go home for the summer from Hogwarts? They can do magic?”

“Darling,” Thomas said with that same amused smile on his face, “There are no muggleborns either.”

Now Harry blinked at that, utterly shocked. “What? There aren’t? But…how?”

Thomas gestured to the bedroom door, “Let’s go to breakfast and I can explain.”

Harry agreed with that and soon the two of them were through the door and down the hall to another room in the suite that was Thomas’s. As he led them through, he explained what the other rooms were: a stonework lab for experimenting with spells, a small sitting room with a floo access to his private home, yet another study though this one was packed with shelves that were themselves packed with scrolls and books and only had a small writing desk in the corner. At last they came to the ‘kitchen’ that wasn’t much of one at all. 

It was a decently sized room with a few cupboards in a corner and what appeared very much like a muggle fridge, though much smaller and humming with magical energy not electricity. There wasn’t a cooktop or anything, so Harry wasn’t sure how they were going to make breakfast. At the other end of the room, right next to a large window not unlike the one from Thomas’s study down in the Abbey, was a small table with two chairs. 

Though the space was small, it gave Harry the feeling of home—this was a place where Thomas came to be alone, where he could be himself—and now that Harry was here with him, this would be their space.

At least he hoped so. As he went over to the table, Harry found himself hoping that Thomas wouldn’t regret bringing him back. It probably was a pain to have to suddenly start taking care of a kid when you used to live alone. Not that Harry was much of a kid anymore—he’d been able to take care of himself just fine since he was five—but still. Thomas probably saw him as a kid, at least a little bit. And Harry knew that Thomas saw him as someone he had to take care of.

It just made Harry more determined to become powerful and knowledgeable so that he could help Thomas in return. He wanted to make Thomas feel safe and happy as well and knew that he’d have to be very strong to do so. 

“What has got you thinking so hard, darling?” Thomas asked as he followed Harry over. He carried a tray in his hands, though Harry had been too focused on his thoughts to see where he got it. He set the tray down on the table in front of him and then sat down across from him.

Harry looked up, embarrassed to be caught out, and said, “I know you probably didn’t want a kid as a soulmate, since you probably think you’ll have to take care of me all the time, but I can help take care of myself, you know? And I’ll grow up soon and be able to take care of you as well.”

Thomas tilted his head to one side, “And what brought this on?” 

“I was just thinking…” Harry fiddled with his hands in his lap, but he didn’t look away from Thomas. He could be brave, even if he was worried that maybe calling attention to it was a bad idea now. “That you seemed to live alone just fine without me and now…I’ll be here and in your space all the time. And I’m young and adults always think that they have to take care of me even when they don’t. I can take care of myself, you know.”

Thomas was quiet for a moment and then reached across the table, holding out his hand to Harry. Harry shyly put his hand in Thomas’s, feeling warmth bloom in his chest when the man squeezed it and held on. “Darling, I don’t doubt for a moment that you can take care of yourself. But do not think for a moment that I would prefer to live in a home without you in it. I lived alone partially out of choice, but also because when I attempted to cohabitate with people who were not my soulmate—who were not you— I could barely tolerate their presence for long, let alone their needs or their touch.” He gave Harry’s hand another meaningful squeeze.

“But look at the two of us,” Thomas continued, “We’ve spent two weeks at each other’s side already. You strike me as a private person, darling, but did you even once balk at the idea of me sharing your room with you before? Did it even cross your mind that I would sleep somewhere else than at your side, in your bed?”

Slowly, Harry shook his head. Then he remembered— I want to hear your voice —and cleared his throat. “No,” he said, “It didn’t. I—I didn’t even question it. It was just…that’s how it’s supposed to be…”

“That’s right,” Thomas said, “That’s part of what being a soulmate is. Of course, it’s different between every pair, but for us? I believe it means a level of comfort in each other that we will never feel with others. You are not just someone for me to take care of, my darling, you are like an extension of my own self. Your hunger is my hunger. Your comfort is my comfort. Your happiness is my happiness.” He lifted Harry’s hand up slowly, his eyes glinting as he pressed a kiss to Harry’s palm. He lifted his mouth just enough to whisper, breath ghosting over Harry’s skin, “I may firmly believe in the power that comes from working within a group, but I am still selfish enough at heart to put my own needs above others and that means, my handsome little love, that your needs are more important to me than all the whole world.”

Harry shuddered, his fingers reflexively curling, cupping Thomas’s cheek as the man smiled against his palm. His throat was dry as he whispered, “O-okay. I-it’s the same for me. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy. I’ll do whatever I can so you’re safe and happy, just like you make me feel.”

Thomas’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, like he was absorbing the blow of those words. When he opened them again, they gleamed a bright red for a moment before darkening once more. “I would say I do not deserve you, my dear, but Magic has determined otherwise. I shall say instead that I shall endeavor to cherish you as you deserve and never take for granted the gift your presence is in my life.”

“Thank you,” he said instead, “I’ll do the same for you, I promise.” Harry felt a fluttering in his chest and wanted nothing more than to kiss Thomas or be kissed by him. It was a shame they sat so far away from each other! 

As if Thomas was thinking the same thing as him, he let go of Harry’s hand and got up to move his chair around to the other side of the table so that they were sharing a corner instead of facing each other. Thomas then tucked a curl behind his ear, leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek, and said, “Shall we have breakfast, darling?”

“Please,” Harry said, “I’m famished.”

If two weeks with his soulmate had taught Voldemort anything about the boy’s eating habits, it was that the boy simply believed he would not be allowed to eat his fill now and would not be able to eat it later either. He did not stuff himself fit to bursting, the way one might if they were expecting a famine in the future. He ate little bites here and there, half a strawberry, a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, breaking off parts of his muffin, things like that. 

He unconsciously glanced up at Voldemort when he took bites, as if half expecting the food to be slapped out of his hands. Voldemort knew it was not his fault that the boy was so wary of him and food, he knew it was simply because the boy was wary of punishment from adults. 

So Voldemort took it upon himself to instruct the boy better. He would learn that only pleasure came from Voldemort’s hands and Voldemort alone brought him such pleasure—as was good and proper. 

The first time he held a strawberry up for the boy to eat, Harry blinked at it, confused and a little embarrassed. But he glanced up at Voldemort and, with those eager-to-please thoughts right on the surface of his mind, he bit into the strawberry. Of course, he only ate half, but Voldemort had expected that and he simply ate the other half.

This got another fierce blush from his little soulmate, but that did not prevent him from eating more food Voldemort gave him. First from his fingers, more berries—cold blueberries that he pressed between his lips, raspberries he lay on his tongue, cherries he pitted with a flick of magic—then from his own utensils. A spoonful of oatmeal, a forkful of egg, a speared sausage, again and again. One bite for Harry, one for himself. 

He fed the boy until he was sated, then bent down and lifted the boy’s chin up, asking softly for a kiss. 

Of course, Harry gave in yet again, as he had given in every time before and would every time after if Voldemort had anything to say about it. So he kissed his soulmate, feeling magic burst across his lips as sweet as the honey from their shared breakfast. He slid his tongue along that soft lower lip, teasing him, sucking on it lightly, drawing soft sounds from his sweet little soulmate. 

When he drew back, slowly, tugging on his bottom lip, meeting the boy’s eyes and gleaning the dazed thoughts from them, Voldemort smiled. 

Savor the fruit indeed. Each little bite was sweeter than the last.

Chapter Text

Harry discovered where their breakfast came from after they were finished and Thomas whisked away the covered tray to a specially marked cupboard. He placed the tray inside and shut the door, tapping a rune with a circle on it on the left side of the door. There was a different rune on the right side, and when Harry asked about it, Thomas said, “This is the one that summons the food. Tapping this with a bit of magic in your fingers activates the rune and allows those in the kitchens to know that a meal is needing to be served. The one I just activated sends back the dishes to be picked up.”

“But how do they know that you need two meals instead of one?” Harry asked, watching in amazement as Thomas opened the cupboard and revealed it was empty. 

“That’s a bit more complex,” Thomas said, “The short answer is a mix of runework and intention behind the activation magic. Say, for example, I had only wanted some coffee for breakfast since I was going out somewhere and you were having the full breakfast without me. I’d simply think that instruction as I activated the rune and on the other end there would be a modification to the order that would appear. The long answer is that each bit of runework involves several levels of arithmancy and enchantment.”

“Ohh. So…there’s a screen or something on the other end? That shows what you ordered?” 

“Something like that, yes. I believe it’s a semi-translucent parchment that appears in the box and disappears when everything ordered is placed,” Thomas said as he gently guided him away from the magical box.

Harry went readily enough, though still very curious. “So where does it come from then? Who makes the food?”

“There is a rather extensive kitchen in the Abbey’s basement level,” Thomas said, “It supplies meals three times a day and is run by a head chef and staffed with several permanent cooks as well as a rotation of squib workers from those that live here. If, for some reason, you are looking for something to eat while outside our rooms, just head down and to the south end of the Abbey, then follow your nose to the kitchen and the attached canteen.”

Thomas led them to his smaller sitting room, where he lit the fire with a wave of his hand, bringing in warmth and light. He then settled down on one of the couches, leaning back with his legs crossed at the knee.

Harry followed him in, but a worrying thought was starting to nag at him. He sat gingerly on the cushion beside Thomas. These couches were very nice, much like the one from Thomas’s other study, and he was worried about messing them up, for a thought had just struck him as something he should ask about. “Um, if I live here in the Abbey… am I going to have to work in the kitchen?”

Smiling, Thomas shook his head, “Of course not, dear. At least, not unless you want to. There are plenty of spare hands if more assistance is needed. You will not be required to do any cooking or cleaning in the public spaces like others of the Abbey. You’re not like one of the squibs who live here full time, darling. Our home is elsewhere, we only are here for convenience's sake.”

Harry frowned a little because the way Thomas said that did worry him. He wasn’t sure he should ask, though, because he was afraid of what the answer might be. Everything Thomas had done so far was so utterly wonderful, Harry wasn’t sure what he would do or how he would feel if the other shoe suddenly dropped and Thomas revealed that he expected Harry to keep their home—his home—clean. 

A nightmare vision of having to clean the sheets on a giant bed or scrub that giant tub all by himself struck him and he broke out in a cold sweat. Thomas took his hand in both of his and squeezed it gently. 

“You’re thinking hard about something again,” Thomas said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. He stared down at where Thomas held his hand and whispered, “Am I going to have to do the cooking at your house? And all the cleaning?”

“Are you worried about that?” Thomas asked.

Harry nodded. “Aunt Petunia…” he began but the words trailed off before he could speak them. Didn’t Thomas know this already? He said that Petunia had told him, but it had been a while, had he forgotten?

“That’s right,” Thomas murmured, “She made you do all the chores on your own, didn’t she?” 

This time, all Harry could do was nod.

Thomas made a sympathetic noise. “Darling, I haven’t brought you home with me only to make you my indentured servant or my slave. I would appreciate it if you kept things tidy, as it does make it easier to keep things clean, and I would enjoy it if you would cook for me when you were older and if you wanted to, but I am not going to force you to do those things. It would be cruel of me to do so, especially when I have placed enchantments to keep our home rid of dust and to make cleaning things faster.

“Of course, I’ll show you how to use them so you can give me a hand with the work, but it barely takes a moment to do any cleaning and I only bother going home to cook when I want to. Most of my meals I take here or I go out to visit one of my Circle or to restaurants.” He lifted one hand to tuck under Harry’s chin and lifted his gaze up, “The things that I will require you to do are things that you would, hopefully, already be willing to do. Like doing your homework or eating at each meal or bathing and taking care of yourself.”

Harry blushed, somewhat embarrassed at his concern, now that it was revealed to be pointless. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean it. I mean, I didn’t really think you would make me do all those chores I just—”

“Hush, I understand. Your upbringing conditioned you one way and it will take time for you to change and heal, darling. I know. Muggles have a particular insidiousness that never quite leaves you, even when you’ve finally left them, but it does get easier, I promise.” He drew Harry a little closer to his side, into a gentle hug that had Harry burrowing against his chest. 

Despite the fact that they were so far apart in age and even from different universes, Thomas really understood him. Harry was grateful for that. He couldn’t imagine having to explain how awful it was being with the Dursleys; he’d never been able to do it with any of his other friends. In fact, he’d only been able to slightly hint to it with Dumbledore, though he didn’t think the older man understood what he meant. 

Thomas understood, though. He was wonderful that way.

With one arm around Harry to hold him against his side, Thomas leaned his head against the top of Harry’s. He seemed so comfortable, which made Harry happy since it seemed Thomas was as well. 

“I wanted to talk with you about our plans for the rest of the summer,” Thomas said, “I have an idea I think you will like, but wanted your opinion before I finalized anything.”

Harry’s heart did a million little flip-flops in his chest. He couldn’t even put into words how happy that made him! All the adults in his whole life always just told him what he was doing and when, but Thomas always wanted his input. He knew he was grinning a little stupidly as he said, “Sure. What’s your idea?”

“There are only a few weeks before Hogwarts term begins. There are a few things in particular I’d like to do with you, such as make sure you have all your proper supplies, make sure your wand and other things made the dimensional trip well, outfit you with nice clothes and have a healer visit you so we can see what we need to do so you’re as healthy as can be. However, I also want to spend plenty of time with you, especially considering you’ll be gone so soon and I’ll be without you again.”

Harry squeezed his arms around Thomas’s middle at that. He hated the thought of being so far from Thomas after being found and rescued by him! Sure, he was looking forward to Hogwarts, but he was worried about it as well! What if he didn’t make any friends? What if the classes were too different from before and he had to relearn everything? What if he couldn’t make the Quidditch team again?

“I know, love,” Thomas said soothingly, petting Harry’s hair gently. “I know, but your education is very important and while I wouldn’t doubt that I could get tutors to help you with that, I also know that it’s important to make good connections and socialize with others your own age. You should also make some friends—people who help you and look out for you while you’re away from my immediate protection.”

Harry snuggled closer again, boldly putting his legs over one of Thomas’s until he was half in his lap. “I guess I should make friends,” he mumbled into his shoulder, “But I’ll miss you while I’m gone.”

“And I’ll miss you too,” Thomas said. He curled one lock of Harry’s hair around a finger and tugged lightly, “But think, I’ll be able to attend Quidditch matches, so if you join the team I’ll be able to see you fly. Do you think you will, my little Seeker?”

Harry perked up, “I want to! I was just thinking about that. Well, I was worried I wouldn’t get on the team when I tried out, but everyone before said I was really good and I won every match I was in, even that first one where I almost swallowed the snitch!”

Surprised, Thomas blinked a little and then laughed, “No. You didn’t. Truly?”

So of course Harry had to launch into an explanation of his first Quidditch match, even going so far as to get to his feet so he could move about more freely while talking. Thomas watched him with a delighted expression, smiling as Harry went from that story of his Quidditch match to the later one where his broom was possessed and he almost fell. That had Thomas grow a little pale, eyes widening with real fear as Harry explained that his broom had been jinxed and it was his friend Hermione’s quick thinking that might’ve saved him. 

As he trailed off the end of that story, he noticed that Thomas still looked worried so he came over to him and said, “You don’t have to worry about me in future matches, Thomas. I’m pretty sure that stuff happened to me because I was the Boy-Who-Lived and Voldemort was after me. Or I guess his follower was. But now that I’m here no one will know who I am and Voldemort can’t get me, right?”

Thomas took a moment to regain his composure, reaching for Harry and tugging him closer. Harry blushed a little as he sat on Thomas’s lap with the man’s hands cupping his cheeks and his legs straddling Thomas’s thighs. 

“That’s right,” Thomas told him, “Voldemort will not harm you, my dear. And neither will anyone who follows him. Here, you’re just Harry, which is what you wished for.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “Does Voldemort have a lot of followers here?”

“It depends on how you define that word,” Thomas said, “Since he is a Demiurge, a creature of great power and ability, constructed almost purely out of magic, there are many who know of him. However, here at the Abbey, we do not just let him run amok as he might wish to do. He is bound and tempered. It is a lot of very complicated magic that goes into it, some that I hope someday I can fully explain to you, but sufficeth to say that while Voldemort has many here who do not fear to speak his name and others still who do worship his might, most do not follow him outright as their Lord and God.”

It sounded confusing to Harry—he still wasn’t sure about the whole ‘binding’ thing, but as long as it meant that Voldemort couldn’t come after him… “What about you?” He asked timidly, peering up at Thomas. “Do you follow Voldemort?”

Thomas chuckled. He ran a soothing hand through Harry’s hair and then let it settle at his jaw, his thumb brushing under Harry’s ear. “Darling, I am the keystone that keeps Voldemort bound and contains most of his wild energy. Voldemort was subjugated to my will first.” He smiled, broadly, fiercely, showing his teeth a little more than he usually did, “It is less that I follow Voldemort and more that Voldemort follows me. He does not act unless I allow him that freedom.”

Brows furrowed together in thought, Harry asked, “So…it’s like Voldemort is in prison? What if he tries to escape?”

“Not prison, no, more like he is in a contract. He negotiated to be in the position he is in, giving up some of his tendencies towards violence in order to achieve the level of power he has. He can break that contract, but he understands that the consequences are not worth what he gains. It is a balancing act, darling, and so long as Voldemort is appeased, he will not attack.”

Harry considered this for a while. It made…sense, he supposed. Everybody wanted something. Harry had wanted to be away from the Dursleys and in order to get that, he had to leave behind his home. Thomas had wanted his soulmate, and in order to do that he had to spend years of his life researching the magic to find Harry and bring him home. You couldn’t just get what you wanted all of the time without giving something up for it, or else you’d end up like Dudley! Or maybe Malfoy, who was spoilt as well and so mean when he didn’t get his way. 

“Is there something that I should do? To make sure he doesn’t attack?” Harry asked, “Does he know about me? Does he know about the other Voldemort?”

Thomas hummed thoughtfully. His thumb moved back and forth over Harry’s skin. “Would you like me to reach out to him? To see if there is something?”

Harry shivered, imagining the wraith that had escaped from Quirrell. “Would I have to talk to him?”

“Generally, I commune separately with him, though there have been some who have joined me in that communion to speak with him,” Thomas said, “It is safe but exhausting. I wouldn’t recommend you doing it until later if you wanted to.”

“I don’t really want to,” Harry whispered. “I don’t want to say something wrong and upset him and make him change his mind about attacking me. You talk really well, Thomas, you could talk to him for me? You would make sure he’s not mad and won’t hurt me?”

“Of course, darling,” Thomas leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. “You know I would do anything to protect you. I have an understanding with Voldemort. I’ll make sure he does not ask too much of you.”

Relieved, Harry smiled happily at him. “Thank you.”

“Now, before we got off track, we were talking about our schedule,” Thomas said with a smile right back. “To put it simply, I would like to spend the mornings with you, the afternoons doing appointments, as necessary, such as any shopping or traveling we might need to do, and in the evenings after dinner I will need to attend to my correspondence and perhaps have a few meetings. You can certainly be nearby when I’m working, but that time will be yours to explore the Abbey or visit with some others, if you choose to. Then, of course, we’ll retire to our rooms together, either here at the Abbey or the manor. How does that sound to you?”

“Wonderful,” Harry said immediately, meaning it entirely. It sounded like he still got to have his vacation and a lot of time with Thomas, which is what he wanted. “What are we going to do today?”

“Well, we have the rest of the morning to figure out, then lunch and the tailor. During lunch I suspect I’ll be getting some replies to the letters I had Barty send out last night, which means I’ll know if Christoph will be available tonight or tomorrow afternoon,” Thomas said. At Harry’s brief look of confusion, he explained, “Christoph is the healer I messaged to visit with you. He is Patricia’s husband and the head medic at Hogwarts, so he’s very familiar with the kinds of injuries common to children of all ages. I believe he was returning from a trip recently, however, so I was unsure if he’d be available tonight or tomorrow at the earliest.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t very thrilled about meeting with a Healer, but at least it didn’t sound like he was going to have to go to the hospital or something. “What are we doing for the morning, then?”

Thomas tapped on the tip of his nose and said, “That, my dear, is up to you. The mornings are yours to imagine, so just tell me what you’d like and I’ll make it happen.”

Harry seriously considered the offer, rubbing at his chin and everything as he pondered it. There was so much they were going to do, so much they needed to do still…But there was one thing that had stuck out to him from the day before, something he’d never seen before.

“Can we go pick apricots?” He asked.

Thomas seemed surprised at the question, tilting his head to one side with a bemused smile, “Apricots?”

Harry nodded. “There’s an orchard here, right? That’s what that man said yesterday? Well, I’ve never been to an orchard or picked any fruit before. It sounds kind of fun. Can we do that?”

“Certainly,” Thomas said. “I’m sure the others would be happy for a helping hand. You should get your shoes on and then we’ll go.”

Excitedly, Harry hopped off Thomas’s lap and ran back to their room to do just that. 

There were a lot more people out in the Abbey that morning.

As they walked down the many stairs to their rooms (and Harry hadn’t at all realized how many stairs Thomas carried him up yesterday, it was a lot!) and then entered a larger hallway, they almost immediately bumped into people walking past. Lots of them wore those dark blue robes that Harry had seen before, which made him think that must be some sort of uniform for the squibs who lived here, but there were others who wore whatever they liked. There were men and women and some people that Harry wasn’t quite sure about either way, and they were almost all adults, with a few teenagers but no children his age, at least that he saw.

And every single one of them, every single one, stopped and bowed slightly to Thomas as they walked past, greeting him with “Good morning my lord,” or “Blessed morning, Lord Prior”. Harry hadn’t noticed how strange that was before when it was just one group of people. But seeing it happen over and over just made it very clear how strange it was. 

Many of them looked curiously at him, walking at Thomas’s side, sometimes holding his hand, but none of them asked about him and none of them pointed at him and, more importantly, no one recognized him. 

Sure, Harry didn’t really recognize anyone else either, but it was so remarkable that no one recognized him that he was plenty willing to ignore how weird everyone was about Thomas. As long as he wasn’t the one making people stop and bow and blush and babble in greeting, he was perfectly happy.

They went out some side gate and into the warm summer air and brilliant sunlight. Already there was so much green. Harry could see a few greenhouses in the distance, the large glass structures glinting in the bright light. The pathway here was made of that same white stone, but after about twenty feet it transitioned into cobblestones that split off in various directions. 

Even here they passed people, who greeted Thomas the same as all the others. Thomas didn’t stop to talk to any of them like he had before, but that made sense to Harry. If they stopped to talk to everyone who went past, they’d never get anywhere on time!

Eventually, Thomas led him down a winding path to a huge field full of trees. There were rows and rows of them, some flowering and some not, and in the distance Harry could see people moving amongst them. Stepping off the path, Thomas took his hand and led him through the trees and down the hill towards the people working out in the field. 

As they walked, Harry said, “It’s so pretty out here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Thomas remarked, looking up at the flowering trees. “I often spend much of my time indoors these days and don’t get to enjoy the bounty of nature up close like this. I think this will be quite a fun outing indeed.”

Harry grinned, glad that he’d chosen this after all.

As they came up on the group, Harry noticed these people also had blue robes on. They were picking the fruit by hand, though the baskets they filled up were floating around them in the air by magic. There was a woman with dark skin and reddish hair who saw them approaching and walked up. She wore the same pale cloth around her neck as that other man had and when she stopped in front of them she curtseyed deeply.

“Good morning, Lord Prior, you honor us with your presence. How may we assist you this morn?”

“Sister Genevive,” Thomas said, “A good morn to you as well. I’ve come with my carus to pick apricots. I would appreciate a basket to fill and some direction on which trees to begin with.”

Sister Genevive stared blankly at him for a moment, looking stunned at the request. Harry, on the other hand, was wondering about that fancy word Thomas had used for him. He had introduced him to other people last night, including Barty and Bella and Frank Longbottom, so why not introduce him now? 

“I— If my lord wishes it,” Sister Genevive said after a while, her voice a little faint. She half turned and had to clear her throat before she called out, “Marie, a basket for our Lord and his companion.”

A teenage girl came trotting over with a basket bobbing behind her. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of them and she sketched a hasty bow, brushing her hair back as she straightened. “Good morning, Lord Prior! Um. Here you are!”

She offered up the basket, which Thomas took graciously. “And the trees, sister?”

Sister Genevive gestured to the trees nearby. “We are picking from these three rows all the way down to the break in the line, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said. He tapped the basket and then, with a gentle push to Harry’s back, urged him onwards. They left the two women behind, and when Harry glanced over his shoulder, he saw the teenager whirl around and start peppering Sister Genevive with questions. Or at least so he assumed.

He tugged on Thomas’s sleeve and whispered to him, “What are they saying? Can you use your earrings and listen?”

Thomas chuckled, “I can, though I hardly need to as I can guess what they’re saying. I mentioned before that I do not spend much time outside these days. In the early days of the Abbey, I helped with all the others in building and planting and working, but as our population grew, my specific help was necessary elsewhere. They are not used to seeing me out here at all, let alone out to pick alongside them. Marie is remarking how odd it is to see me and asking Sister Genevive if she knew why I was here and who you were.”

“Me?” Harry asked, “Why me?”

“Why darling, if you were busy working in class and, say, the Headmaster came by with someone following along at his side, wouldn’t you be curious who it is?” Thomas stopped beneath a tree. The boughs above were laden with golden apricots. “Of course they’re curious about you.”

Harry made a face. He did not want to be famous all over again! “I hope that they get bored soon. I’m not that special.”

“On the contrary, darling,” Thomas said as he removed his robes, folded them in half and then tucked them into that pocket of space Harry had seen him use before to bring things out of back in his original world. “You are quite special indeed. But I do understand that fame is not something you desire, so I can give you some advice on how to deal with it, if you like.” 

“Please,” Harry asked, “What do I do?”

“Become familiar to them,” Thomas said. “They are in so much awe of me because they see me only rarely in person, either passing in the halls or during our gatherings. They do not know me or often speak to me so I am mysterious and strange to them. They know I am powerful and see that I am handsome, but that only adds to their awe.

“You,” he said, bending over to gently tap the tip of Harry’s nose, which made him wrinkle it, “Are mysterious and strange because they have never seen you before, but you are lovely and they are curious. If you want them to treat you casually, then they must see you as one of them, a simple wizard who uses a wand to cast magic and must put on his boots one foot at a time as all others do. When you have the time, go amongst them. Eat with them, talk with them, spend time with them. Let them see you are human and like them and they will not fear you or be in awe of you.” Straightening up, he looked up at the tree and then said, “But enough of that. Shall we begin picking apricots?”

Still thinking over what Thomas had suggested, and wondering how he’d be able to do all that, Harry nodded absently. “How do we start?”

Thomas plucked a single leaf from the tree and transfigured it into a ladder, which he set on the ground and gestured to Harry. “We start by climbing up. Some things, my darling, are best done by hand. Harvesting soft fruit is one of those things.”

Going to the ladder, Harry started to climb. 

The apricots were clustered together, their soft skins covered in fine hairs that made them slightly fuzzy to the touch. The air was filled with the scent of greenery and fruit. 

Voldemort was tall enough to reach up and pluck the fruit without much assistance, but he occasionally used the ladder to reach the higher ones that even his little love couldn’t reach. Harry seemed to be enjoying himself as they picked, smiling as he smelled the occasional fruit and being ever so gentle with them. 

“They remind me a little of baby skin,” Harry said, “Or I guess, what I think a baby would feel like. I don’t think I’ve ever held a baby before.”

Voldemort made a thoughtful noise. He imagined, in that moment, Harry as an adult, holding a child in his arms instead of a handful of apricots. It was something he could picture, though certainly not something he would foist on his little soulmate until he was asking for it. Truly asking for it as well, not being led that way by Voldemort’s own hand. 

He would be most content to keep his little soulmate all to himself for quite a while yet. 

“Have you ever held a baby?” Harry asked, plucking another apricot and giving him a curious look.

“I have,” he said, “Several in fact.” Voldemort flexed his magic around them, casting a bubble of privacy that would center on him, allowing their conversation to go unheard. He noticed Harry notice the magic, the boy looking up and around as it washed over him. “In the orphanage I grew up in, there were children there. I also held some of the first rescued infants, in the early years of the Delivery Act.”

“The Delivery Act?” Harry asked, pausing, looking down at him with curious eyes. They were often so bright, those delightful green eyes of his. Voldemort could have stared into them for hours. How precious his soulmate’s very vision was. “What’s that?”

“You remember your question about muggleborns this morning?” Voldemort asked. “The Delivery Act is the colloquial name for the Muggleborn Infant Recovery Act. You see, every year a handful of magical children are born to non-magical parents, muggles.”

Harry nodded to this, because of course the boy knew about that. He lived in a world where such a practice was allowed to carry on without any sort of regulation. 

“While certainly there are some muggles who are decent parents to their children, the truth is that no muggle is a proper parent to a magical child. They simply cannot provide the essentials that such magical children need: not just an understanding of who and what they are, but the ambient magical energy that helps stimulate proper growth of their magical cores and magically enriched nutrients in their food. 

“The Delivery Act is what rescues those children from muggles who would poorly raise them, denying them the necessary nutrients and energy they need to thrive.” Voldemort plucked an apricot from the branch above him as he spoke, continuing to work even though he could tell Harry had stopped and was listening with rapt attention. “Imagine for example, the child is this apricot tree. A muggle family might give them all the water they need to grow, and shelter from strong winds and deer who might eat their leaves while they are young and vulnerable. They might even give them nutrient-rich soil and warmth, so they do not freeze over and have plenty to eat. But they cannot provide sunlight. Magic is like sunlight to us wixen. 

“It is a powerful, all-encompassing energy that we need not only to survive, but to be healthy so that we, a metaphorical apricot tree, can bear fruit that is sweet and nourishing to others.” Voldemort turned then, freshly picked apricot in hand as he went to the ladder where the boy stood watching him. He broke open the apricot in his hand, revealing the soft, sweet flesh inside. He took a large bite out, allowing the juice to run down the corner of his mouth. Then he held out the other half to Harry, who took it without question and ate it. 

His eyes closed briefly as he tasted that same sun-warmed fruit, sweet and ripe, a perfect specimen. 

Softly, Voldemort said, “Then there are muggles who would be cruel to magical children, such as your relatives were cruel to you. Imagine if we were to take this tree and grow it inside of a dark room. Do you think it would flower and grow? Do you think it would be strong enough to bear fruit? Or would it be short and misshapen, starving and slowly dying?”

Those brilliant green eyes clouded over as Harry shook his head. His bottom lip trembled. Voldemort could see in his eyes the fear that he was that misshapen tree and, somehow, that Voldemort would not love him because of it. And perhaps, if Voldemort were some vain creature who could not see the potential in others, perhaps he would not love his little soulmate and not give him what he needed to flourish.

But Voldemort was wiser than that, more clever than that and far, far more patient than others had time to be. He reached up to cup the boy’s cheek, smiling when he unconsciously leaned into the touch. 

“Once, we were only able to find these starved little souls and bring them to sanctuary. We took in muggleborns who had been scarred by the muggles who raised them and we helped them heal and grow. Eventually, there was sufficient outcry and desire that we should not let the muggles raise any magical children, no matter what, and so the Delivery Act was instituted. Every child born upon these islands is checked for magic. Every single one. And each magical child is rescued shortly after birth and brought to a magical family who has agreed to take in that child as their own. There are lots of methods to that, but commonly, one of the two parents adopts the child through their magic and their blood and they name them as one of their own.”

Eyes widening, Voldemort can read the very question from his thoughts, so he cuts it off before it comes tumbling out into the air. “Of course, even if we only did this a few times, it would become notable within the muggle world that babies were going missing. So we replace their children with a magically imbued replica. It lives for a short time, long enough that when it gets sick and dies, the family believes it to be natural and, though they mourn the baby, they can move on and have another.”

“They think their baby died?” Harry whispered, “That’s so sad.”

“But it is necessary, darling, because otherwise we would have to alter their memories which can be dangerous to do.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “You can do that?”

Voldemort smiled, “Darling, you can do anything with magic if you know how. We decided that it was better for the muggles if we do not tamper with their minds. Yes they are sad and they do grieve, but often they discover something in the replica that explains the sudden death. Perhaps it is a small hole in the heart or something underdeveloped. Or it is a reaction to something or a swift illness. Either way, it is the most painless version, sparing the child the turmoil of a muggle upbringing and the muggles from having their minds damaged.”

Harry sucked on his bottom lip, looking thoughtful, pensive, with his brows pushed together. He clearly didn’t quite agree with Voldemort, but that was fine. At first, many did not agree with him. It took quite a few muggleborns having suffered terrible upbringings until his warnings were believed and suggestions accepted. Voldemort could be patient with Harry as well, answering his questions until the boy understood perfectly that what he’d done was for the best of all the children. 

Voldemort went back to picking apricots, lightening his tone as he said, “And as a result of this, there are more children here in the magical world being raised to know their magic and understand their worth. Families that were dying out with only one or two children a generation now have more than enough so the weight of their family name is not so heavy a burden. And, most importantly, there is no wasted effort on that silly squabble about blood purity. All who commune with magic have worth in our world, my darling, and no one fights about who is more pure than the other.”

“Really?” Harry asked, wondering at his tone. “No one calls anyone…well you know the word.”

“Mudblood?” Voldemort said with an arched brow.

Harry nodded. 

“No,” Voldemort said, “No one uses that word anymore.”

He made sure of it too. 

“Wow,” Harry said. “I almost can’t believe it.” He shook his head a little, then reached up to pick more apricots. He paused after one, staring at it for a long minute. Voldemort glanced at him, watching him in turn, but the boy smiled faintly and set the fruit into the slowly filling basket they shared. 

Voldemort smiled. 

Yes. He had made the right choice in this one. How wonderful to know he had been right, once again.

Chapter Text

With three bushels in tow, Harry proudly returned to the group also picking apricots. He was sweaty from the work and his hands were somewhat sticky, but he felt productive in a way that he never did when working in the garden for the Dursleys. He brought the bobbing bushel right up to Sister Genevive, who was gathering the others together with their bushels.

“Sister Genevive, we’ve got some to add to the rest,” Harry said proudly, pointing out his three.

She gave him a warm smile, “Very good, Lord Carus, we appreciate your hard work this morning, yours and Lord Prior’s both.” She drew a wand from her sleeve and conjured a smaller basket. Plucking some of the apricots out of the top of a bushel beside her, she filled the basket and handed it over to him, bowing slightly as she did. “Please accept this offering as a tithe and blessing, my lord.”

“Uh,” Harry hesitated, startled by her response. He glanced up at Thomas, who, other than having rolled up his sleeves, looked as impeccable now as he had that morning after dressing. 

Thomas smiled and waved his hand at him in a ‘go on’ gesture. Harry blushed, a little embarrassed, and took the basket. “Thank you? Um.”

Thomas stepped forward then and placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other on the side of the basket on top of Harry’s. “We accept your tithe and return your blessing, Sister Genevive. Lord Carus and I will leave the rest of the harvest in your capable hands.”

Sister Genevive bowed even deeper and Harry hurried to say, “I’d like to join again sometime, if that’s all right. I’ve never gotten to do this sort of thing before and I thought it was fun…I mean, not just fun, it’s hard work too and you’ve all done a great job I just…would like to do it again, if that’s okay?”

“The fields of harvest will always be open to you, my lord,” Sister Genevive said with a smile. “We look forward to your gracious presence in the future, Lord Carus.”

Harry awkwardly nodded in agreement and looked up at Thomas, confused and a little embarrassed at her fawning. It was so much like when people called him the Boy-Who-Lived, he really didn’t like it.

Thomas led him away from the others, heading back up the path toward the Abbey. Harry held the basket against his chest, frowning down at the apricots while they walked, churning his questions over in his mind.

“You’re thinking quite hard, darling,” Thomas said lightly, “What questions do you have now?” 

“Why did she call me that?” Harry asked. “Lord Carus, I mean. That’s not my name. That’s the thing you called me earlier. Did she think that was my name?”

“She was not given permission to use your name, or the knowledge of it,” Thomas said, which, while it did clear up some questions, only created more. “So she assumed a title for you based on how I treated you and our close association. You could not be anything less than a Lord, in her eyes, and so she gave you that title. Correctly, of course, because as my soulmate you are as much a Lord as I am.”

Harry frowned even more. “But I’m not really a lord. I’m— I’m just Harry.”

“Yes, but that sort of thing is hard for someone like her to understand.”

“Someone like her?”

“A follower,” Thomas explained, “A devotee, in particular. Those here in the Abbey, who live much of their lives here, not just those who come to be educated, are the more dedicated followers. They view me as a leader more than those outside the Abbey do. She cannot imagine that you would be anything less than a Lord, because it would be the same to her as if I were less than a Lord, and that is simply impossible.”

Harry frowned some more, puzzling it over in his head. Thomas made it sound like he did more than work here sometimes, or lead the rituals to control Voldemort. “Are you her leader?” Harry asked, “Is that why they call you Lord Prior? What does that mean, anyway?”

“It means I am the Prior, the first, the beginning and the one before,” Thomas said. “I began all of this on my own, I led the way forward and they walked in my footsteps and listened to my words.”

Harry snorted a little, amused at the weirdly religious way that sounded. “You make it sound like…like you’re like the pope or something. Or even like Jesus.”

Harry looked up at Thomas, expecting him to look a little surprised at the comparison but no. The man gave him a broad, smug smile. Harry stopped suddenly and gaped at him. “Wait. Are you— Is that on purpose?” 

Thomas stopped with him, stepping closer and sinking down to one knee to be at eye level. He rested one hand on top of Harry’s, thumb brushing back and forth on his knuckles. “I am as much a political leader to the nation as I am a spiritual leader to the people living here. You spent a year in the wixen world, darling, do you recall any religious practices being taught at Hogwarts or spoken of by your classmates? Did they have a god they prayed to? A savior who would absolve their sins? A holy comforter that would guide them?”

Harry slowly shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean they didn’t have them. I mean, they would always say Merlin’s name like God’s so I kinda figured he was like Jesus to them?”

“But no one ever preached to you the word of Merlin or his practices and beliefs, did they? There were no acolytes, no priests, no missionaries who made sure that you knew the traditions of their fathers?”

Again, Harry shook his head. “No…? None of that.”

“It was much the same for me,” Thomas said, speaking softly, with a conspiratorial look in his eyes. “I came from the muggle world knowing of God and Jesus, having spoken prayers for my whole life, only to discover that all of the magical world was filled with Godless Heathens. I saw them and I knew they would all need salvation. They needed a savior to show them the path to spiritual awareness and true understanding. They needed someone who could find and then speak to God for them and share with them the Truths of the world.”

Confused, Harry asked, “So you…told them about Jesus?”

Thomas laughed. He swept up to his feet, capturing Harry’s cheeks briefly in his hands and bending down to kiss his forehead. “Darling, no. Of course not. At first, I questioned what I had been taught and I knew that if Jesus was the true son of God, I would find his works within the magical world. So in my youth, I traveled through the skeleton of Rome and Carthage, I explored the land of Jerusalem and I sought the Truth of the nature of God. And I discovered it.”

Thomas pulled away, “Come, my dear, my carus, and let’s go to lunch. I can explain more once we’re cool and refreshed.”

“What about the Lord Carus thing?” Harry asked as they began walking again. Part of his mind was wondering just what Thomas meant by all that. He had discovered the nature of God? What did that mean? Had he found out about Jesus being magical? That would be pretty amazing, Harry thought. “Are they all gonna call me that?”

“It would be for the best,” Thomas said, “Remember, your full name is sacred. It is written on my mark, as my full name is written on yours. Many people use only one part of their names or nicknames, since one’s full, true name is special. I can see that you’re wondering about those I introduced you to: they are those I trust, those who I know would do whatever they could to protect you and guard you. They are those who I am close to, who I know endeavor towards my goals and believe in my methods. 

“However, there are many in the Abbey who do not hold my same regard. I value them, but I would not put your safety in their hands. Some distance is required, between their position and mine, our position, truly. You may, of course, introduce yourself by name, but do not be surprised when they maintain the use of your title. It will be more comfortable for them.”

“But I don’t want them to do that,” Harry scowled. “I want them to just treat me normally. I’m not some hero or celebrity!” 

“I understand that, love,” Thomas said. He ran a soothing hand over Harry’s hair. He might’ve ducked if not for the fact that he wasn’t that upset. Thomas did seem understanding, after all. “But it will take time for your newness to wear off and for them to get used to you. I’m sure it won’t be too long, not with how endearing you are, but there will always be some who call you Lord Carus rather than Harry, no matter what you say or do.”

Harry huffed, annoyed but begrudgingly accepting. It was like the people who always called him the Boy-Who-Lived, even if it was just a stupid title for something he didn’t even remember doing. “Well, then what does Carus even mean? If Prior is first, is Carus second or something?”

“No, darling,” Thomas said with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Carus means cared for, precious, treasured.” He stopped Harry with a hand on his shoulder, lifting his chin with his other hand and bending down to kiss Harry very lightly on both cheeks. “Carus is what you are to me. I want everyone to know how much I care for you. I am first in their minds, but you are first in my heart.”

Harry’s face erupted in a hot blush. He bit his bottom lip, happy but a little embarrassed at Thomas’s words and the kisses. He was half worried-half hoping that Thomas would kiss him right on the lips, right there where anyone could walk by and see them! 

Instead of that, however, Thomas’s thumb brushed along his lips, making a shiver of goosebumps run down Harry’s neck and shoulders. “Sweet little love of mine,” Thomas murmured, “I too would call you Lord Carus, for the way you rule my heart, but I do love how sweetly your name trails from my lips. Harry James Potter,” Thomas whispered into his ear. Harry shivered at the warmth of his breath. 

“A name just for me,” Thomas murmured, then kissed his earlobe. He drew back slowly enough that Harry felt his smile bloom on his lips before he saw it on the man’s face. “Just like you’re my soulmate.”

Flustered, Harry turned away. He felt so warm and so full of sunlight. He could smell apricots and Thomas’s cologne and the scent of them blended so perfectly. Bashfully, Harry mumbled, “I like calling you by your name too.”

Thomas chuckled softly, kissing his cheek again before he straightened up. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, pulling him closer to his side so they could walk together, practically arm in arm. Harry leaned against Thomas a bit as they walked, more than happy to be with him. 

As they made their way through the Abbey, Harry didn’t shy away as much when people stopped to bow and greet Thomas. Only a few greeted him as well, bowing their heads as they wished “Blessed day, Lord Prior, Lord Carus.”

Knowing that the title was a way to protect his own name and was something Thomas really liked, Harry felt a little better about using it. He certainly didn’t want to really be a Lord, but he didn’t mind being reminded how important he was to Thomas over and over again. And certainly being Lord Prior or Lord Carus was better than the alternative: being Dark Lords like Voldemort. 

Harry couldn’t imagine Thomas being as vile as Voldemort. He was obviously a Light Lord, if something like that existed. 

Harry was about to ask Thomas about Light Lords when Barty came striding up quickly. He sketched a sharp bow and then said, “Master, the Minister has requested an emergency meeting with you this afternoon. It seems as though that issue with the rebels has spiked again recently and she would ask your guidance.”

“The rebels?” Harry echoed. “Do you mean—” He bit his lip and looked at Thomas, who nodded slightly.

“It is likely,” Thomas said. He sighed a little. “I do fear that this will take my personal attention. Is she currently in her office?” 

“She is,” Barty said, “She has a minor council called in order to find a strategy to quell this insurrection once and for all.”

Thomas nodded. He then turned to Harry, who had a sudden sinking feeling.

“You’ve got to go, haven’t you?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too miserable. They had spent the whole morning together, just as Thomas had said they would. He was just looking forward to sharing lunch as well.

“I do, darling,” Thomas said regretfully. He fixed up his sleeves, rolling them back down and buttoning the cuffs closed. “I should be back in time for dinner, but if I’m not, I will send you a message.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t looking forward to being alone in the Abbey, but what else could he do? He didn’t know anyone here.

“Would you like Barty to accompany you this afternoon?” Thomas asked, “He can make sure you make your appointment with Oswyn on time and that you get everything fitted that you need.”

“Will he eat lunch with me too?” Harry asked, “Or should I go down to the basement for that?”

“I would be happy to accompany you to lunch and your appointments,” Barty said with a quick smile. “You’ll be safe in my hands, I promise.”

Thomas gave a smile and a gesture towards Barty as if to say ‘well there you go’. Harry smiled a little in response and then said, “Okay. That works for me I guess.”

“Good,” Thomas said. He lifted Harry’s chin with one hand and bent down. He pressed his lips to Harry’s in a quick kiss, not lingering very long before he straightened up and walked away. 

Harry sighed after him, already missing Thomas even as he watched him leave. He looked so cool with his robes snapping out behind him; way cooler than Professor Snape ever managed!

Clearing his throat, Barty asked, “We’ll take lunch in Master’s foyer, if that’s all right with you?”

Harry nodded. As he walked with Barty down the hallway and towards the stairs, he asked, “Barty, can I ask you a question?”

“Feel free to ask me whatever you like,” Barty said. He sounded sincere about it, which Harry appreciated. And was about to test. He had a lot of questions.

“Why do you call Thomas Master when no one else does?”

“I am Master’s apprentice,” Barty said. “He teaches and trains me so that I can gain my own mastery.” 

“Oh,” Harry said. “That makes sense. Is he a good teacher?”

“The very best,” Barty said proudly. “I’ve learned more from him than from anyone else. He’s deeply knowledgeable about many subjects and incredibly talented as well. There is no one else I’d rather apprentice under.” They were heading up the stairs now, passing somewhat familiar walls and many other people who were hurrying downwards. Most of these people didn’t stop for them, though they gave acknowledging nods to Barty and curious glances to Harry. 

“He said you helped with his scrying before,” Harry said, “You know, for the ritual to come find me?” Barty gave him a surprised look, like he didn’t think Harry would’ve known about that. Harry elaborated, “Thomas had me help him too. I picked out the people for the effigies that had to be alive in my world but not alive here.”

“Ah,” Barty blinked again, his expression going curiously blank. “If I may ask, who did you pick?”

Listing off the names on his fingers, Harry said, “Oh, Ms. Figg who lived down the street from me and Mr. Filch who was the caretaker at Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore. I did try Professor McGonagall, but she was alive here so it didn’t work.”

“Oh?” Barty’s voice came out a little higher pitched. “You picked Dumbledore?”

Harry nodded. He suddenly blushed, remembering how happy that had made Thomas and how he’d kissed Harry’s face so much. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. He missed Thomas. They’d been together almost constantly since they met and Harry was so used to the man’s presence! “Do you think the emergency meeting will take them long?” Harry asked, changing the subject abruptly.

“The emergency— Oh. Well. Master likes to be thorough, so it might take a long time to go through everything, but I imagine with how fresh your bond is with him, he won’t want to be gone for longer than necessary.”

They were passing the library now, following the path they’d taken the night before. Harry opened his mouth to ask what Barty meant by a fresh bond when he caught sight of a woman striding out of the library with a familiar head of bushy brown hair. The next word that came out of his mouth instead was the gasped name, “Hermione?”

The woman didn’t stop at his exclamation, her attention riveted to the book she held in her hands, but she looked so much like Hermione that Harry stopped and stared at her, rooted to the ground. She had the same curly hair, though it looked a little darker, and she was very tall now, but she was a grown-up. The more he stared, however, the more he saw that was different; her eyes were a different shape and her nose was pointier. 

She walked past them without stopping, her dark purple robes swirling behind her. Harry stared after her, heart pounding in his chest.

Thomas had told him that he was twenty years in the future, but seeing someone he knew—someone his own age—just walking around like an adult… Harry thought that maybe Ron would come around the corner next, or maybe Neville would, since his dad had been here the night before. 

The fact that she didn’t know him, though, that she would just walk past him without seeing him… It hurt. Harry didn’t know why it hurt, since she wasn’t really his Hermione, but it still made his chest ache.

“Lord Carus?” Barty asked. 

It was his voice that made Not-Hermione stop. She abruptly whirled around, book snapping shut as she declared, “You!” She pointed her finger at Barty, storming up to him with a serious expression. “I have been looking for you all day!”

“I’ve been busy,” Barty told her, arching an eyebrow, “And I’m still busy. Lord Prior has me conducting business for him in his absence,  you recall—”

“And Lord Prior returned last night, yes, we are all aware, we all felt it,” Not-Hermione waved her hand dismissively, “But you said you would assist me with my project once Lord Prior had returned and yet you were nowhere to be found all morning!”

“As I said, I am still conducting business on Lord Prior’s behalf,” Barty’s voice stayed light, amused at her antics, “I will be able to help you later, I promise, but for now Lord Prior takes priority.” He smiled at the pun.

Not-Hermione, however, looked even more displeased. She crossed her arms furiously over her chest and started to tap her shoe on the stone floor. “Conducting business? What business? What are you doing that’s so important anyway?”

Barty gestured towards Harry, as if his presence alone answered all those questions. Not-Hermione stared at him, her brown eyes narrowing slowly and her head tilting to the side. There was a brief flicker of…something in her eyes, like a flash of light or reflection, and then her attention focused all at once on the scar on Harry’s head. 

“Oh,” she breathed out, rocking forward onto her toes, leaning closer to Harry, “I see.” 

Abruptly, Barty stepped between them. “Eloise,” he said warningly, “This is Lord Carus.”

“Hmm? Lord who?” She leaned back, “I haven’t heard that title in use before. Where’s he from? What’s Lord Prior doing with him?”

“Lord Carus is Lord Prior’s soulmate,” Barty explained. Harry peered around the man’s back, shivering a little at the look in Not-Hermione’s eyes. She blinked a few times when Barty said that, finally tearing her gaze off of him.

“Oho? A little young, isn’t he? Don’t soulmates not initiate until puberty?” She lifted her hand up as if to measure his height with the palm of her hand and said, “He’s quite small.”

Harry’s face went hot with embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault he was so small! Angrily, he argued back, “So what if I’m small? It’s not my fault and Thomas says that the healers can help fix what the muggles did to me.”

“And what did those muggles do to you?” Not-Hermione asked. Her gaze flicked back up to his forehead and Harry fought the urge to cover his scar with his hand. He clutched tightly to the basket in his arms. 

“That’s enough,” Barty cut in before Harry could say anything in reply. “We’re on a schedule right now. Lord Prior can answer your questions later.”

Not-Hermione ducked her head and murmured an apology, but Harry didn’t think it was a real one. He frowned a little as she left them and Barty began to walk again. 

Harry hurried to keep pace with him, not complaining that Barty was moving more quickly now. The last thing he wanted was someone else to run into them and start asking him questions or accusing him of things! Patting down his bangs over his scar, Harry finally followed Barty into the sitting room in front of Thomas’s study. 

They were the only ones there, which made Harry sigh in relief. 

Barty shut the door behind him and gestured over to a table in the corner. “I do apologize for Eloise. She is rather…intense and not exactly good with children.”

Harry made a face. He sat down in a chair that Barty pulled out for him, placing his small basket of apricots down in front of him. “She looked like someone I knew before, but I guess she isn’t her if her name is Eloise.” 

“Well, there are sure to be some differences between your universe and ours,” Barty said. “Not to mention the time difference. Master has spoken of these things with you, yes?” He stood by a special magical cupboard, similar to the one Thomas had in his kitchen. He tapped it with his wand, muttering a few words too quietly for Harry to hear.

“Yeah I guess so,” Harry said. “But she really did look like Hermione.”

Barty turned around, now holding a covered tray in his hands. He set it on the table beside the apricots. “If you’d like, I can look for some of the people you used to know and see where they are in this world. You never need to meet them if you don’t want to, but it might give you peace of mind to know where they are.”

“Really?” Harry asked, “You’d do that?”

“It wouldn’t be that difficult, really,” Barty said. “The records I have access to are quite comprehensive.” He lifted the cover off the dishes and said, “Here. Why don’t you eat some lunch and tell me who you’re thinking of? I’ll make a list and look into them for you.”

The lunch was a hearty sandwich with a side of soup and some thick juice that had to be mostly pureed fruits. Harry’s mouth began to water at the smell of it all and he eagerly dug in. Sitting across from him, Barty ate as well.

Throughout the meal, Harry started telling Barty about all the people he knew and was curious about: there was the obvious two, Ron and Hermione, but then his other Gryffindor yearmates—Dean and Seamus and Neville— as well as a few other classmates he remembered—Malfoy and his two goons, the Patil twins, then that other Gryffindor girl, Lavender? Something like that. Of course, he was also very curious about his teachers, especially Professor Snape. He wanted to make sure he didn’t come across the man by surprise. When Barty asked about him, he was happy to elaborate.

“And you said he treated you poorly from the very beginning of the school year?” Barty asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I still remember his very first words.” He sat up straighter and mimicked Snape’s voice as he said, “Ah, Mr. Potter…our new celebrity.” Harry shivered dramatically. “Then he asked me about some powdered roots and wormwood or something. I didn’t know what it was about, really. I’d just gotten my books and hadn’t been able to read through them all because my uncle kept them locked up when I brought them home.” Harry saw Barty’s eyes widened and he hurried on to say, “Snape was always getting after me, though. He would say my potions were bad and that I was a bad student and I should pay attention and not try to prank or bully other kids. I never did any of that, though. I swear I didn’t!”

“I certainly believe you,” Barty said with a smile. “But what did he mean, that you were a celebrity? What were you famous for?”

Harry grimaced. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, “I really didn’t, but everyone thought I did because they couldn’t explain how I survived.”

Barty’s smile fell away. “Survived? You mean…when your parents were attacked by Voldemort?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. He came and killed them and tried to kill me too but it didn’t work.” Harry looked down into his soup, stirring it with his spoon. “I was just a little baby when it happened so I don’t even remember it, but I was told that he used a powerful killing spell on me but it didn’t work. It bounced off of me and hit him instead and he died.” 

“He…died?”

“Well, not really,” Harry explained. “He lost his body and turned into a wraith, or that’s what I found out later. During my year at Hogwarts, he possessed one of my teachers and was stuck on the back of his head!” Harry looked up again. Barty was staring at him, his mouth slightly open in shock. “He tried to kill me! It was pretty scary. But Thomas says I don’t have to worry about him here. He says Voldemort is smarter here and knows better than to try and hurt me.”

Barty closed his mouth with a snap and then tapped his two middle fingers against his forehead before passing his hand over his face. He muttered something, which sounded an awful lot like “Bless me” and then cleared his throat. “Considering all that, you must be quite happy to be gone from such a dangerous world. If Master promised that Voldemort will not harm you, then he must mean it. He wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

Relaxing a little, Harry nodded, “I am happier here, it’s true. I mean, I do miss my friends, but Thomas said I’ll be able to make new friends and still go to Hogwarts and everything. I’ll miss him while I’m gone at school, but I know he must be very busy.”

“I’m sure he’ll visit you as often as he’s able to,” Barty said. “After all, you’re his soulmate. Such a bond is precious! Besides that, the Headmaster will certainly give you plenty of opportunities to visit him. It’s in his nature to accommodate Master to the best of his ability.”

“That reminds me,” Harry asked, “If Dumbledore isn’t the Headmaster here, who is it?”

Barty paused in lifting his glass to drink from. “You might not have met him, but you knew someone who did. His name is Lucius Malfoy, he’s Draco’s father.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked in surprise. “He was a teacher in this world?” 

“Very briefly,” Barty said, “Enough to qualify for the post, really. He taught an OWLs level Debate course as well as acted as one of the rotating teachers for Charms.” Barty sipped his glass and then said, “There was a brief period during which there wasn’t a permanent Charms professor, though it only lasted three or so years.”

“Huh,” Harry said, “We had something like that I guess, except it was the Defense professor and the position was cursed. At least, that’s what I was told and it did come true for our professor last year.”

“Cursed? How curious. Do you know any more details about it?”

Harry shook his head.

Barty sighed. “Well, that’s a shame. I do love a good mystery.”

There was a soft chime that went off in the room then and Barty looked over at a large grandfather clock that stood on the far wall. “Ah, it seems like the tailor is on his way up. Are you finished with lunch, Lord Carus?”

Harry quickly gulped down the rest of his juice and stood up. “Now I am.”

Barty dismissed the dishes back into the cupboard and then provided a spelled cloth that Harry could wipe his hands on.

By the time everything was cleaned up and presentable, there was a knock at the door. Barty went over and answered it, speaking quietly for a moment or two before stepping back and opening the door wider. 

An older man than Harry was expecting stepped in. He carried a large leather bag in one hand and a thick book in his other arm. He was about as tall as Barty, though his shoulders had a slight stoop, and his hair had gone wispy on top, curling mostly around his ears like a cloud. He wore a dark brown set of robes that were open at the front to reveal tan trousers and a light blue buttoned shirt beneath.

He brought in his supplies and set them down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then he bowed deeply to Harry, which made him blush in embarrassment.

“Good afternoon, Lord Carus,” the man said once he’d straightened. “My name is Oswyn Rowle. You may call me Oz or Oswyn, whichever you prefer, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, okay, thank you,” Harry stammered out. He glanced nervously at Barty, who was standing off to the side and out of the way, and then back to Oswyn. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before— Well, I mean I went to Madame Malkin’s once, but that was for school robes and she was very quick. Um. What would you like me to do?” 

Oswyn gave him a disarming smile, looking somewhat grandfatherly as he did so. He reminded Harry of Dumbledore with his twinkling eyes. “Do not fear making a mistake, my lord, I will tell you everything I need you to do at the time I need you to do it. Lord Prior indicated that you would be willing to make a bound model, which will negate any need for me to do direct measurements to your person.” He turned and opened his bag and then reached deep within it.

He pulled out what looked a lot like a little doll, except it had no features and was made of cloth and it was attached to a wooden stand. He placed it on the ground and then waved his wand as he cast a spell on it. It resized up to the size of a person, stand and all. 

Oswyn drew out a pencil from his pocket and drew on the front and then the back of the doll’s torso, then he drew a circle on the forehead and stepped back. “The model requires three drops of infused blood upon the brow to bind itself to your body.” He glanced at Harry and then at Barty and asked, “Shall I provide the athame?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Barty said, “Lord Carus has not yet performed his rites; he does not have his own.”

“What’s an athame?” Harry asked, watching as Oswyn went to his bag and reached in. He drew out a small, black-handled knife with a blade that looked like it might’ve been made out of glass.

“This is an athame,” Oswyn said. “Each wixen carries such a blade once they’ve gone through their initial rites. It is one of the old ways that was nearly lost to us, but Lord Prior returned this lost art to us when he returned many years ago. Come, I will cut you very slightly with this knife. You will barely feel it and once the spell is complete, the wound will heal.”

He held out his free hand, and, warily, Harry walked over. He wished Thomas was there, but had to just trust Barty that if Oswyn was doing something bad, he’d stop him. 

The man carefully took hold of his wrist and pressed the edge of the blade to Harry’s middle finger. Immediately blood began to well up and the man guided his hand up, pressing his bloody fingertip to the center of the circle on the mannequin’s forehead. There was a brief spark of heat in his finger and goosebumps broke out all over his body with a shiver. Then there was a flash of light from the marks on the doll’s chest. 

Harry pulled his hand away, watching in awe as the doll resized back down to his own height and then the arms and legs and even body began to reshape. Once it finished, he was left staring at a faceless, hairless, cloth copy of himself. “Oh wicked,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

He moved back so Oswyn could get a good look at the mannequin. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then nodded. “It seems to have worked correctly. This will do quite nicely.” 

He left the doll right where it was and reached for the large book. He grinned as he turned around, and said, “Now comes the fun part, my lord. Let’s look at fabric.”

Harry smiled back a little nervously, but happy that Oswyn was happy— and that he didn’t have to stand and get jabbed ‘accidentally’ with needles!

Voldemort walked into the Atrium at a steady pace, not slowing down at all as he approached the reception desk. The wizard behind the counter straightened up at the sight of him, exclaiming, “Good day, Lord Prior!” 

He gave the man a nod. “Gilbert. I was told there is a lift set aside for me?”

“The third one, sir, as usual,” Gilbert responded. “An auror is holding it for you.”

“Good. If you’ll excuse me,” he strode past the desk, smothering the smirk when he was simply waved through. No one would dare stop him to weigh his wand or check his ID, of course. No one dared to impersonate him; not that they could in any case.

He saw Frank outside the lift and greeted the man with a nod. Frank turned and immediately opened the lift. His usual cheerful demeanor was replaced with a much more serious one.

“My lord,” Frank bowed as Voldemort arrived. 

“Frank,” Voldemort greeted in return. He stepped in and was completely unsurprised to see Bellatrix waiting inside. She was a bundle of tightly wound nerves—she tapped her foot and rolled her wand between her fingers. Her dark eyes lit on him the moment he stepped in, but she waited until Frank followed and had shut the doors before she spoke.

“The rebels have changed leadership,” Bella told him, immediately jumping to the point. “And with that change has a serious shift in tactics. Our friendly little terrorists firebombing empty warehouses have escalated. There was another attack while you were gone. Twenty-five injured. Six dead.” 

“The target?” Voldemort asked. 

“It’s…being disputed,” Bella’s red lips twisted with disgust. “Some believe it's the distribution center that was burnt down. Others think it was the apothecary next door that was gutted and knocked down. Some are even arguing that it’s an entirely new group.”

“And we’re sure it’s the rebels because…?”

“The magical signatures, for one,” Frank said, joining the conversation seamlessly. “And the…message left behind.”

“The message?” 

Bella pulled out a glossy picture from the folder she’d kept tucked under her arm.

Voldemort took it and held it up to see clearly in the light.

The image was a still one, unusual for a wizarding camera, but all that was necessary here. It was of a stone wall, scorched and blackened around a center that had been magically protected. Someone had carved two stanzas into the very stone and then lit them from within with a spell.

Take notice, you senseless ones among the people;
you fools, when will you become wise?
The wicked band together against the righteous
and condemn the innocent to death.

Rise up, Judge of the earth;
pay back to the wicked what they deserve.
How long, Lord, O God who avenges,
how long will the wicked be jubilant?

Voldemort read out the message softly, mostly to himself. The bastardized words of scripture fell easily from his lips. 

At the bottom of the image, there was a large snake that had been killed, pinned to the stone wall with a metal spike through its head. Voldemort stared for a long time at the snake before he was certain he did not recognize it. His parseltongue ability was not unknown, of course, but he did not use it much, considering the only wizard alive in Britain who could speak it was his deranged uncle. 

“It’s become troublesome,” Bella said, taking back the photo when he handed it to her. “There are some scared idiots who are starting to talk about how these rebels are going to woo Voldemort away from your binding, declaring that his taste for violence will drive him to them.”

“And there are others who think that the rebels are making deals with other Demiurges,” Frank said, “Frankly speaking, that’s what I am most concerned with as well. Is it possible for them to do so?”

Voldemort snorted softly. “No. It is not. Voldemort’s presence here is too great for another Demiurge to gain power. However, whether or not they truly seek Voldemort’s attention, they certainly will get it with this violence. They wish to see a God of vengeance? Then they shall.” 

A slight smile ghosted his lips as he quoted the same Psalm. “He will repay them for their sins and destroy them for their wickedness; the Lord our God will destroy them.”

Chapter Text

Thomas still hadn’t arrived by dinner.

Harry had spent most of the afternoon with Oswyn. It turned out there were all sorts of colors and patterns and fabrics he hadn’t even known existed. Harry had been nervous about picking something too expensive at first, but Oswyn had insisted that most of this was just brainstorming. While he might not make whole outfits out of things like silk from siren’s hair or feathers from hippogriffs, he would take inspiration from them to make things that Harry would like and would look good on him.

Harry desperately wanted to look good for Thomas. Not-Hermione had only reminded him of how small and skinny he was; the model Oswyn had made only hammered that message home. He’d never realized that he could see his hip-bones quite that clearly before…

When Oswyn finally left, Harry felt exhausted. He’d had Barty walk him back up to the rooms he shared with Thomas so he could take a shower and a nap, finally washing off that morning’s sweat. Then he sprawled out on one of the couches in a small sitting room and went to sleep.

Harry woke to someone shaking his arm and sleepily lifted his head. “Thomas?”

“No, Lord Carus, it’s just me,” Barty told him regretfully. “Dinner is being served. Would you like to eat up here or down in Lord Prior’s sitting room?”

Harry slumped back down onto the bed. “I don’t wanna eat without Thomas,” he mumbled into the pillow. “M’not hungry.”

“Are you certain?” Barty asked, “Master did say you were to eat dinner without him if he wasn’t back in time…”

“Mhm,” Harry said. He curled up tighter, pulling his blanket closer. He didn’t remember exactly when and where he got the blanket, but that was fine. He was on the couch that smelled faintly like Thomas and that was really nice. “M'gonna sleep now.” 

He didn’t hear Barty’s response, if there was one, as he slipped drowsily back into darkness.

There was flame and heat, the stifling pressure of smoke in the air. Wild eyes peered down at him, looming from overhead; a hissing voice, thin and vicious, “Fool, get the stone!” Hands reaching up, cupping the man’s face as skin turns to ash beneath his touch and he starts screaming screaming screaming…

Harry woke with a jerk, his heart pounding hard in his chest, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He saw a hand reaching for him and reacted instantly, shying away and crying out hoarsely, “No, don’t touch me!”

The hand stopped and withdrew. Harry curled up tighter, putting his arms over his head and focusing on not crying. His heart still ricocheted around in his chest and his breathing was shallow, erratic. 

He gave a little cry when someone pressed their hand to his back, palm flat between his shoulder blades. He tried to pull away, but there was nowhere he could go, and then—

Soothing energy poured into his body from that hand and across his back. It seeped down into his bones, filling him up from his very core to the tips of his fingers and toes. Harry relaxed almost against his will, slumping on the cushions and letting out a soft moan. His throat ached, like he’d been screaming, and his face was still itchy and hot, like he’d been crying in his sleep.

“You’re all right, love,” Thomas’s voice was soft and came from somewhere behind him. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Harry took gulping breaths, suddenly feeling more like crying than he had before. He felt Thomas’s hand slide up his back and he tried to worm away, whimpering. “No, no,” he gasped out, “No. Don’t. You’ll burn up!”

“Hush, darling, it’s all right,” Thomas said. Fingers curled in Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck and Harry choked out a cry. “See?” Thomas murmured. His thumb brushed against the side of Harry’s neck. “I’m not hurt. You’re not hurt. It’s okay.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, but the moment it had, Harry twisted around and threw his arms out to Thomas. He was swept up into an embrace, pulled into Thomas’s arms, and against his chest. 

Harry pressed his face against the man’s neck, trying to fight back the tears that wanted to fall and, when he failed at that, hiding them by keeping his face there. His breath came in terrible little gasps, each one of them pulling through his throat that felt unusually raw.

“It’s okay, love, you’re okay now.” Thomas’s voice was as soothing as his touch, hands gentle as they ran down Harry’s back and through his dark curls. “I’ve got you. You’re safe here. No one will harm you.”

Harry fought to control his breathing for ages. By the time he had, he was slumped against Thomas, somehow even more exhausted than before. He hadn’t had a nightmare that terrible in weeks. The last one had been that first night of the infirmary, where he’d been all alone in that cold room in the castle.

Thomas gently pulled his head back. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed at all the crying, feeling miserable and sweaty. Brushing his cheeks dry, Thomas pressed tender kisses to Harry’s face: the corner of an eye, above his eyebrow, on the tip of his nose, just beside his mouth. Soon, Harry felt flushed for a whole new reason and he squinted up at Thomas. 

Without his glasses on, the whole room was blurry except for Thomas, since he sat so close. He gave Harry a warm smile, one hand cradling his cheek and the other around his middle. “There you are,” Thomas murmured, “Do you feel better?”

Harry shrugged. 

Thomas tapped his lips with his thumb. “Aloud, love.”

“I dunno,” Harry said, his voice cracking a little. 

“Mmm, here. This might help,” Thomas said. Harry felt a ripple of magic tingle across his skin and then Thomas let go of his cheek in order to reach for something. He held up a tall glass of water, cool enough that condensation had started to gather on the sides. 

Harry gratefully took the drink. He was careful to drink it slowly in little sips; he knew better than to gulp water when he felt like this, as it would just make him feel nauseated. When he was halfway done with the glass, he pressed it against his forehead and closed his eyes. 

Thomas took the glass away and put his hand in its place. His skin was cool and Harry felt soothing magic trickle down from the touch. 

“Now how do you feel?”

“Better,” Harry mumbled. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Thomas asked.

Harry shrugged and then said, “I dunno. I’m just— I’m sorry.” 

“Your nightmares aren’t your fault,” Thomas said, “It’s simply your mind processing things you’ve gone through. Do you have them often?”

“No,” Harry said, “At least, not anymore. I used to…” His voice trailed off as he remembered all the old nightmares he used to get. Almost once a week he’d wake up in the middle of the night with some sort of horror clawing at him. Before Hogwarts he had dreamt of being locked away in the cupboard and completely forgotten, or worse, locked up and taunted from the other side as he started to starve to death. He’d have nightmares of Dudley chasing him forever, or of being shoved out of the car while it was driving like he’d threatened before. Or nightmares of Aunt Petunia cutting off his fingers for doing freakish things the way she’d cut off his hair.

After Hogwarts, the dreams had gotten weirder and, in many cases, much more terrifying. Especially after he’d been forced to walk through the Forbidden Forest and saw what must have been Quirrell drinking from a dead unicorn. 

Thomas tucked his hand under Harry’s chin and lifted it. “Look at me?” 

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes. Thomas looked at him with concern on his handsome face. Harry was reminded then about Not-Hermione’s words, and the skinny mannequin. He suddenly felt uncomfortable sitting in Thomas’s lap. He was too small—too tiny. He was too little. Thomas probably couldn’t wait for him to grow up already.

“Your nightmares,” Thomas murmured, “What are they about usually?”

Images flashed in Harry’s mind—Petunia and the scissors, the locked cupboard door, Dudley’s chasing him, the dead unicorn, Quirrell’s face turning to ash, Professor Snape humiliating him, Fluffy biting him or his friends, being stuck in the dark and forgotten, Ron and Hermione leaving him, his parents in the mirror being disgusted with him—and he shuddered. “Horrible things,” Harry whispered, squeezing his eyes shut again as he fought to push the memories away. He hated how clear his nightmares always were. He wished he could just forget them like he did his regular dreams. “Horrible, terrible things. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I won’t make you,” Thomas told him, “But if you ever do want to talk, I will listen. I understand what it is like, to have fears greater than yourself, to have thoughts turn to nightmares under the cover of darkness.”

Harry huffed, “Yeah right. What could you be afraid of? You’re so powerful and everyone likes you. They all do whatever you tell them to.”

“I was not always their Lord Prior,” Thomas admonished lightly, “Nor did I always have my soulmate safe in my arms. Besides, now that I have you, I fear that I could lose you somehow.” 

Harry shifted guiltily. He’d forgotten that, technically, he was Thomas’s second soulmate and that the first Harry Potter had died. He leaned against Thomas, putting an arm around him to hug him. “Sorry,” he mumbled again. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Oh darling, I don’t hold it against you. I’m quite aware of how I come across to people.” Thomas chuckled softly. He was idly running his hand up and down Harry’s back, a soothing touch that really made Harry feel relaxed. “I will always worry about your safety, dear, and I will do so happily because if I’m worried about you getting hurt that means you’re here with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d like to be,” Harry admitted softly. “I almost wish I didn’t have to go to Hogwarts…”

Thomas chuckled again. “I sense a ‘but’ hidden there…” He slid his warm fingers down Harry’s cheek, lifting his chin up so that Harry was looking into his face. He was smiling with a glint of humor in his eyes.

Harry blushed and looked to the side. “But I’m kinda excited too… Last year was fun but I was so worried about Voldemort and all the other bad stuff that happened… This year I won’t have any of that. I get to enjoy being at Hogwarts for real.”

“You certainly do,” Thomas said. “I’m going to have the Headmaster come by in a few days to discuss your schedule and your sorting. Afterward, we’ll know what supplies you need and we can go down to the market to get them. Of course, any book list you’ll get we’ll check against my personal library first. You can borrow whatever you need from there.”

Harry was excited by that prospect. Maybe, if he’d been more like Ron, he wouldn’t want to use second-hand books for his lessons, but they were Thomas’s books, so they were quite special. “I’ll take good care of them, I promise.”

Thomas smiled, “I know you will, though I’m not quite as gentle with my books as you might suspect. You’ll likely find notes written in the margins of any of my books, and I will not be upset if you do the same. If there are any books that I have you borrow that you cannot write in, I will let you know.”

Harry thanked him again, bashfully hugging Thomas in gratitude. He hid his face against his shoulder, pressing his grin against the cloth of his robe. Despite waking up in that scary way, Harry felt like he was full of sunlight now. Thomas always made him feel better. He was so wonderful!

“Now, Barty told me that you slept through dinner,” Thomas said as he trailed his fingers through Harry’s dark hair. “So you must be ravenous. Shall we go for a late meal, my love?”

Harry nodded. He leaned back a little and asked with warm cheeks, “And then we can go to bed?”

Thomas gave him a sly look. “Of course, dearest, we can go to bed together afterward.” His fingers slid down and then curled around Harry’s jaw. “But dinner first, hm?”

Harry blushed hard, his face burning up at the tone of Thomas’s voice. Hurriedly, Harry slid off of Thomas’s lap and took hold of his hand. “Then let’s go eat dinner right away, okay?”

Thomas stood up, smoothing one hand down his open robes with one hand while he lifted Harry’s up. He bent over slightly, brushing his lips over Harry’s knuckles. “Whatever my handsome little love wishes is my command.”

Harry had expected Thomas to either take them up to his private rooms or down to the kitchens.

Instead, he took Harry to a totally different part of the Abbey—down a main hallway near some private study rooms then through an unobtrusive door near the end, up some narrow, winding stairs, and then finally outside. The door opened up to a small covered pavilion of sorts—there were four stone pillars in the corners and large empty archways that opened up to balconies. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked as he looked around. They were so high up!

“The Abbey bell tower,” Thomas said. He pointed upwards and Harry looked up to see two massive bells hanging overhead. He gaped at them—he’d never seen something like that before! “They go off every hour and sound a specific tune at eight AM, noon, four, and eight PM. 

There was still some daylight, though only just barely. The sun had definitely started to set, and it cast a golden light across the land. Harry walked over to the railing and stared out at the orchard that they had been in just that morning. From up here, the trees looked more like shrubs! He could see the green houses, and some outside gardens, even a stream nearby with a building placed right next to it. It had an old time-y water mill wheel attached and looked so cool.

“It’s so pretty,” Harry said as he turned to grin up at Thomas. 

Thomas smiled down at him and said, “That’s not all. Look behind you.”

Harry turned and gasped. He rushed over to the opposite balcony to see better. 

On the other side of the Abbey walls there spread an entire town full of people. There were dozens upon dozens of buildings of all kinds; streets wound up and down and around with people walking around everywhere. In the golden sunlight, the homes seemed to gleam as if made of metal. Harry could see sparkling lights in windows all over the place as people prepared for nightfall with their own light.

Thomas joined him there and rested one hand lightly on his shoulder. “I never properly introduced this place to you last night,” he murmured. “That is Flarefield, the town that grew around Hearthstone Abbey, where we are now.”

“It’s incredible,” Harry whispered back. He reluctantly tore his gaze away to look up at Thomas. “You helped build all of this?”

“I laid the foundation for many of the buildings here,” Thomas said, “And I certainly helped with the Abbey.” He gave Harry a teasing look, “You shouldn’t be so surprised, love, didn’t I tell you? Magic can do anything, so long as you have the will for it.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, you mentioned. I just didn’t think you could use magic to build a house!”

Thomas laughed. “Oh darling. I mean everything when I say everything. For example, I’d like to go into the town to get dinner. Would you like to help me choose which restaurant to go to?”

Harry squinted down at the streets below. “I suppose, but what’s down there? I can’t see it at all.”

Thomas passed his hand through the air in front of Harry and then suddenly a section of it shimmered and then turned into a magnifying glass. Suddenly, Harry could see the street below them clearly enough to read the signs on the shops. It was a lot like Diagon Alley, he noticed, with shops of all kinds, displaying books and clothing and pets in various windows.

Pointing out the shops to eat at, several of them caught Harry’s attention, but one of them immediately became his choice when Thomas said who ran the place. 

“Did you say Parvati?” Harry asked, “What’s her last name? Is it Patil?”

“It once was,” Thomas said, “She married and changed it. Was she one of your classmates from before?” 

Harry nodded. “She was in Gryffindor like me, though I think she had a twin sister? I didn’t know her very well, but it was her and Lavender and Hermione that were the girls in our year.”

“She would be the right age,” Thomas said, “And I believe she does have a twin. Would you like to go eat at her restaurant tonight?”

“Yes,” Harry said. 

Thomas dismissed the magnifying glass and then held out his hand to Harry. “Take my hand and come closer, love. We’re going to descend in style.”

Harry did so, squeezing Thomas’s hand tightly when he stepped up onto the low balcony. Harry followed him up, feeling nervous and excited. Was Thomas going to summon brooms and have them fly down?

A rush of magic washed over them, making Harry’s pulse jump and his face heat up. It felt a lot like those times Thomas held him close and kissed his face all over, a sort of bubbly, light feeling that made him giggle. Thomas squeezed his hand to get his attention. When Harry looked up, Thomas asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said a little breathlessly. Another little giggle escaped him and he said, “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Thomas told him. And then he stepped forward onto empty air. 

Harry reflexively squeezed Thomas’s hand, expecting him to fall forward but… he didn’t. He just stood there. Floating. Right in the air in front of Harry as if he was standing on solid stone still. 

“Come on,” Thomas said, “Join me.”

Excitedly, Harry stepped forward. His foot touched on air that became solid beneath him until he too was standing on nothing. “Woah,” he whispered, looking down at their feet. “We’re floating!”

“We’re doing more than that, love,” Thomas teased. “We’re flying.” Then he tugged on Harry’s hand and they began to move away from the bell tower.

They weren’t as fast as they would be on a broom, but that was okay. Harry felt lighter than air as he walked across it, his steps bouncy as he looked all around himself at this new vantage point. He could see down into the Abbey courtyard below and, after a while, he could look back and see the tower behind them as well. 

The large bells gleamed in the fading sunlight and Harry told himself he’d listen for them the next time they went off, since he hadn’t really noticed them before. 

As they flew over the town, people below began to notice them. Many of them waved and some even shouted greeting Thomas as Lord Prior like the people in the Abbey did. Harry waved back at them, but Thomas merely smiled as he carried on by. 

“You’re not gonna wave back at them?” Harry asked, “Should I not wave either?”

“You can if you like,” Thomas said, “It will help you be more familiar to them.”

Remembering what Thomas had said—that the more mysterious he was, the more he’d be treated like he used to be—Harry decided to keep on waving down at the people below. 

Thomas brought them lower and lower, until Harry could hear the bells on doors and shouts of some people, until he could smell spices in the air from all the different restaurants around, until they were just above the rooftops and then lower still.

They stepped down out of the air and onto a cobblestone pathway in front of an ornate, two-story building. There was a sign above the door declaring it Parvati’s Palace and there were intricate golden designs on the red-painted door and window sills. 

Thomas let go of his hand to brush his fingers over Harry’s shoulders, banishing the magic away with the gesture. Then he combed his fingers through Harry’s hair with a chuckle. “You look even more windswept than usual, love.”

Harry blushed and attempted to pat his hair down, but he could tell from the amused tilt of Thomas’s smile that it hadn’t stuck. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “It’s always been like this.”

“Mm, well then, we’ll have to find some magical means of taming it,” Thomas said, “Or live with it. I do admit it’s quite becoming.” He bent down and kissed Harry’s forehead lightly, which did nothing to keep Harry from blushing even more. Straightening up again, Thomas said, “Now, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Harry said, “I’m starved.”

Harry had never tried Indian food before and so he was a little nervous, but Thomas knew what everything was and encouraged him to try some of everything he’d ordered. Hating to see any food go to waste, Harry did try and then ate as much as he could of the dishes he liked. They were so warm and filling, each bite packed with flavor. Even the house chai was delicious and Harry drank at least four cups. 

Near the end of their meal that a different woman came out—not their server but someone a little older and with a somewhat familiar face. She walked up confidently and swept a perfect curtsey when she stood beside the table.

“Greetings, Lord Prior. We are so grateful you’ve graced us with your presence once more,” she said, smoothing her hands down over her skirts. She wore a very colorful dress of purple and blue and gold, with a light lavender robe on top. 

“Parvati,” Thomas said, “It has once again been a pleasure to dine here. Your food never fails to satisfy.”

Harry perked up at the name. “Parvati? You’re Parvati Patil?”

“I used to be,” she said. Parvati blinked a few times as she looked at him. “You’re… familiar. I…” Her eyes locked on Harry’s green ones and she said, “Oh. I…” Putting a hand over her mouth for a moment, she just stared at Harry in surprise. 

A nearby empty chair wiggled over and up to the table at the end. Thomas invited her to sit, and Patil sank down to her chair, still in shock. She turned her wide gaze to Thomas and asked, “I had heard that Daniel died but he looks so much like him— Have you brought him back?” Her voice was a whisper at the end.

“You heard correctly,” Thomas said in a grave voice. “Mr. Evans perished during a raid conducted by the Order. You are aware of them, yes?”

Parvati’s eyes slid to the side, “Yes. Of course. The terrorists.” She cleared her throat, “But if that was the case then who…?”

Thomas met Harry’s eyes, lifting his brows and giving a ‘go on’ gesture to him. So Harry said, “My name is  Harry Potter. I’m from a different dimension. Thomas came and found me at my relative’s house and asked me to come home with him, so I did.”

“So you did,” Parvati echoed, “No second guessing? What about your family?”

Harry shook his head. “My parents were already dead. I really only had a few friends.” His voice softened at the end as he remembered them. He missed them quite a lot, but was trying not to when he was with Thomas. He didn’t want Thomas to feel bad for taking him away when everything else was perfect except he had lost his first real friends. 

“It was quite the complicated ritual,” Thomas murmured as he reached over and put his hand on Harry’s on top of the table. He gave a little squeeze, “But there are few lengths that many would go through in order to bring back their soulmate, myself included.”

“Oh.” Parvati blinked again several times. “Oh, I had no idea that Daniel—That Harry— I must congratulate you, my lord. Finding one’s soulmate is a blessing.” 

“Thank you,” Thomas said. “I do agree. One’s soulmate is quite the blessing.” He smiled at Harry in a way that made him shyly smile back. 

Parvati cleared her throat and quickly stood. “I am pleased for your patronage, my lords. Has everything been to your liking? Do you need anything else?”

“Everything has been satisfactory,” Thomas said.

“It’s really good,” Harry added. “I really like this lamb dish here. And the drinks. And the bread.” 

“Ah, thank you very much,” Parvati said. “We’ll put some in a dish for you to take home. Excuse me.” She turned and left before Harry could stop her. 

He frowned a little. “Do you even have a fridge we can put that into?” Harry asked, “And what about the other leftovers?”

“There will be preservation charms on the dishes themselves that will keep them fresh,” Thomas said. “Don’t worry about the food going bad, darling.”

Harry relaxed and smiled. That was good. He’d hate to waste food. And while he was glad he didn’t have to worry about starving at the Dursleys anymore, he still asked, “Can I learn those spells? Are they hard?”

“They’re somewhat complicated,” Thomas said, “Such charms are usually taught in fifth year, but I can give you the book with the information so you can read ahead and practice it.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I’ll read it I guess.” He didn’t have much luck just reading about spells to learn them, but Thomas said he could practice and there wasn’t any Trace, so maybe he’d be able to figure it out anyway.

“I would offer to instruct you myself, but there wouldn’t be enough time before Hogwarts started for it to be ideal. There are other things that take priority.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying not to feel the hurt that suddenly spiked through his chest. Right. Thomas was an adult with an important job in the Abbey. He definitely didn’t have time to spend with Harry to teach him spells or anything. Especially since Harry was going to learn them at school anyway. Harry nodded and mumbled, “Okay. I understand.”

He’d just read the book that Thomas got him. Even if it was harder to understand, at least it was something. And maybe he could ask someone like the librarian Regulus to help him understand what the book was saying since Hermione wasn’t here and Thomas was busy.

Except…there was a Hermione here. Sort of. 

Harry was distracted from his thoughts by a server coming with a paper bag of containers of food for them. He gave a nervous smile as they bowed and handed it over to Thomas, who took it without question. He got up when Thomas did, taking his hand when it was offered to him. 

As they left the restaurant, Harry leaned over and asked, “Don’t you have to pay for dinner?” 

“Hm?” Thomas quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh. No, darling.” He let go of the bag of food, which floated in the air beside him, and tapped the golden medallion he wore around his neck. “While I’m wearing this, my actions are endorsed by the Abbey. When I eat at a restaurant wearing this, I don’t have to pay because just the fact that I am there is promoting that restaurant to others.” 

He tapped the bag, shrinking it down and putting it into his pocket. Then he smiled and said, “Shall we head back to the Abbey now?”

Harry nodded. He stifled a giggle behind his hand when the magic rushed over them both and then had to hold back a yelp as Thomas put his arm around him and tugged him closer before lifting them both into the air. The few people out on the street watched them with wide eyes, faces filled with awe, and Harry hid his face against Thomas in embarrassment. He really didn’t want to be a celebrity again, but it looked like he was going to end up that way whether he liked it or not!

The flight back seemed shorter than their departure, and soon they were landing on a lower part of the roof, not quite at the same height as the bell tower. 

Harry yawned when they landed, feeling much sleepier. He didn’t complain when Thomas picked him up, just laid his head down on his shoulder and let himself be carried inside. With a stomach full of warm food, and having had an exhausting day, Harry was quite ready to go to sleep. 

He drowsed all the way back to their rooms, though he thought at some point someone came to walk with them and talk to Thomas. He didn’t see who it was, though, just heard them talking about some sort of curse thing. He tried to listen, but his head was filled with cotton and his eyelids drooped. 

Before he knew it, he was being set down on a soft surface and it was only Thomas’s hand on his shoulder that kept him from sprawling out into true sleep.

“You need to get out of your day clothes,” Thomas murmured while his hands moved over Harry, stripping him down to his pants. Harry was too sleepy to be embarrassed, yawning so wide his jaw cracked and slumping backward when Thomas was pulling down his trousers. 

He did end up sprawled on top of the blankets for a moment while Thomas vanished to do something. Harry turned and wormed his way up to one of the big, plush pillows he loved so very, very much. He curled himself around it, pressing his cheek into the pillow and sighing in absolute comfort. 

When the blankets draped over him, Harry snuggled in deeper beneath them. He felt Thomas get into the bed behind him, the mattress shifting under his body, and then Thomas’s warm hand was on his back. His fingers traced a shape there, the touch of them sending curious tingles of magic through his body.

Harry’s last moment of awareness was Thomas’s low voice whispering to him, “I’m right here, Harry. I’m not going anywhere.”

In the low light, Voldemort could clearly see the large mark upon his little soulmate’s back. 

He traced his fingers along the edges of the lion’s mane, in awe of the richness of the color, the detail of the mark, and just how large it truly was. He stroked over the lion’s cheek and brow, fingers moving smoothly over Harry’s skin. The fine peach hair was an imitation of the lion’s fur, just like the boy’s slow breaths made it seem as though the demiurge was a living, breathing thing. 

Slowly, Voldemort ran his fingers down from the mane to the coiled snake body below. He traced the intricate patterns of darker green scales amid the bright green and gold ones. Along the ridged back of the snake, he found the phrase I Am Lord Voldemort written there, much the same way he had written it for the first time all those years ago. 

None of the others had had so vivid or so true a mark as to Voldemort’s soul. Just the sight of it could overwhelm him with wonder. How was it that this child so clearly saw his soul and yet did not shy away? How did he retain his innocence, his naivete, with unscaled eyes? 

It made him hope that Harry would always remain so. That Harry would be eternally joyful, eternally innocent, that he would be able to see Voldemort and not cast him out as a devil, a bewitcher, a charmer with evil in his heart.

Voldemort leaned down and pressed a kiss between Harry’s shoulder blades, where the brow of the lion’s head rested. He felt the tingle of magic under his lips, under his palm, where he touched their shared mark.  He heard Harry take a deeper breath and felt it leave him in a heavy sigh as the boy sank deeper into the bedding.

Chuckling softly, Voldemort adjusted his position behind him, tucking Harry under his chin as he settled his own head on the pillow above him. He kept his arm around the boy, keeping him close and feeding him the slightest trickle of calming magic from their skin-to-skin contact. He hadn’t expected Harry to have such vivid nightmares, or such varied ones, but he didn’t mind being the one to soothe him from them. It only cemented Voldemort’s position in Harry’s life as someone he could never live without.

Besides, it truly wasn’t a bother. Harry accepted his magic into his body as readily as if it were his own. 

Voldemort turned that thought over in his head, backward and forwards, considering it as he let himself slide into sleep.

How curious it was, that Harry accepted his magic so easily.

How curious it was, that Harry’s soulmate mark so perfectly reflected Voldemort’s soul.

How curious it was, how perfectly matched they were, considering how many tries it took to find him.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Thomas led Harry into his personal study. It was large, but felt cramped with the tall bookshelves overcrowded with books and scrolls. He took a few books down while Harry trailed behind him, trying not to be upset that he was going to get books shoved at him instead of spending time with Thomas. He knew that their heady days of laziness couldn’t last forever. Thomas had a job to do and people to talk to. He was very important and very busy. Harry was just being a selfish baby about wanting his time. He had to be better than that!

Still, it was hard not to drag his feet when Thomas took them into the sitting room, books tucked under his arm. Harry tried to find the good side of things, like that he was at least going to get to stay in the same room as Thomas, even if they were just going to be quietly reading. At least, he hoped so. Perhaps Thomas was just going to get him situated and then he would leave to do other more important adult things, sending Barty to come tend Harry like he was a baby who couldn’t be left alone!

Sure, Harry didn’t exactly know his way around the Abbey, but he hadn’t known his way around Hogwarts at first either! He could figure it out if given a chance!

“Darling,” Thomas’s voice was light with amusement, “Are you going to join me?”

Harry ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed. He hurried over and plopped down onto the couch next to Thomas only to have Thomas grab him by the waist and pull him into his lap instead. Harry let out a surprised squeak, which just made him feel more embarrassed, and stammered, “T-Thomas?”

“It will be easier for me to show you the movements like this,” Thomas murmured. His voice was low in Harry’s ear; his breath warm across his skin. He flicked one hand and a book floated over, pages flipping until it settled somewhere in the first half. “I told you I’d like to help you learn that preservation charm, didn’t I? Well, the reason I don’t want to go straight to that spell is because I want to make sure you have a rock-hard foundation of the basics first.” 

“Really?” Harry blurted out, “I thought you were just going to make me read the book and figure it out myself!” 

“Oh darling, no. I can tell you’re much more interested in hands-on learning,” Thomas told him, “I do want you to read the books, but only to supplement your knowledge. Now, draw your wand, darling. Let me see what you know already.”

Harry pulled out his wand from the new holster—he’d gotten it just that morning as part of the first shipment of clothes from Oswyn yesterday. He held it confidently and then, going from his memory, went through the different wand movements he’d learned in his charms class. 

Thomas only occasionally corrected him, gently touching his hand to shift his grip or to steady his wrist, or turn his arm. It was strange, sitting on his lap and facing away like this, but it really did help Harry focus on his wand movements and give Thomas plenty of access to help correct his position. 

Once Thomas had seen all Harry could remember, he flipped to the various pages of the book, highlighting the passages with magic and telling Harry which ones he should read to help further understand each movement and its purpose. This went on for a while, with Thomas showing him with his own wand the variations of movements that could alter a spell by making it last longer or shorter, or spread the area of effect from one to multiple. There were even little bridging movements that could help chain spells together, a concept that Harry hadn’t heard of before but took to readily. 

He thought casting a bunch of spells all in a row was pretty cool and he watched in awe as Thomas looped his own wand through five spells so seamlessly it looked like it was just one very complicated wand movement. 

Even though Harry didn’t actually cast any spells, he felt like he’d not only learned a lot, but that his magic had been active. He was so much more aware of it here in this dimension than he had been before, but he didn’t think to ask about it. It was probably just like the soulmates or something: maybe magic was just stronger somehow, like it was easy to feel it all around. 

By the end of the lesson, Harry was actually kind of excited to read through the book. He’d seen there were passages with notes written on them, just like Thomas had said he did, and he was curious to see what they said. He felt like he could picture the movements better and hopefully, he’d be able to read about them and practice them. 

Thomas closed the book and let it settle on the coffee table after announcing they were finished. Harry put his wand back in its holster and turned around on Thomas’s lap. “That was great!” he said excitedly, “I didn’t know there was so much to learn in just how to move a wand. They only taught us a few of those movements before!”

“Based on what you told me about your classes before, I would suppose that they put some of the more difficult lessons for when you’re older. Here, we try to build a proper foundation, which includes at least introductory knowledge to all those movements and a more in-depth learning to the standards.” Thomas smiled at him. He cupped Harry’s cheek with one hand and leaned down to kiss the other one. “You, my darling, have a brilliant capability to understand magic on a physical level. You picked up on how to move your wand after one or two passes. If you continue to practice these movements, you’ll have some of the best wandwork in the country.”

Harry blushed with pleasure at the praise. “I’ll practice every day,” he promised. “I’ll get so fast no one will be able to beat me!” 

Thomas chuckled, but it didn’t sound like he was laughing at Harry. “I don’t doubt you for a second.” He brushed his thumb over Harry’s lips. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly so much more aware of how close they sat. 

He was in Thomas’s lap—had been for a while—and his first thought was he was much too heavy to stay there! Only to realize that Thomas hadn’t really complained at all. In fact, he’d kept one hand on Harry’s side or around his middle as if to keep him close, to keep from moving away. Harry squirmed uneasily, suddenly nervous about his little size and how close they were. 

“Um,” he said uncertainly, “Do you want me to get down?”

Thomas’s hand on his side slid across his middle, pulling him closer. “On the contrary, darling. I was wondering if I could kiss you?”

Face aflame, Harry nodded, only to whisper, “Yes,” when he remembered Thomas liked to hear his words. Immediately he added a soft, “Would you please?” 

“It would be my pleasure,” Thomas murmured. He lifted Harry’s chin and closed the distance between them, pressing a warm, soft kiss to Harry’s lips. 

Maybe it was the tingling sensation in his fingers from all the wand work he did, even if he didn’t cast a spell. Or maybe it was just something about the kiss itself, how they were close, how they sat together on Thomas’s couch. Either way, Harry turned more to get more from the kiss. He wound his arms around Thomas’s shoulders, straddling the man’s thighs with his knees as he kissed him. 

Harry felt the brush of something warm and wet across his lips before it pressed against them, as if trying to get into his mouth. He jerked back a little, gasping in surprise. “Was that your tongue?” He blurted out. 

Thomas licked his lips, leaning back from the kiss. His face was dusted a light pink at the cheeks and ears. Harry had either never seen it before or never noticed it, but now he couldn’t look away. Thomas looked…so cute with that light blush.

“Too much?” Thomas asked.

“It’s a little weird, isn’t it?” Harry replied, “I mean. I guess you did sorta do it before but um. Not in my mouth?”

“It’s not that weird,” Thomas said. The hand at Harry’s side was rubbing circles into his back with his fingers. It was really distracting. “It’s a type of kissing called French kissing.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “It seems kind of…wet and gross?”

“We don’t have to kiss like that if you don’t want to,” Thomas said, leaning a little farther back. His blush was going away and Harry had the feeling that they wouldn’t go back to kissing at all, if this kept up. His stomach did a nervous flip-flop. It really did seem kind of gross, but he hadn’t actually tried it before and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to do?

“We can,” Harry said quickly, “I just haven’t done it before. I might not be good at it?” 

“Mmm,” Thomas hummed softly. He ran his thumb over Harry’s lips, pulling the bottom one downwards slightly before sliding his hand back and into Harry’s hair. His nails felt good along Harry’s scalp; he reflexively closed his eyes and shivered. “I don’t mind practicing with you until you’re good at it, darling. It’s like wand work, isn’t it? You have to learn the movements and practice it every day to get good enough that your body knows what to do even if you’re not thinking about it.”

Harry’s stomach churned with anxious relief. Thomas wasn’t mad at him for being uneasy! He was willing to help and for that Harry was grateful. Even if it seemed kind of gross, maybe it actually wasn’t and it would feel as nice as the other ways of kissing?

“Okay,” Harry said, “I want to try it a little bit. What do I need to do?”

Thomas smiled at him. “Simply part your lips when you feel my tongue brush against them. Then, just keep kissing me until you want to stop. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. He tilted his head up for Thomas and closed his eyes, his heart beating hard in his chest. 

First came the usual touch of Thomas’s lips on his own, warm and a little wet this time. He pressed against him, kissing him the way they had done before. Harry kissed back. Then, he felt the swipe of Thomas’s tongue on his bottom lip. Harry let out a surprised sound and then opened his mouth a little, just like he’d been told. Immediately, Thomas’s tongue slid into his mouth. It was wet and kind of gross, but there was also this tingling sort of heat that came with it. 

Harry made a muffled noise, unable to stop himself when Thomas’s tongue slid along the inside of his mouth. He reflexively swallowed, feeling something sweet and sparkling pour down his throat. It was almost impossible to describe, like he was swallowing sunlight—something that he couldn’t see, but felt warm and seemed to make his body start to tingle. It was like before, with the bubbly sensation, but it plunged straight through his chest and down to his lower parts. 

Eagerly, Harry clung to Thomas, kissing him back even more than before, pressing even closer to his body. Thomas’s hand was deep in his curls, tugging lightly, holding Harry’s head at this angle or that angle as his tongue roamed around the inside of his mouth. Harry licked back with his own, breathing heavily through his nose as they kissed. There were all these sounds being made. Wet ones from the kissing. Breathy noises and these moans. 

With a jolt of shock and embarrassment, Harry realized he was the one making that noise! The moan echoed up his throat and was muffled into their kiss. His face burned once he realized, and it was like that was the trigger to make him hot all over his body. 

Hands on Thomas’s shoulders, Harry clung to him, trembling.  He wanted to push away and stop, to apologize for sounding like that while they kissed. But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. Thomas’s tongue was so hot in his mouth and his hands held him so tightly in his hair and at his waist—not to mention it felt like he was swallowing Thomas’s magic down into his body and it made him tingle all over!

It was Thomas who pulled away first, holding Harry back as he did so. Without his mouth to muffle him anymore, Harry let out a shamefully loud moan and then immediately hid his face against Thomas’s chest. He panted for breath, feeling dizzy, lightheaded, and sparkly all over. He shuddered as Thomas’s hands slid up and down his back, so warm, so large, and then settling on his hips. They slowly moved around to Harry’s backside, slipping underneath his bum and cupping it in both hands. 

Harry shivered as Thomas drew him closer still, pressing them flush from hip to chest. He was simultaneously aware of every hair on his arm, every twitch of his muscle, the heat of Thomas’s body and his own trembling one and also unable to focus on anything but the rasp of his breathing and the hammering of Thomas’s heart in his chest. 

Thomas held him like that against his chest for a long time, pressed so close they might as well be one person. It made Harry blush even harder to think about. Surely, if they were naked, they could be even closer to each other…

Harry squirmed and pressed his face harder into Thomas, until his glasses were poking them both a little, so that he could put that image out of his mind!

“Ah, darling,” Thomas finally said. His hands squeezed Harry’s bum, making him squeak softly. “Please tell me you enjoyed that as much as I did?”

Harry nodded. Thomas gave him another squeeze and he gasped out, “Yeah. Yeah. I did. Wow.”

“Not so wet and gross after all, was it?” 

“No,” Harry mumbled. “Wet, but not gross.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Thomas said, “Because I’d like to kiss you like that more often.”

Harry’s head spun at the idea of it. He just might combust if he did that!

But there was no way he could say no. Not to Thomas, not after everything he’d done for Harry, and especially since it really did feel pretty great. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I wanna kiss like that again.” He pulled back, peeking up at Thomas, “Maybe we can practice it? Like the wand movements? But together.”

Thomas smiled down at him, there was still a slight rosiness to his cheeks and it made him look so soft, so handsome. “I’d like that, my love. We’ll practice together.”

He leaned in and kissed Harry lightly on the forehead, right next to his scar, and all those sparkles in Harry’s belly turned to butterflies. He sighed happily. Thomas was just wonderful. 

They met with the healer after lunch, in the sitting room attached to Thomas’s study. Harry was a jumble of nerves as he waited, from his twisting stomach to a nervous sweat. He couldn’t sit still and was moving back and forth around the room, poking around at the different things he saw there. It was well decorated, after all, with bookshelves and a few landscape paintings and a very colorful tapestry that distracted Harry for a little while. 

Thomas sat on the couch, reading through some scrolls or something, Harry hadn’t paid much attention. He wished that they could go outside again and he could just climb a few trees for fun or something, but no. A doctor was coming to visit them. 

When the knock on the door finally came, Harry whipped around and stared at it. Thomas shuffled his papers together and got to his feet. He waved a hand and the door shimmered for a moment before unlocking with a click and swinging open. 

Harry didn’t recognize the doctor. He was a tall man, though not nearly as tall as Thomas, with tanned skin and light brown hair that glinted blonde in some places due to the light. He had merry blue eyes and an easygoing smile as he stepped in and offered a deep bow to Thomas and then to Harry. He wore simple robes of dark blue with silver detailing and carried a slim leather bag at his side.

“My lords,” he said as he straightened up, “It is wonderful to see  you on this fine day!” 

“Good afternoon Christoph,” Thomas said, “It is a pleasure as always.” He half turned to Harry and said, “Christoph, this is Harry Potter, my carus. Darling, this is Christoph Macmillian, Patricia’s husband. He is the Head Healer at Hogwarts as well as an assistant to Patricia in her work there.”

Christoph nodded, “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Carus.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Harry said. His heart was in his throat and he blurted out, “I’ve never seen a Healer before. Well, I mean, not just for a regular checkup. I saw Madam Pomfrey a few times at Hogwarts but that was when I got injured or something so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Christoph blinked several times but his smile never wavered. “I see. That’s just fine. I’ll tell you everything that I need you to do as I need you to do it, all right?”

“Okay.”

Thomas quietly sat back down on one of the plush chairs, legs crossed at the knee and his eyes focused on them. Harry sent him a nervous smile as Christoph set his bag on the coffee table. Thomas smiled back.

“First of all,” Christoph said, “I’ll perform a magical scan of your body with a diagnostic spell. All you will need to do is stand still and relaxed for me while I cast. The spell will generate a piece of parchment which will give me a broad overview of your health, my lord.” He drew a long, red wand from his robes and held it aloft. “You will feel no pain, only a gentle pressure from my magic, okay?”

Harry nodded, fidgeting where he stood. “Is right here okay?”

“Yes,” Christoph said. “Now, keep breathing normally,” he flashed a little smile, “Sometimes people forget that and hold their breath when I tell them to keep still, but it can skew the results slightly. Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Harry nodded again. He was starting to relax a little more. There was no reason to be so nervous. It wasn’t like he was going to have to strip down or anything! This wasn’t a muggle doctor, after all.

Christoph waved his wand in a long, complicated gesture, murmuring in another language under his breath. It didn’t sound like the usual Latin, which Harry found interesting, but he didn’t want to ask and confuse him. So he waited patiently while the tingle of magic washed over him. It was rather warm, he found, kind of like being briefly wrapped up in a fluffy blanket.

“There we go,” Christoph said with a long exhale of his own. He held out his hand and a roll of parchment materialized there. He opened it and began to read. While he did so, his expression froze and then shifted into a neutral one. Harry started fidgeting in place again.

“Ah,” Christoph said after he reached the end, “Lord Carus, you were in the care of muggles, previously, yes?”

Harry nodded. 

Tucking the parchment into a pocket, Christoph also put his wand away and went for his bag. “If you would not mind, I would like to do a more in-depth evaluation in that case. While the last spell gave me some insight, there are some telltale signs of deeper issues that I need to investigate before we can address them.”

“What?” Harry asked. 

Christoph smiled, “My apologies. Simply put, my lord, I would like to perform a small ritual in order to get a deeper scan of your health. The previous spell gave me information that indicated you might have suffered long-term abuse that needs to be corrected as quickly as possible.” He gave a quick glance to Thomas even as he pulled out a smaller cloth bag from his briefcase.

Harry’s breath caught. He knew what the Dursleys had done to him wasn’t good, but to hear an adult describe it like that so bluntly— Harry wished he knew if it was just because of this world, because of Thomas, that an adult seemed to care, that a doctor seemed to notice. If one little spell could show that he was abused, why hadn’t Madame Pomfrey ever done anything about it? Or said anything about it?

“Is this room approved for ritual work, my lord?” Christoph asked Thomas. 

“It is,” he said, “You can arrange the furniture as necessary.”

With a quick nod, Christoph drew his wand again and did just that. He moved the chairs over to the wall, except for the small couch that Thomas sat on, and then the coffee table as well. There was a rug on the floor that he rolled up, exposing the smooth stone below. Well, it wasn’t entirely smooth, Harry noticed as Christoph began to pour out sand from his little bag. 

There were several large shapes carved into the stone—a circle, a square and a triangle—they were all the same width, with the circle on the outside, the square just inside and the triangle inside of that, with small points touching. However, it was the triangle that Christoph overlaid with sand, pouring first out the shape and then several symbols on each side. 

“I will need you to remove your outer robes and then stand in the center of the triangle, Lord Carus,” Christoph told him as he put away the bag of sand. Harry’s heart lurched a little. 

He wore robes today—new ones from Rowle—and hadn’t bothered with trousers since the robes were heavy and long enough. He was nervous about disrobing, but Thomas had seen him changing before and Christoph was a doctor. He probably had seen lots of naked bodies before. 

Harry took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and then began to remove his robe. He glanced up, caught Thomas’s eye, not really surprised to find him watching. It still made him blush, however, so he ducked his head as he pulled off the robe. Underneath he wore something Rowle had told him was a shift, or an under-robe—it was thin and made of silk and this one he wore was a muted gray color. It was sleeveless and went down to the middle of his thighs, covering all the ‘sensitive parts’ as Rowle had told him. Holding his robe, Harry looked anxiously around and then felt relieved when Thomas held out his hand for the cloth. 

Handing over the robes, Harry gave Thomas a quick smile. The man caught his wrist with his other hand and pulled Harry a little closer, whispering to him, “You’re doing well, darling. I know examinations aren’t any fun, but this will help us help you be the healthy young man you were meant to always be.”

Harry ducked his head a little, feeling his face heat up. He slipped out of Thomas’s grasp, but not before leaning in and placing a quick kiss on the man’s cheek. He hurried back over to Christoph, anxiously smoothing down the sides of his silk shift. “Is this good enough?”

“That will work just fine,” Christoph said. He gestured to the triangle and Harry stepped into the center, careful not to disturb any of the sand on the ground. 

“What do I do now?” Harry asked.

“This is much like the last spell,” Christoph said, “Simply stand and wait patiently. The pressure of magic will be greater and last longer, and you might feel a few unpleasant sensations, but they will be temporary.”

Harry nodded in understanding and Christoph began to wave his wand and chant again. The language was the same strange one as before, though this time Harry did hear a word that he recognized.

Voldemort. 

He tensed up all three times that Christoph said the name. Wondering what that could possibly mean and fretting about it the whole time. That is, except for when the pressure of magic was so overwhelming that all Harry could think about was how his bones were buzzing inside of his body and he saw spots swimming in his vision. He swayed on his feet, but his legs didn’t give out and he didn’t stumble or fall. The air was thick, first like it was humid and sticky and then like it was pure water. Harry gasped for breath and the magical air poured down his throat as well.

It felt like he was being filled up with it, like he was an empty crystal vase and Christoph was pouring magical water into him. It filled him up and up and up, making his bones shiver and skin tingle. He closed his eyes against his swirling vision, trying to will away the dizziness, and then, like a plug being pulled in a bathtub, all the magical energy drained out of him in a rush. It started at his head and flooded down his body and his eyes popped open, sure that he would see something.

All he did see was the sand at his feet turn from a pure white to a myriad of colors. The triangle around him had turned to an ashy gray. Several of the symbols—one on each side—did as well, while other symbols either turned black or blew away. There were also entirely new symbols in some places, perhaps made of that missing sand. 

Suddenly, whatever it was that had kept Harry standing straight gave out and his knees and legs abruptly turned to jelly. Harry toppled over with a cry, but he never hit the ground. He blinked a little, surprised, and saw he was floating slightly above the ground. It wasn’t Christoph, who stopped mid-reach for him, but Thomas who had caught him, hand outstretched and magic flowing. He floated Harry over to him on the couch and into his arms. 

“Are you all right?” Thomas asked him as he settled Harry sideways onto his lap. Harry leaned heavily against his chest, putting his cheek on Thomas’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, “I dunno why my legs gave out like that.”

“My apologies, Lord Carus,” Christoph said, “I should have had you kneel or sit down, given the circumstances of your injuries.”

“I’m not injured though?” Harry said, confusedly, “I mean. I feel fine now, just, um, shaky?”

Christoph gestured to the shapes on the floor. Harry supposed they must be runes or something, though he’d only ever learned about those from Thomas. “Yes, but part of the ritual creates a resonance with previous injuries, which is why it can cause some discomfort, and it seems that your malnutrition manifested in a full-body response.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

The doctor went back to examining the runes of sand, pulling out that parchment from before and waving his wand about. Harry watched curiously. “What’s he doing?” He whispered to Thomas.

“He’s reading the results of the ritual and discerning their meaning,” Thomas responded. “Much like how a muggle doctor will take an X-ray and then examine it, Christoph has examined your body and is now reading the information to give him a history of what you’ve gone through.” His hand ran soothingly down Harry’s side, over and over again. It kind of felt like Thomas was petting him, but it was so nice Harry wasn’t about to object. Thomas’s touch was especially soothing right now.

“What is it telling him?”

Thomas hummed softly and then said, “Nothing particularly good, I think. Considering how your relatives treated you…”

“Oh.”

After a few minutes more, Christoph straightened up and waved his wand. All the sand on the floor whirled together into a pile and then poured itself into a vial that he conjured. He capped it and tucked it into a pocket before turning to Harry and Thomas. His expression was much more serious than before, almost grim. “My lords, before I give you my diagnosis, may I inquire as to the…muggles who had Lord Carus in their care?”

“They are of no consequence,” Thomas said, his hand going still on Harry’s hip. “They will not be seen nor heard from again.” 

Harry nodded, “They’re from the same dimension I came from and I’m not going back there.” 

Christoph gave a tight nod and then said, “I see.” He gestured with his wand to bring one of the chairs back over and sat down, legs crossed at the knee, “Then let us proceed.” He drew out the parchment he had worked on and unrolled it. 

It was far longer than Harry remembered it being the first time. Far, far longer.

With some trepidation, Harry straightened up and braced himself for the worst.

“My primary concern is the effects of malnutrition,” Christoph said, “Physically speaking, it stunted your growth significantly both in your bones and your muscles. We’ll begin a regimen of nutritional supplements and absorption potions in order to negate some of it, but I’m afraid you’ll not regain the lost height entirely. I also want you to monitor your physical activity. You’re young enough that you should naturally be exercising when you play during the day, so I won’t provide you with an exercise regimen unless you feel like that will help you stay active.

“Magically speaking, however, is a totally different situation.” He checked his parchment again, a frown forming a crease between his brows. “Historically speaking, what we’ve seen of wixen children raised by muggles is a depleted or underdeveloped core. You, however, have a relatively stable power level and somewhat advanced core for your age. This is excellent news, as magical development cannot be forced, and it means that you should be just fine attending Hogwarts and performing spells grade five or higher.”

Pausing for a moment, Christoph looked over his parchment again and made some more notes. Before the doctor could continue, Harry blurted out, “What does that mean? Grade five spells?”

“Oh?” Christoph blinked, “Didn’t they have spell grades in your world? Or perhaps you weren’t aware of them?”

“If they did, no one ever said so,” Harry said. “What are they?”

“Spell grades is the ranking system we use to categorize different spell strengths. There are seven of them, from highest rank starting at one and lowest rank at seven. The higher up in the rank you go, the more power or will they take to cast. Depending on the strength of your core, there are some spells you simply might not ever be able to cast because you don’t have enough magic to do so. Of course, there are some ways to get around that limit, such as invoking the Tether or using ritual magic. Why, the ritual I used on you is one such workaround. I can’t perform grade two spells on my own, but through ritual magic and the Tether I’m plenty capable without draining my own reserves.” Christoph gave a crooked smile and said, “And I see I’ve lost you again. What is confusing about that now?”

“I don’t know what invoke means,” Harry admitted quietly.

“Ah, in this case, it means to appeal for magical support from the Tether, or the bond that Lord Prior has with Voldemort in order to draw out additional magic to perform higher grade spells than one normally can cast.”

“Is that why you said his name?” Harry asked, straightening up in surprise, “I was wondering!” 

“It is, in fact,” Christoph said. “Healers such as myself have special permission to invoke as necessary to complete their work, as we must be careful about how much we draw on the Tether so as not to weaken it.”

“Is the Tether the only thing holding Voldemort back?” Harry asked worriedly.

He jumped a little when Thomas suddenly chuckled; his hand squeezing his side briefly. Guiltily he looked up, feeling a little silly for forgetting Thomas was there since he was sitting on the man’s lap and everything. “No, dear,” Thomas said, “It is more than the Tether that binds him, but the Tether is the magical manifestation of the bond we have forged. Think of it as many, many ropes that wind between us. During holy days, I or one of the high priests or priestesses lead a ritual where magic is offered up to add to the Tether. The magic is gathered up and woven together, forming another long rope of magic that reinforces the bond on Voldemort. 

“When people invoke the Tether for magical assistance, Voldemort releases some of that magic back to them for use. It is part of the exchange that we made with him in the first place, knowledge and power in exchange for renown and worship. I do believe Christoph will be doing another invocation today, isn’t that so?” He directed that last question to the doctor, or healer, Harry supposed, and Christoph nodded.

“Yes, my lord. Only I have one more thing to speak of first with regards to Lord Carus’s recovery.” He consulted his parchment again and then said, “Due to the malnutrition he faced, his bones are quite brittle. There are some hairline fractures that I don’t think we need to do anything for besides the nutrient supplements, however there are a few breaks that healed poorly, specifically in his right hand and arm. 

“These will have led to loss of some fine motor control, the kind necessary for decent penmanship and some of the more intricate spells. Since those things need time to develop already, I would like to wait to remove and replace these bones until a few months have passed and the rest of his body is healthier. Skelegro is a rather robust potion and can be unusually painful if given to someone who is nutrient deficit, especially in calcium and vitamin D.” Christoph lowered his parchment and said, “I believe waiting until the Yule holiday break would be sufficient time, though I can certainly monitor his changes while at Hogwarts if you want to attempt it earlier or wait until later.”

Harry silently rubbed his right hand with his left. There were very thin scars along his knuckles, where Vernon had shut the car door on his hand when he was seven. The memory of the pain rang along his nerves and he shuddered. Thomas ran a soothing hand across his shoulders and pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple, which did surprisingly help. He relaxed a little, enough to ask, “What is skelegro?”

“Ah, that’s a type of potion that regrows lost bones,” Christoph said as he rolled up the parchment and gestured with it to Harry’s hand. “We’ll first immobilize your arm and hand, numb them, remove the damaged bones and then administer the potion. For that level of complexity, the regrowth will take several hours, but once it’s done, it’s done. There might be some tenderness the following day or two, but that’s it.”

“And it’ll fix my handwriting?” Harry asked.

Christoph gave a wry grin, “Not exactly. It’ll make it so your hand has the range of motion necessary for detailed work with a quill or wand or any small, thin item. Right now you have enough motor function for day-to-day activity, but I suspect your hand begins to ache quite quickly when you’re writing and there are some flicking motions that are difficult to you?”

Harry nodded, remembering just this morning when Thomas was teaching him spell motions. There were a few that he couldn’t quite get and now he knew why.

“That’s it for the medical exam,” Christoph said, “However, there is one more ritual that needs conducting before we are done. Have you ever undergone an aura reveal, Lord Carus?”

Harry shook his head. “No, never.”

“I would suspect not,” Thomas murmured, “Considering the aura reveal is one of the many rituals that Voldemort restored to our knowledge.”

That made Harry hesitate a little. “Will it hurt?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Christoph said. He got to his feet and brushed a hand down his robe. “It only reveals to our eyes what is always present. An aura reveal shows your magic’s predisposition, strength, and development in greater detail than the last ritual which is a more general scan. 

“Have you ever wondered why some spells come more naturally to you than others?” At Harry’s nod, he continued, “This would be a predisposition. There are two parts to a disposition and this ritual is used to reveal them.”

He lifted his wand and waved it a bit, conjuring four shapes hovering in the air in front of him: two circles and two squares. Two of each were blue while the other two were red. “This is the most basic representation of them, since you’ll go more into the magical theory in class and I wouldn’t want to undercut your teacher!” He gave a little wink.

“These squares represent one half of the disposition, the Outer. The circles are the Inner. Inner magic would be anything that has to do with the inside of something such as transfiguration, mind magics, or potion work. Outer magic is purely external, like conjuration, most spells and herbology. There are some that branch both dimensions, like alchemy which is very transfiguration heavy but for external elements and arithmancy, which is an external manifestation of internal workings for the most part. 

“The colors represent the other half of a disposition: blue is for passive, red is for active.” Christoph waved his wand, separating the images by color and not shape, putting a blue square and circle to one side and the red square and circle on the other. “A passive inner witch might specialize in mental magics, arithmancy and potions. An active inner wizard could specialize in transfiguration, alchemy and potions as well. The disposition you have doesn’t mean that you cannot perform magic of all kinds, simply that some kinds will be easier for you to perform than others.”

He flicked his wand, dismissing the images entirely, “Any questions?”

Harry’s head was swirling a little with all the information, so he took a moment to think of anything to say at all. “Uh,” he said, “Maybe? But not right now. You said I’ll have a class on this at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, and they’ll go much more in-depth about it,” Christoph said, “All wixen children your age will have gone through their first aura reveal, though cores are usually too underdeveloped to give more than a hint to what they’re disposed towards. Your magical theory class will cover all this information that we talked about today, in fact. The dispositions, the holy rites and the Tether as well as spell grades and magical limits.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure if he was excited for that class or not. If they were going to have a lesson on the Tether, did that mean that they would be having a lesson on Voldemort?

Though, perhaps, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He did need to understand more about Voldemort in this dimension. He might not always be able to rely on Thomas to talk to him on his behalf!

“Any other questions?”

Harry shook his head. Then stopped and asked, “What do I need to do for this ritual?”

“Exactly what you did before, only make sure you keep very still and hold your hands out from your side with your palms turned up.” Christoph drew out the pouch of sand and said, “Also, I’ll need you to stand in the circle while I draw it, instead of stepping in afterwards. The design will be too delicate for that.”

Harry nodded. Thomas gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before urging him up off his lap. Harry flashed him a quick smile and then went and stood where Christoph pointed. He turned his hands palm up and then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

He’d learned a lot already and he was, admittedly, quite excited to see his aura reveal. What would it show him? What kind of magic was he best at? He couldn’t wait to know!

Voldemort watched as Christoph set up the ritual with a practiced hand. The man drew out the runes in salt and sand, working in a slow circle around where Harry stood. The boy fidgeted a little while he waited, all nervous energy and excitement. It brought a faint smile to his lips, watching him. 

He knew what they would discover for Harry’s core—the boy was sensitive to Voldemort’s own magic in a way that many Inner wixen tended to be and while he could be thoughtful and careful, he was a little whirlwind of thought and movement: if he didn’t have an Inner Active magic disposition, Voldemort would be quite surprised. After all, many soulmates shared at least one part of their disposition, and Voldemort himself was of the Inner Passive sort. 

There had been some reluctance to test magic this way when Voldemort had first introduced it; on both sides of the old Light and Dark debate they had been unwilling to shuck the traditions of their forefathers, even if those traditions had created a fracture within the very society they lived in. These days, with the aura reveal spell as an integral step to any wixen’s growth, it was so normalized that no one questioned it. 

It helped that those who remembered the Dark and Light divide were of the declining part of the population. The theory had been prevalent in Voldemort’s youth, but he’d been working to break it down ever since his return and here, like Harry, it stood as a fruit of his efforts. No more were wixen divided over such arbitrary definitions. There were no Dark spells, no Light spells, only ones of increasing danger and power consumption— there was no morality to magic, only aspects that some were better at and others not so. 

Christoph finished his ritual preparation by casting a brief stasis on the runes upon the floor and stepping up to Harry with a clear vial in his hand. He began the chant, gathering his magic and intention, as he popped the cork and then raised the vial first to the crown of Harry’s head. Several drops of clear, magically imbued oil dripped out and landed in his dark curls, releasing a sharp, herbal scent into the air. 

He repeated the action on Harry’s shoulders, wrists, and then open palms before corking the vial and drawing back. Wand upraised, Christoph continued the chant. 

There was a slight tug on Voldemort’s awareness of the intricate magical web that he held control over. Christoph was, in terms of raw power, a middling wizard at best, but he had a devotion and willingness to obey that was born of deep and abiding faith in his Lord Prior and that made him unendingly useful. Voldemort allowed the transfer of magic back along the webs and into Christoph’s hands, controlling the flow so he did not accidentally burn the magical channels of his body. 

It took some finesse to do well, but Voldemort was so used to the transfer of such raw magic that he could even do it in his sleep, as he could not control the times that anyone would invoke the Tether. 

The magic swirled from Christoph and into the runes on the floor. Christoph’s control over it was admirable, as it did not splash over into the room, but followed exactly where he directed it. This, too, was one of his quality traits and why Voldemort preferred him for these smaller, more delicate health-related rituals. 

Flowing upwards from the runes and into Harry, the anointing oil glinted on the boy’s skin, showing the first reflections of his aura. The glow soon permeated his whole body, growing brighter and brighter and brighter until even Voldemort had to glance away to protect his vision.

When at last the light dimmed to a safe level, Voldemort eagerly turned back to see. And stare.

It was incredible. 

Harry’s whole body gleamed in a pearlescent light. There were fissures of green along his arms and shoulders, many of them particularly wrapped along his right hand—the one Christoph mentioned had healed poorly before. Knowing the boy’s magic must have mended him time and again was one thing; seeing proof of how prolific his magic was at self-mending was entirely different. 

The brightness of the light, while dim enough to look at, was still so bright that it was difficult to see details. Voldemort knew that if Dark and Light were still the only two choices of auras, his little soulmate would have been dubbed of the Light—and powerful enough to one day become a Lord, if he so chose. 

Voldemort was both pleased and somewhat surprised, considering how young the boy was. His core had developed remarkably well; his power already impressive for his age. He seemed more like he grew up in the company of a wix of some power than had lived with muggles his whole childhood. Perhaps he had been around one but unaware of it?

“My lord,” Christoph’s shocked voice broke through Voldemort’s own musings, “What is that?”

Voldemort glanced at the man and found him staring in shock and some sort of horror at Harry’s face. He immediately stood and walked around the edge of the circle. 

The ritual was beginning to fade a bit, but it was still present enough that Voldemort clearly saw what caught Christoph’s attention.

There, on Harry’s forehead, was a garish splot of red and gray, as though someone had plunged a cursed weapon into the boy’s skin. It was melded with the white-gold of Harry’s aura all around it, mixing and smearing into a softer gray at the edges, showing that whatever it was had almost fully integrated with his very magical core. 

Voldemort stared at the spot. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, his voice tremulous, “Is something wrong?”

“That isn’t normal,” Christoph said. Harry’s flinch was minute, but enough for Voldemort to catch.

The light was almost entirely faded now, revealing Harry’s anxious gaze, his slumped shoulders. Oh, his poor soulmate, who wanted to be average and normal more than anything else. It was something he would have to work through on his own, though Voldemort would help where he could. 

As Christoph started to examine the altered runes of the ritual, Voldemort stepped past them and into the circle with Harry. The ritual light faded completely by the time he reached him and Harry didn’t complain when Voldemort gathered him close. However, unlike usual, he didn’t melt into his embrace either, but stood there stiffly. 

“What is it?” Harry repeated, “What did I do?”

“You did nothing,” Voldemort told him, brushing his hair back from his forehead with one hand. “This mark you bear is simply more magical than we anticipated. You said it was given to you the night your family was attacked?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “They said that he tried to kill me with a spell and it bounced back? Or something like that. I was too little, I don’t remember it at all.”

Voldemort hummed softly. He pressed his thumb to the skin beside the mark and channeled his magic through it and into Harry’s skin. Harry shivered under his touch, but didn’t move. The curse scar, on the other hand, wriggled. 

Like it was alive. 

“What was that?” Harry asked, a note of fear now in his voice, “What did you do? It felt like…” His voice trailed off.

Voldemort wanted nothing more than to cut open the mark and pull it back, to dig into the boy’s flesh and skin and divine what sort of parasite lived under it. The curiosity almost got the better of him as he lifted his other hand so that his thumbs rested on either side of the mark, but he refrained from doing more than touch.

He would not scare his precious little soulmate needlessly. The last thing he needed was to make the boy wary of him, to find any reason to mistrust him.

Instead, he brushed his hand through Harry’s hair and then cupped his cheeks in both hands, forcing his gaze away from the mark. 

“There is nothing that you have done, darling, this was all the work of that other Voldemort,” Voldemort said to him, soothing him with brushes of his thumbs over the boy’s cheeks, “I believe he lay a curse of some kind on your scar here, perhaps intentional, perhaps accidental. The fact that it showed itself here during your aura reveal shows that there is a considerable amount of magic tied to it. It also appears to be somewhat…melded with your own aura.”

“Oh,” Harry said, relaxing just a little, “What does that mean?”

“It means that while some of it has been absorbed by your magic, whatever it is that is there is strong enough to retain its…identity shall we say. It needs to be studied, darling, to know for sure whether or not it is dangerous to you or your magic. It is possible that it could be fully absorbed as you age, but it was as dark as your aura is light, so it could very well be strong enough to resist absorption.”

Harry chewed on this information for a while. Voldemort let him do so in silence. He looked again at the mark. It seemed…redder than he remembered it looking. As if the cut were freshly made the day before, perhaps, instead of several years old.

Curious. Very curious.

Despite his concern for what this could mean for Harry’s magic, Voldemort was pleased by this little mystery. There was so little of that left in his life these days. He could already tell he was going to be absorbed in this little conundrum for a while and it pleased him greatly. 

Christoph cleared his throat politely, “My lords?”

Harry gave a little squeak of surprise, as if he’d forgotten that Christoph was there at all. That pleased Voldemort too. He approved of Harry’s focus on him. He gave the top of Harry’s head a little kiss, breathing in that herbal scent of the oil and then turned to Christoph. 

“I have the results ready,” Christoph explained.

“You do?” Harry asked excitedly, “What is it? What does it say?”

“You have an Inner Active disposition,” Christoph said with a smile, “Your development is slightly above average for your age, which we knew already. However, your power level is quite substantial. With proper instruction and the right will and intention, there shouldn’t be any spell or ritual of any grade that will be difficult for you to cast.” He gave Harry a much more serious look and added, “That doesn’t mean you should go out and try to cast them right away. Instruction is key to safety, my lord. You need to understand the consequences of such powerful magic before you indulge in it!”

Harry was a mix of chagrined and happy, bashful in a way that spoke to a history of doing things beyond what he was ‘supposed to’ as far as magic was concerned. Voldemort smiled and tugged lightly on a curl of dark hair, getting Harry’s attention.

“You will be given plenty of opportunities to learn and practice powerful magics, darling, you don’t need to seek out anything dangerous on your own when I am here willing to assist you,” he said.

Harry gave a furious blush, but it was the hope in his shining eyes that pleased Voldemort the most. Whatever magic Harry wished to practice, so long as it did not damage his soul, Voldemort was more than willing to assist him in. 

“Really?” Harry asked, “Anything?”

“Anything,” Voldemort promised. 

Chapter Text

Once Christoph was gone, the sitting room returned to its previous state, and Harry was dressed again, he found himself sitting in front of Thomas on the couch with the man peering at the scar on his forehead. He tried not to squirm—he really hated the attention that stupid thing had gotten him in his previous world. He hated everything it represented, from that other, evil Voldemort to the fame to the fact that it was his parents who died for him, leaving him an orphan with his terrible relatives.

Now even Thomas was interested in it, which Harry hated as well. He missed when Thomas just dismissed the mark as not important, because it wasn’t at all! The only important mark that Harry had now was the one on his back, the lion with snake coils that he caught glimpses of in the mirror sometimes.

“This is a very curious mark,” Thomas murmured gently as he probed the skin around the scar. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it, which is a remarkable feat all on its own.” The scar itched and ached as he touched it gently, making Harry scrunch up his face in irritation.

“I hate it,” Harry blurted out. “I wish I didn’t have it.”

“Mmm,” Thomas hummed in acknowledgement. He pressed his thumb against the scar firmly and Harry felt a tingling rush across his skin like he had when Thomas touched it earlier. He shivered and then winced as his forehead around the scar began to ache. The pressure from inside got worse and worse until Harry yanked his head back with a gasp.

“That hurts!” Harry exclaimed, eyes squeezed tight against the pain. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Thomas murmured soothingly. He ran a gentle hand over Harry’s hair and neck. The sudden headache abated enough for Harry to glare up at him. “Don’t give me that look, I truly didn’t mean to hurt you,” Thomas said, leaning in to kiss the unmarked part of his forehead. 

“What did you do?” Harry asked, rubbing over the scar with his other hand. The pain was leaking away quickly, so he didn’t stay mad at Thomas. “Why did it hurt?”

“I pressed a bit of my magic against the scar,” Thomas said. “It’s a technique one can use to understand the magical properties of a cursed or enchanted item.”

Harry stopped his rubbing and blinked up at Thomas. “It can? What did you discover?”

Thomas hummed again, sounding a little displeased this time. “That it is powerful. It doesn’t seem to have been made with a particular purpose. It is neither a compulsion brand nor a warding sigil. In fact, it doesn’t seem to have any outward effect at all—it simply exists as an external manifestation of a sliver of concentrated power that lives here in your scar.”

"What does that mean?" Harry asked. "What's a compulsion brand?" 

"Compulsion means to force someone to do something you want them to. There are many kinds of compulsions, such as spells, potions, enchantments, or disease. A compulsion brand is usually a permanent or semi-permanent mark such as your scar that is imbued with magic in order to compel people to behave or think a certain way. Often such a thing would be used to make people be more or less favorable to the one with the brand, or to perceive them in a particular way. Your scar, striking though it is, magical though it is, however, does not carry any sort of compulsion on it," Thomas explained, his hand running soothingly back and forth over Harry's shoulders.

“That doesn’t explain why it hurt when you touched it with your magic,” Harry mumbled, though he was a little relieved to hear that it probably wasn’t doing anything to him or anyone else. He half wanted to argue that it was a compulsion brand, because everyone seemed to act weird around him because of it—even Ron had been pulled in at first, and he had been Harry’s very best friend. However, he knew it wasn’t true because, before today anyway, Thomas hadn’t really cared for the mark. Really, only that Not-Hermione woman had seemed to pay it any attention in this world…

“That is part of the mystery, I’m afraid,” Thomas said. “I will need to do some calculations and study and…commune with Voldemort, to see if he is aware of what it might be. Considering it is likely something caused by the Voldemort of your world, I’m sure he’ll have some insight for me.”

Harry shivered and hunched his shoulders. “Will I have to talk to him?” He asked timidly, looking up at Thomas in concern.

Thomas smiled at him and smoothed some of his hair back behind an ear. Harry blushed at the expression the man wore, soft and fond, and he ducked his chin down. “I don’t think so, my dear,” Thomas murmured, “But if you do, I promise he will not harm you. I have only spoken briefly with him about you and while he is curious, he will be patient for you to come to him in your time. After all, he is immortal.”

Harry nodded in silent relief. He knew he should be more brave, that he should be able to speak to this Voldemort—especially considering he was able to do so against the other Voldemort. Yet he just couldn’t work up the nerve. He didn’t want to ruin every wonderful thing he had here with Thomas by making this Voldemort so furious with him that he’d try to kill him. What if Thomas couldn’t protect him like he said he could? What if Voldemort struck so fast that no one could stop him?

Harry was broken out of his worrying thoughts by Thomas pulling him in for a tight hug. The man kissed the top of his head and Harry felt himself relax against his chest. 

“Don’t think too hard about it, darling,” Thomas told him. “While the mark is curious and powerful, it doesn’t seem to be harmful to you or your magic. We have time to figure out what it is and what must be done about it. In any case, it’s not something you need to worry about at all. I’ll begin my research and perhaps have a hand or two help me, but at most we’ll need you to sit still while we examine the mark. There is nothing else you need to do, alright?”

Harry nodded and leaned his cheek against Thomas’s shoulder. He felt so comfortable in his arms. He never wanted to go anywhere else!

Thomas held him for a little longer, stroking his hair and his back. Eventually, though, Harry pulled away, feeling sleepy and warm. 

Thomas got his attention by tugging on that curl of hair he always liked to pull on. Harry wrinkled his nose at him and asked, “Yeah?”

“I have some work I must attend to this afternoon, up until dinner. You’re free to stay with me if you like, but you can also go and explore the Abbey as well. It’s up to you, love.”

Harry was a little curious about Thomas’s work, but he thought he’d probably have to sit still and be quiet if he stayed and he didn’t feel much like doing that right now. “Is it okay if I explore?”

“Of course it is,” Thomas said, “The Abbey is quite safe. No one will accost you. In fact, I will give you a talisman so that others will know at a glance that you are to be respected.”

Before Harry could say anything to that, Thomas held out his hand to the air, palm up, and there was a flash of light and heat. Harry blinked away the spots in his vision and then gaped in amazement at the golden medallion that Thomas held from his formerly empty hand. It looked very similar to his own, though slightly smaller, and he slid the chain over Harry’s neck. It rested against his sternum, much like Thomas’s own. 

Harry picked it up and looked it over. It had a lion head on one side, mouth open in a silent roar, and on the back was a coiled-up snake. The metal was slightly warm to the touch, but seemed to be cooling off from whatever magic Thomas had just done. “That was wicked,” he enthused, “I didn’t know you could just summon something like that! How long will it last?”

Thomas smiled, “That’s not summoned, darling. I created it out of condensed magic. That medallion will ensure that anyone within the Abbey will know you are my carus and to treat you accordingly. They will immediately know your title so you do not need to introduce yourself repeatedly and should I move to a different room or need to seek you out, our medallions will serve as a beacon to each other. You need only turn it reverse side up,” he demonstrated by flipping the snake side up on Harry’s medallion, “and it will lead you to me.”

To Harry’s amazement, the medallion lifted slightly off his chest and hovered there, pointed towards Thomas. He moved from side to side, and despite a little tugging on the chain, the medallion remained steadily pointed towards Thomas. When Thomas flipped it so that the lion's head was facing up, it thumped back into place against his chest.

“Wicked!” Harry exclaimed again. “I didn’t even hear you cast a spell or anything! Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Of course,” Thomas said, “It takes raw will and a significant amount of power, so it will not come easily to you until your core is more fully developed, but I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable of such feats of magic when you’re older.”

Harry bounced a little in his seat. He wanted to learn so much magic and he wanted to learn all of it immediately!

Thomas calmed him down a little bit by cupping his cheeks in his hands and leaning down, pressing a firm kiss to Harry’s lips. Harry gave a muffled exclamation against his mouth and then kissed back, reaching out to grab Thomas’s robe in one hand. His heart was hammering in his chest and his face was warm when Thomas finally let him go again.

“Go explore the Abbey, love,” Thomas told him with a smile, “If you’re not back by the time we’re to have dinner, I’ll come find you.”

Harry hopped up to his feet. “When is dinner?”

“Seven,” Thomas said, “Barty has invited us over to dine with him and his family.”

“Awesome,” Harry grinned. He rather liked Barty. He was nice! “I’ll be back by then, goodbye!”

Thomas bid him goodbye with a wave and a smile as Harry bounced out of the office.

Once in the hallway, Harry swung left and then right, wondering where to go first. The library? The orchard? The kitchens? The belfry? Somewhere entirely new?

With a bright grin and a spring in his step, Harry turned to the right and started walking.

As the sound of the bells rang out over the fields, Harry jerked his head around and gasped aloud. “Oh no!” 

Marie, the older girl from yesterday that he’d found again out in the orchards, looked over at him and called out, “What’s wrong my lord?”

Harry hurriedly started to climb down out of the tree he was in. “It’s seven! I completely lost track of time. Oh no, Thomas is going to be upset with me!” He slid down the trunk, skinning his palms and a knee on the bark but shaking off the scratches as unimportant. Dropping down the last foot or two, he stumbled before regaining his footing. He got two steps away before he remembered the basket floating behind him and he fretfully grabbed it. “Marie, can you take this back for me?”

She was already climbing down her own stepladder, rushing over to assist him. “Of course I can. I’m so sorry, my lord, I should have remembered the time for you or perhaps asked one of the others to cast a tempus charm!” Marie grabbed up the bundle and then, seeing his hands, gasped and dropped it. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry waved off her concern, or at least he tried to, “I’m fine. I really just have to go—”

“Oh no, oh no, I let you get hurt. I’m so sorry. I should have helped you out of the tree,” Marie nervously reached out for him but then yanked her hands back, wringing them together in front of herself. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been better. I was supposed to look after you and I couldn’t do that right at all!”

“I’m really okay, Marie, I am,” Harry tried to console her, reaching out to pat her arm but she gave a worried cry at his hand touching her. She shied away from the touch while simultaneously trying to see his palm. She was far more nervous than he was and it was beginning to seriously freak him out!

“Be careful! You could hurt yourself more!”

“It’s just a little scratch,” Harry said. He looked over his shoulder anxiously. “I’m okay. I’m just going to go and find Thomas.”

Marie covered her face with her hands and gave a wail. “Oh no! Lord Prior is going to be so upset!” 

Unsure how to help her and anxious about finding his way back to Thomas, Harry took the basket and pushed it into her hands. “Marie,” he said firmly, “Look at me. I need you to do something for me.”

Sniffling, she did so, clutching the basket and staring at him with wide, wet eyes. “What is it?”

“I need you to take this back to the others. I don’t have time to do it myself or else I would, so you have to do it for me. Okay? I need you to help me and take care of this.”

She nodded, “Are you sure you’re okay, my lord?”

“I’m sure,” he said, “It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine. Now, I’m very late so I need to go.” He turned and gave her a goodbye wave as he hurried off. Marie called a farewell after him.

Smoothing a hand over his robes as he hurried, Harry fretted both about being late and being dirty. He hadn’t meant to climb trees in his nice new robes when he left, but given the opportunity to do so, he hadn’t been able to resist.

Halfway back to the Abbey, Harry’s heart did a funny drop in his chest as he recognized the tall figure striding out towards him. Thomas looked amazing in the sun, his robes rippling behind him, the gold medallion around his neck flashing in the light. Harry picked up his pace, almost running up to him. 

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Harry exclaimed when he got closer. “I didn’t mean to stay out so long, I swear. I’m sorry.” He stopped short of Thomas, acutely aware of how sweaty and dirty he was and how pristine Thomas was.

Thomas didn’t seem to care, though, since he closed the distance and while bending down, brushed Harry’s hair back with one hand and placed a kiss on his damp temple. He put another on his cheek before straightening up and smiling at him. “It’s all right, love. Transport will be quick, but let me clean you up first, hm?”

Harry blushed furiously and nodded. “Please, thank you.”

Thomas drew his pale wand and flicked it up and down. Harry felt suddenly cleaner and cooler, as all the sweat and dirt and whatnot vanished from his body. Thomas slid one hand down Harry’s arm, gripping his wrist and turning it so his palm was up. He tsked softly. “Would you like me to heal these for you as well, darling?”

“They’re not that big of a deal,” Harry mumbled, feeling a little shamefaced. The scratches were shallow, with mostly torn skin but a little redness. “I was in a hurry to get down out of the tree.”

“Let me heal the deepest ones,” Thomas said, “It isn’t wise to have open wounds and leave traces of blood behind. Very powerful magic can be done if you have such a precious medium to work with.”

Harry nodded, agreeing to the healing and fully expecting Thomas to just wave his wand and make it better. Instead, however, Thomas lifted Harry’s hands, both of them held in his own, and kissed the skin that was the most torn and bloody. A rush of tingles ran down Harry’s arms, making his skin shiver with goosebumps and a strange heat fill his chest and belly. He watched in awe as the reddened skin knitted itself back together and showed just a shiny pink patch of new growth instead. 

“Wicked,” Harry breathed out. That was one way to ‘kiss and make it better’. Harry felt his cheeks flush hotly.

Thomas placed another kiss on either wrist before he let go of Harry’s hands. “Anywhere else I need to heal?”

Shyly, Harry lifted the bottom of his robe and turned his leg, showing the reddened scratch on his calf. There was a longer cut there, a bit deeper from the bark, and a single bead of blood had gathered at the lower end. 

Harry’s heart lodged itself in his throat as Thomas sank gracefully down to his knees in front of him. He stared in silence as the man gently lifted his leg and then kissed the split skin there. Another wave of tingles ran through him, starting in his thighs this time and his breath caught in his throat. He could’ve sworn he felt a brief touch of Thomas’s tongue as well, pressing over where he’d seen the blood. 

Setting Harry’s leg back down, Thomas smoothed his hands down Harry’s robes, adjusting them despite the fact that his magic had straightened them out just moments ago. “All better now?” he asked with a smile. 

Harry nodded mutely. When Thomas simply arched one eyebrow at him, Harry cleared his throat and whispered, “All better. Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, my darling,” Thomas murmured back. He rose smoothly to his feet and ran his fingers lightly through the side of Harry’s dark curls. “Shall we go to dinner? Barty and his family are likely waiting for us to arrive.”

“Yes, please,” Harry said. When Thomas put a hand over his shoulder blade and pressed him closer, Harry willingly leaned against his side. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling hot in the face still. Every time he thought maybe he was getting used to constantly being touched, Thomas would do something that made his whole body feel like it was full of sparkling light. 

As they were tugged through that narrow magic of apparation, Harry wondered if he’d ever truly get used to Thomas’s touch. Or if he even really wanted to.

They landed with a jolt on the stone steps of a porch in front of a house that cast a large, long shadow behind them. Ivy grew thick on the walls on either side of the tall, light gray door. The leaves fluttered in a soft breeze, bringing with it the scent of greenery and flowers. 

Thomas knocked on the door. It swung open after a moment to reveal a slender woman in a shimmering blue dress, her long blond hair draped over one shoulder. She curtseyed slightly and spoke with a slight French accent, “Good evening my lord, it is a blessing to welcome you to my home once again. Please, enter.”

He did so, leading Harry in with him. They stepped into a wood-paneled room that was well-lit from several sconces and displayed a portrait of a woman with white-gold hair that looked similar to the one standing in front of him. The portrait looked curiously at them, though she said nothing.

“Good evening,” Thomas returned to the woman, “I am most pleased to be welcome here. Allow me to introduce you to my carus, Harry.” He gestured to Harry, who snapped his attention back to them and smiled. 

“Harry,” Thomas continued, “This is Angeline Crouch, Barty’s wife and the head of the Ministry’s Department of International Trade.”

Angeline curtseyed to him, just as deeply as she did to Thomas before. “It is an honor to be introduced to you, Lord Carus. My husband has spoken quite fondly of you to both myself and my daughter.”

Nervously, Harry said, “He has? I mean, it’s a pleasure to meet you too. I rather like Barty, though I don’t think I was very good company when we met last.” He muttered that last bit a little shamefully. He remembered that he’d been grumpy away from Thomas and thus not the most friendly with Barty. 

“On the contrary,” Barty said, suddenly appearing through an open doorway to the side, “I found it quite interesting to speak with you, Harry. After all, it isn’t very often that one can speak with someone from another dimension. Learning about the differences between the two is fascinating.”

He bowed to them both in greeting after saying, “Forgive me my tardiness, Master, I had to fetch Odette from the back gardens.”

“I believe I must ask the same from you,” Thomas replied, “As we are late for similar reasons.” He rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “My carus has developed a fondness for the orchards, it seems.”

“Of course you are forgiven, my lord,” Angeline said with a sweet smile. “It is good for the young ones to enjoy the bounties of the field, is it not?” To Barty, she asked, “Is Odette inside?”

“She picked a bouquet for the table,” Barty replied, “Something cheerful, she said.” With a glance at Harry, he added, “She’s quite excited to meet you, my lord. Despite how many friends she has over to visit, she's always excited to make another. Come, let us dine.”

He offered his arm to Angeline, who took it and then walked with him as an escort deeper into the house. Thomas held out his own arm to Harry, who held onto him with a light blush. He distracted himself from the fluttering in his chest by peering into rooms they passed and admiring the decor. 

The dining room was large. The ceilings arched high overhead and the room was illuminated by a large, crystalline chandelier. The floor was dominated by a circular table decorated with bone white dishes, glittering silverware, and crystal goblets. There was a girl in a dark purple dress waiting there, hands clasped behind her back and a large bouquet of flowers on the center of the table. It was a brilliant burst of color, mostly white and yellow flowers, with a few smaller buds of light blue or orange. The girl had golden hair, darker than her mother’s and brighter than her father’s. It was braided in a crown around her head and threaded with small white flowers that must have been there for a while since they were somewhat faded.

She seemed to be vibrating where she stood, her smile growing broader and broader until it threatened to split her face in two. 

“Odette,” Barty began as they came to a stop near her, “You’ve met Lord Prior. This is his soulmate—”

“Harry Potter,” Odette blurted out, “You’re really him! You’re so small!” 

“Odette!” scolded Angeline.

Harry felt Thomas tense up beside him and squeezed his arm tightly. Before any of them could utter a word, though, Odette turned a cherry red and said, “I’m sorry, that was terribly rude! Here, this is for you!” and then she rushed forward, drawing her hands from behind her back.

She held out a crown made of flowers—purple lilacs and crocuses—and when Harry took it from her hands, he smelt the sharp scent of fresh basil as well, the softer leaves hidden in the tangle of stems woven in the ivy. “Thank you,” he said, holding the crown gingerly. It was very lovely, but he hesitated to put it on. He felt a little silly being the only one wearing one, besides Odette’s flowers in her hair.

Still, she was watching him with hopeful eyes so Harry put it on his head and gave her a timid smile back. 

Harry glanced up at Thomas, feeling silly, but his heart warmed at the affection he saw in the man’s dark eyes. Thomas tucked one of Harry’s curls back and touched the crown lightly. “Friendship, youth, and well wishes—what a lovely gift, Odette.”

The girl beamed, somehow brightening even further. “Papa told me that Harry’s from a whole other planet and that he had to leave behind all his other friends to be here with us so I wanted to make him a friendship crown.” She turned that smile to Harry and added, “I lived in France for a while when I was little and had to leave behind all my friends and cousins when I moved to England and even though sometimes I get to see my cousins still, it’s not the same as visiting them all the time like I used to do. I can’t imagine how awful it would be to never see them again!” 

“Now Odette,” Angeline cut in softly, “We mustn’t keep our guests waiting. We can continue the conversation once we’ve sat.”

“Yes, Mama,” Odette said. She whirled back to Harry and said, “Would you sit next to me?”

He gave a slight nod, which was all it took for Odette to usher him over to a chair and down into it. To his relief, Thomas sat on his left side while Barty sat next to him and Angeline between her husband and daughter. The large bouquet of flowers was moved off to one side, almost becoming a sixth person at the table between Odette and Angeline, so that everyone could see each other easily. 

Despite how fancy the dishes were and how nicely dressed everyone was, there was a somewhat casual air to the meal. There were several courses of meals, but nothing strange like liver or tongue, just fruity salads and roasted quail and the most delicious tomato soup Harry had ever had. The adults had wine while Harry and Odette had sparkling juices. 

The conversation was just as easy, though it took a while for Harry to participate. The adults talked about various people they knew, about some enchantments that Barty seemed to be working on, and a little bit about Angeline’s work. Odette, however, talked mostly about her extensive extended family. 

She seemed to have a lot of the former, talking about older married cousins with new babies and younger cousins and others her own age. She told stories about things they did or said, times she visited them, and what they liked to do together. She talked and talked and talked, so much so that Harry was relieved of having to make much conversation. 

When he did say something, it was the remark, “I’ve never heard of anyone having so much family before, not even the Weasleys!” 

This made Odette gasp. She leaned forward eagerly and asked, “Did you know the Weasleys in your world?”

Harry nodded, ignoring the pang of regret in his chest. He wasn’t ever going to see Ron again or the Twins or get Mrs. Weasley’s Christmas sweater. 

“My cousin Bill is a Weasley,” Odette told him, “He married my cousin Fleur and they have three kids. I told you about Tori already—she’s only ten—but then there’s Louis and Dominique. Tori will be eleven next year, but I still don’t know if she’s going to Beauxbatons or Hogwarts. They live sometimes in France and sometimes here in Britain. Cousin Fleur works with the Abbey and Cousin Bill is a cursebreaker.”

When Harry questioned what that was, Odette launched into a grand story of Bill the Cursebreaker and how he’d swept her cousin Fleur off her feet and revealed himself to be her soulmate. It was a story that lasted most of dessert, which was a light fruit parfait with chocolate-dipped biscuits on the side. Harry listened with rapt attention having never heard of a cursebreaker before. 

As dessert wound down, and so did Odette, Angeline got their attention with a sparkle of magic from her fingers. “Children,” she said, “are you finished eating?”

Odette popped her last strawberry into her mouth and quickly swallowed it down. Angeline gave her an exasperated look as she said, “Yes, Mama. Can I show Harry the gardens? Please?” 

Angeline gave her daughter a smile but asked Harry, “My lord, would you like to see the gardens?”

Harry shifted nervously. It was weird to have a grownup calling him ‘my lord’ like this. Well, it was weird when anyone did it, but Odette hadn’t been and he’d gotten used to that. “Um. I wouldn’t mind,” he said, “Is that okay?” He glanced at Thomas, anxious. He wasn’t sure if they were supposed to stay long or not. He’d never been invited to dinner at someone’s house before.

“I think a walk in the gardens would be pleasant for all of us, if you’re agreeable,” Thomas said.

Of course they were. 

And so Harry soon found himself out in a large, flowering garden. The sun was just properly beginning to set, bringing with it twilight’s cool air and dimness. Yet as the world grew dark, floating lights appeared all around them, illuminating the stone pathway and various clusters of flowers and plants as they approached. Odette led Harry along by the hand, pointing out the flowers—both magical and non-magical—and even picking a few as they went along. 

Harry glanced a few times over his shoulder at the adults behind them, but they seemed engrossed in conversation, walking at a leisurely pace that kept them just out of hearing range. 

Odette led Harry around the bend ahead of the adults and up to a large flowering tree. The air was perfumed with a thick, sweet scent; the flowers were large, almost as big around as Harry’s fist, and had started to close up with the setting sun. 

Crouched by the branches, Odette peered at Harry and asked, “Are you really from another world?”

Harry nodded. “Of course I am.”

She leaned closer at him, looking all over his face. Harry wrinkled his nose and leaned back.

“Why are you asking that anyway?” He asked, “Didn’t you say your dad told you about me?”

Odette nodded and then whispered, “Papa says that Lord Prior can do anything at all with his magic. After we found out that his soulmate had died, I thought maybe he would bring him back to life!”

“You can’t do that with magic,” Harry said, “Can you?”

Odette shrugged, “If anyone could, it would be Lord Prior. He’s like God, you know? Sometimes, when we’re praying, I think he can really hear what’s in my thoughts because sometimes my prayers do come true.”

Harry frowned at her. “What do you mean, when you’re praying?” 

Odette reached up to the branch above them. She bounced it up and down, making the leaves shake and the flowers shiver. The smell of them became even stronger as some glittering dust fell from between the petals. “When we go to sermon and pray,” she said quietly, “I only got old enough to go a few months ago,” she gave him a look, “You have to be thirteen and your core developed enough or you can’t go. My first time was a few weeks before Lord Prior left. I guess that’s when he went to go find you and bring you back.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “A sermon like church?” He wrinkled his nose at the thought. The Dursleys had only made him go to church once or twice, mostly around Christmas time and only so they looked like good Christians like everyone else on Privet Drive. “I didn’t know wizards had church.”

Odette gave him a funny look. “Really? Didn’t you go to sermon in your other world?”

“No.” 

“Oh. What about the Abbey? Did you go to the Abbey in your world?”

“There isn’t one there,” Harry said, “At least not that I ever heard about it.” 

“And Lord Prior?”

Harry shrugged. “Same thing.”

Odette cocked her head to the side and looked at him with unabashed curiosity and surprise. “Really? There was no Lord Prior? But then what about Voldemort? Mama says that Lord Prior controls Voldemort so he can’t hurt anyone and he has to share his knowledge for our magic. Don’t you have a Voldemort?”

“There was one,” Harry said, “He killed my parents and came after me when I was at Hogwarts. He possessed my Defense teacher.”

Odette gave a dramatic shiver. “That’s terrible. I hope Lord Prior can control Voldemort for forever.”

Pensively, Harry asked, “How would he do that? Eventually, he’ll get old and die like everyone else. He’s already pretty old. Is he going to train a replacement?” 

Considering this for a while, Odette reached up and plucked one of the mostly closed flowers from the branch. She cradled it in her hands, frowning at it. “I guess he would have to,” she said, “or else maybe live forever. But even that would be kind of exhausting. Papa always says that Lord Prior is the strongest and most capable wizard of our age, stronger even than the Chief Warlock or the Supreme Mugwump, but that he stays with the Abbey because keeping Voldemort secure is the most important thing.” She tilted the flower from side to side and then turned it upside down. A cascade of golden dust drifted out and they both sneezed.

“Thomas is pretty strong,” Harry said, rubbing his nose. “But I took a magical test that said I could be strong like him. If he ever needs help controlling Voldemort, then maybe I can learn how to do that.”

“Oh! You had your aura reveal?” Odette brightened up, lowering the flower, “What type are you? I’m an Outer Active and I’m best at Charms and Alchemy.”

“Inner Active,” Harry said, “But I don’t really understand what that means. They didn’t do aura reveals in my home world.” He scrunched his nose when he said that. “Calling it my home world makes me sound like an alien, but I don’t know what else to call it.”

“We could call it the Dnalgne world,” Odette suggested. “That’s England backwards.”

“Dangle world?” Harry repeated back. Odette laughed and shook her head.

“No no, D’anl-gneu.”

“I think I’ll just call it my home dimension instead,” Harry said, “I don’t think I can pronounce that.”

“You could if you tried,” she said. 

“Odette! Lord Carus!” Angeline’s voice drifted through the boughs around them. “It’s time to return!”

“Coming Mother!” Odette called back. She reached up and picked another flower, shoving it into Harry’s hand. “Here, that’s for you.” Then she grabbed his wrist and hauled him upright and out from beneath the branches. “It’s supposed to be a symbol of good fortune and it can be used in some potions. It also smells really good. You can give it to Lord Prior if you want.”

She brought him back onto the path and then they followed the dancing faerie lights until they reached the three adults. Odette let go of his hand and went up to her parents, presenting them with her own flower while Harry made his way to Thomas. 

Bashfully, he held up the flower to Thomas. “Here,” he said, “Odette said it’s for good fortune.”

Thomas smiled at him, his eyes crinkling slightly. He took hold of Harry’s hand, bending first to smell the flower and then to put a kiss on Harry’s wrist. There was gold dust on the tip of his nose and Harry couldn’t help but reach up with his other hand to brush it off. “You got a bit of… on the end of your nose…” 

He ended up with gold dust on his fingers and Thomas chuckled softly. “Thank you, darling, for the flower and the care both.” He kissed Harry’s cheek and asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“Yes,” he said, “Odette’s nice. She treats me normally, it’s great.” 

“If you prefer that, then I’ll let her parents know she’s allowed to be informal with you.” Thomas said, “Now, darling, would you like to stay a bit longer for tea, or shall we go home?”

Harry bit his bottom lip as he thought it over. He liked Odette and her parents, but he wanted to spend some time alone with Thomas. He hated to say it, but he kind of missed the days when they were at Privet Drive and all they had was each other. He looked up at Thomas wondering if that was a weird thing to want. Was he supposed to want to keep Thomas all to himself? 

“Can we go home?” He asked quietly, “I mean, we can stay if you want to, but I would like to …to just be with you?” Harry looked away, feeling embarrassed. 

“If that’s what you want, my dear, then that’s what we’ll do,” Thomas said. “I’m sure there will be future visits that we can stay longer if  you’d like.” He held out his hand to Harry.

Harry nodded and took his hand. Thomas turned towards Barty and his family and said their goodbyes. Odette waved excitedly to him, promising to see him again soon, and Harry waved back. 

Soon, they were Apparating away and landing back at the Abbey with a bump. It made another cascade of gold dust fall from the flower, which Thomas promptly tucked into the crown that Harry wore, smiling slightly as he did so. Harry blushed, having forgotten about the crown entirely until then. 

“My handsome little prince,” Thomas whispered to him, cupping his face in his hands, “Allow me a kiss, beloved?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed out. He tipped his chin up, standing up on tiptoe and gripping Thomas’s arms as the man bent down to kiss him. It was one of those that made his whole body shiver in delight, that made sparkles tingle up and down his spine, and made his heart whirl madly in his chest. Harry shuddered when he felt Thomas’s tongue press to his lips and then slip inside, slick and hot and obscene in a way that made his face burn.

When Thomas pulled back, Harry swayed on his feet, needing to hold onto the man for support. 

Thomas gave him a dark look, eyelids hooded, lips quirked in a smile as he said, “To bed, my dear?”

“Please,” Harry whispered back. “Carry me?”

“As you wish.”

“I do apologize for her impetuousness, my lord,” Angeline said quietly as they watched Odette lead Harry along through the garden ahead of them. “Ever since she sorted Gryffindor, she’s become even more rambunctious and brash. We are working on it.”

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. “Harry appreciates such treatment. I believe it will endear her to him, in fact.” He watched as Odette pointed out some roses, the white petals vibrant in the floating lights overhead and the last fingers of sunlight over the horizon. He kept an eye on how she occasionally grabbed hold of Harry, but never saw him react with discomfort or disgust and so he didn’t intercede on the boy’s behalf. 

He would have preferred Harry not touch anyone else at all, but for Harry’s happiness, Voldemort would suffer the irritation of such contact with his little soulmate. 

“Speaking of his friendships,” Barty said, “I have located most of those he told me about. I do not believe that there will be much concern for introductions, except for a few.”

Voldemort arched an eyebrow and Barty continued, “He has bumped into Eloise, who would have been Hermione Granger in his world, and the introduction was somewhat uncomfortable. She was drawn to him, perhaps able to See the lingering effects of the ritual used to bring him to this dimension.” 

Voldemort gave a thoughtful noise. “I have need of her Sight for a research project. I’ll oversee a more formal introduction shortly and make sure she understands how to treat him. I doubt their worlds will intersect very much, all things considered. The others?”

“His other close friend was Ronald Weasley,” Barty said, with a side-long glance at his wife. “And were it not for his loyalties, I don’t think there would be an issue with that introduction. Once word gets back to the Order, I suspect it will be only a matter of time before they target him.”

A lazy smile spread across Voldemort’s features. “Alas, word is almost certainly on its way to their ears already. I introduced Harry to Parvati just yesterday. She recognized him as his elder counterpart almost immediately.”

Barty stopped short, pulling his wife to a stop as well. Voldemort took a few more steps and then turned to look at them. Barty’s expression was pulled in, brows furrowed as he tried to think through Voldemort’s reasoning.

Angeline, however, got there first as she whispered, “There is no way she will not gossip about him. You want them to know he’s here.”

Voldemort tipped his chin downwards in a nod of acknowledgment and then turned to admire some spears of blue flowers that tinkled softly in the twilight breeze. He reached out to touch their soft petals and said, “For years they withheld my soulmate from me, out of spite and animosity, for no other reason than to hurt me and deny me that which was always destined to be mine. And though I’m sure they mourn his loss, I am equally sure that they celebrate the fact that I cannot have him.

“This is their folly,” Voldemort said, fingers tapping on the blossoms and soft chimes ringing with each touch, “They think that the void can never be filled and that there can be no replacement for a soulmate once met and matched.” He retracted his hand from the blossom and brushed it over his sternum, where his soulmate mark pulsed with living magic. “They underestimate me, and because of that, they think that his loss is permanent.”

He glanced at the couple who stood close to each other, arm in arm, illuminated by faerie lights and watching him with rapt attention. A smile eased its way across his features and he saw them draw in a simultaneous breath. His eyes, he knew, were crimson. “They underestimate Voldemort and what knowledge he has and what power he is willing to expend. Now they are the only ones who grieve and mourn, for I cannot mourn one whom I have never known, and in the place of a recalcitrant mate who I would have to work against years upon years of conditioning to even accept the barest form of my attentions, I have instead my darling carus, my little mate.”

He turned towards the garden, unable to see Harry but more than able to feel the ebb of his magic within the garden. He heard, too, the whispered name of ‘ Voldemort’ spoken fearlessly from Odette’s lips, and knew they spoke of him, of his power, in hushed tones. 

Yes, Odette’s faithfulness and friendliness would do well for Harry’s health. He could lean on her when away from Voldemort’s immediate care. She, like her parents before her, could become one of his favored. 

Into the silence, Barty murmured, “Shall I arrange a meeting between Weasley and Lord Carus then, my lord?”

Voldemort inclined his head, “With oversight from either yourself or Angeline,” he said, “Harry is not to be left alone with anyone whose loyalties are not ours.”

They bowed their heads in agreement and Voldemort smiled, pleased with his servants' obedience.

Chapter Text

After a morning spent lazing in bed with Thomas, nibbling on breakfast and dozing, Harry finally let himself be hauled out of bed as it neared mid-morning. He was sleepy and warm, feeling unusually slow even as Thomas rolled him over and tugged him nearer to the edge of the bed.

“Come, my little love,” Thomas said with a teasing smile, “It will take some time to get properly ready for our luncheon with the Flames.” He pulled Harry to a sitting position.

Harry flopped back over with a groan. “Do I really have to meet them?” he asked, anxiety making itself known to him, “Who are they? Are they really important?”

“The Flames are my closest adherents,” Thomas told him, “They are those who are ordained to work in my name and with Voldemort’s power, the high priests and priestesses who form the core of my network. Come, darling, we need to bathe and get ready.”

“Bathe?” Harry blinked in surprise, “Like, together?”

Thomas gave him a smile that made Harry’s face hot. “Yes, dear. Together. Now, shall I carry you to the tub or would you prefer to walk on your own?”

“I can walk,” Harry mumbled. At Thomas’s skeptical look, he insisted, “I can!” And then he promptly swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He hurried into the bathroom, tugging his sleeping robe a little tighter around his shoulders, even though he knew he was about to take it off. 

He heard Thomas following him in but he didn’t turn to look, embarrassed to be caught staring, because he knew he would. Instead, he rushed over to the tub and found, to his surprise, that it was already full of hot water. It steamed slightly in the cool air and smelled lightly fragrant, though he couldn’t identify the flower.

Harry stripped down efficiently, dropping his clothes in a pile beside the tub. He gave a furtive glance towards Thomas, who was nearer to the door and watching him, and then climbed into the tub. The water was the exact perfect temperature—almost too hot to be comfortable and so, so nice on his cold fingers and toes. Harry sighed as he sank into the water, easing down until his chin was just above the surface.

He happened to glance up just as Thomas reached the side of the tub. First, he saw Thomas’s bare chest and the glittering gold of the snitch on his sternum. Then, his gaze moved up and caught Thomas looking back at him with a smile that made him flush hotly. He promptly dropped his gaze and, as he did, got a glance at the man’s private parts. He’d never seen those before—the only other privates he’d ever seen were some brief glances at the other boys in his dorm and they more liked him, small and hairless, than like Thomas. 

Thomas sank into the water with a satisfied sound, leaning back against the stone with one arm resting along the lip of the tub. He leaned his head back a little, eyes closing, a smile never leaving his face. Embolden by the fact that Thomas was looking away, Harry stared at him again. 

Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that Thomas was his soulmate. He was just too pretty, with his dark hair and eyes, his perfect nose and jaw, those wide shoulders, and his height, and now Harry could see his whole chest and how well-muscled he was. Harry was just a stupid, scrawny kid, how could Thomas really find anything interesting about him at all? 

Harry scowled down at his own hands. They were calloused and rough, small and nail-bitten, unlike Thomas’s perfect long fingers and trimmed nails. His wrists were knobby, his arms too thin, and his ribs still showed up too easily even after several weeks of Thomas feeding him well and a whole year at Hogwarts. What the Dursleys had done to him was never going to really fade—Harry was going to be scarred and skinny for his whole life!

Something brushed against his leg under the water and Harry jolted. He looked down and saw it was Thomas’s toe.

“You’re thinking so hard again, love,” Thomas said, “What are you worried about now?”

Harry shook his head, a lump in his throat. If Thomas hadn’t realized it yet—hadn’t realized just how ugly and nasty he looked then Harry didn’t want to be the one to tell him. 

Thomas held out a hand to him, “Come here, darling.”

Hesitantly, Harry took his hand. Thomas tugged him across the tub, the water rippling with each movement. He ended up on Thomas’s thighs, facing him, with one hand on his shoulder. The other tucked under Harry’s chin, tilting his face up so he couldn’t hide away. “You know I love to hear your voice, my dear. Why don’t you tell me what is bothering you and then we can address it? Are you nervous about the meeting?”

“Kinda,” Harry mumbled. It was a worry, but a more distant one now. Would Thomas stop liking him if his friends told him Harry was no good for him? 

“Will you tell me what it is that’s worrying you?” Thomas asked in such a soft voice, leaning a little closer, “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. The hand on his shoulder ran soothingly up and down, often trailing up his throat and making him shiver despite the hot water. Then Thomas pressed a kiss to his forehead, not on his scar, and Harry’s resolve buckled.

Quietly, he whispered, “Aren’t I ugly? I’m too skinny and I’ve got scars all over and my hands are short and stubby and no matter how much I eat my bones stick out and you— You’re beautiful! I’m too ugly for you.”

Thomas cupped Harry’s face in his hands, soothing him with gentle fingers stroking his skin. “Hush now, darling. Those are all surface-level problems. Remember, we’re going to get you potions to help fill out your body and heal your bones. If you have scars you want removed, we can do that as well, but do so because you want it, not because you want to be prettier for me.” 

“But if I’m ugly, why would you want me to stay?” Harry asked, “No one wants an ugly soulmate!”

“Darling, you are not ugly,” Thomas said. “You are actually quite beautiful.”

Harry tried to shake his head—there was no way that was true!—but Thomas was holding him still and so he ended up scowling up at him instead. “No, I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m bony and little and a freak.”

Harry bit his bottom lip—he hadn’t meant to say that! Then Thomas pressed a kiss to his lips and he let out a surprised squeak at the touch. He couldn’t resist Thomas kissing him, though, and soon was kissing back, face hot and body squirming as Thomas slid his tongue into his mouth and kissed him deeply.

Pulling back slightly, Thomas whispered against his lips, “You are very lovely, my little soulmate. Your eyes are a brilliant shade of green, your dark hair is reminiscent of the deepest night. Your lips are soft and your mouth so sweet. Even with your scars, your skin is so smooth and lovely, tanned by the sun on your shoulders and arms, milky white most everywhere else.” As he spoke, he pressed soft kisses to Harry’s cheeks and his hands slid down, down, down, heavy against Harry’s chest and sides, smoothing over the very skin he spoke of. 

Despite the hot water they sat in, Harry shivered all over as Thomas’s hands settled, one at his waist and one on his thigh. His skin tingled where Thomas had touched him and he panted softly, stopping only when Thomas kissed him deeply again. 

Harry came out of that kiss clutching Thomas’s shoulders for support, his head spinning and breath short. He wanted to accuse Thomas of lying to him, but just looking into the man’s face he could see that he believe it was all true. 

“And that’s not all,” Thomas murmured, kissing across his cheek and then to his ear. The hand on Harry’s hip slid up and around to his back, landing squarely on the center, over Harry’s mark. “You carry the most brilliant and beautiful soulmark in the world. Even if I were to find another Harry Potter who was scarless and taller and everything else, he would not be nearly as lovely to me as you are because of this. Your soul truly sees mine, my darling. That understanding is the most precious thing in the world to me. I treasure it as much as I treasure magic itself.”

Harry shuddered. In a small voice, he asked, “So, even though I’m skinny and scarred…you don’t care?”

Thomas pressed him closer until Harry’s chest was against his own and he could feel the sparkling magic of Thomas’s soulmate mark there against his skin. “I do not love you despite your skinniness and scars and calluses, my dear, I love you because of them, along with them. They are as much a part of you as my scars are part of me.”

“You don’t have scars,” Harry weakly protested, “I would’ve seen them!”

“I do,” Thomas murmured into his hair, tucking Harry under his chin. “I can show you them later if you like.”

Harry squirmed. It seemed rude to say yes, but… he wanted to see them. “Please?”

“Of course,” Thomas said. He ran his hand down Harry’s mark again and a jolt of magic ran through him from between their two connected marks. Harry sagged against Thomas and let out a soft groan. 

Thomas chuckled. He held Harry that way for a while, hand petting along his back slowly, fingers trailing over the edge of the mark. Harry shivered, his cheek pressed against Thomas’s shoulder. 

Eventually, though, they had to actually finish bathing. Harry slipped away from Thomas’s grasp in order to lather himself up with soap, scrubbing at his hands and feet, knees and elbows. He paid special attention to his nails, making sure the dirt from yesterday was all gone. 

When it came to his hair, however, Thomas interrupted his bathing with a question, “May I wash your hair, love?”

Shyly, Harry agreed and he soon found himself in a world of bliss as Thomas massaged his scalp while washing his hair. He groaned loudly and blushed furiously at the sound, embarrassed by it. Thomas didn’t say anything, though, just continued to wash and then rinse Harry’s hair until it was clean and he felt like he was made out of jello. 

Harry meant to offer to help Thomas in return, but he couldn’t manage it. He was too content, too relaxed, and draped his arms over the side of the tub while leaning against it and watching as Thomas briskly washed his own hair. He couldn’t feel any embarrassment as he stared; he felt far too good. And Thomas was so beautiful to look at. And they were soulmates. Shouldn’t Harry be allowed to look anyway? Thomas looked at him all the time.

Once Thomas was finished, he prodded Harry out of the tub. Harry dried himself off with one of the permanently warm towels, rubbing it against his face as he sighed dreamily. Magic was wonderful. 

He repeated the sentiment to Thomas, who gave him a wry smile before reaching over to tug at one of his damp curls. “Yes it is,” he said fondly, “Just as wonderful as you.”

Harry blushed and hid his face in his towel. Thomas chuckled and kissed his bare shoulder before he pulled away, “Come, darling, let us dress. I have something special for you to wear today.”

Curiously, Harry followed him out of the bathroom and to the closet.

The special thing turned out to be a custom outfit that began with an under-robe made of what looked like spun gold. It was shiny and smooth, cool to the touch, and shaped strangely. Harry didn’t know how to put it on for sure, confused by the single clasp and the fact that it seemed to have no sleeves. In fact, it looked mostly like a large square cloth than clothing.

Thomas helped him put it on, winding the cloth around his body so that it covered his chest and body from the waist down, but left his back exposed. The clasp went behind Harry’s neck and held the cloth in place. It felt more like a dress than anything else he’d worn yet and Harry blushed as Thomas stepped back from fixing the clasp. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, turning slightly to inspect what he suspected was true. With his back bare like this, it was very easy to see his soulmate mark on his shoulders, the red and gold and green vibrant against his skin. He turned back to Thomas and caught him staring at the mark with a hungry gleam in his eyes. 

“Is it really that special?” Harry asked. Thomas blinked at him and he hurriedly elaborated, “I mean, I know it’s special, it’s my soulmate mark but um. Don’t others have marks too? Or is mine different somehow?”

Thomas stepped closer and ran his fingers down Harry’s spine. His skin rose in goosebumps. “Your mark is very special, darling,” He said softly, “Very few people have marks as large as yours, or as intricate.” His fingernail traced something along Harry’s skin and he shivered harder. “I could sit and count each scale of the snake on your back, or trace the tongues of flame in the mane. There is so much detail, so much care, put into your mark… it is a sign of our devotion, soul to soul, and our power.”

His chest was bare, so Harry could still easily see the mark that Thomas had for him. He frowned a little at it. “But why is the one for me on you so small then? Why isn’t it as special?”

“Ah, darling, you are still so young,” Thomas said, “My mark for you might still change in the years to come. It’s not unheard of, after all. As you grow into the man you will become, perhaps the snitch will change for something else, or grow smaller as some new piece forms. For all that we are who we are from the moment we are born, our souls grow and change with us, as do our bodies and minds.” He took Harry’s hand in his own and pressed his palm against the mark there. It tingled under Harry’s fingers. The snitch’s wings fluttered and he watched as the snake shifted slightly, tongue darting out as if to taste the air.

Curiously, Harry asked, “What about the mark for the Other Harry? Didn’t you have one for him?”

“I did,” Thomas said, “But it turned gray when he died, and when I went to your world, it disappeared and was replaced with my new mark.” 

He didn’t look too upset talking about the Other Harry, so Harry felt comfortable asking, “What did your mark for him look like? Did he also have a snitch?”

“No,” Thomas said, “It looked something like this.” He gestured with one hand and a shimmering illusion appeared in the air next to them. The image was of two crossed wands, one the color of Harry’s holly one and the other bone white. Around them was a storm of color that flashed with lightning bolts of red and green while the cloud was black and blue and purple, like a deep bruise. As Harry stared at the image, he noticed that it wasn’t exactly a cloud but a dark coiled snake with the wands crossed on top of it. 

“Oh wow,” Harry breathed out in awe. That was a lot more impressive than the little snake and snitch! “Was he good at spells?”

“Very good,” Thomas said, “And a very competent dueler.” 

Harry shifted uneasily. He wasn’t sure he could be a good dueler. He wasn’t even sure how to do that. Did you just cast spells at another person or something? 

Thomas dismissed the image with a flick of his fingers and then cupped Harry’s face in his hands. He gave him a light kiss on his lips. Smiling at him, he murmured, “I have no doubt that you will grow into a fine wizard yourself, my dear, Remember, I did not know him well, or even personally at all. I have no desire for you to follow in his footsteps, love, but wish for you to carve your own path forward.”

Harry’s face turned hot with a fierce blush and he reached up to grab Thomas’s wrists, “Are you sure? I—I mean I could learn dueling and lots of spells and be stronger…?”

“I am sure,” Thomas said, “I want nothing more than for you to be yourself, wholly and completely, and to stand at my side happy and proud of who you are. Whether that means you wish to play quidditch or tend the orchard or simply flit from curiosity to curiosity, all of that is perfectly fine with me. As long as you are happy and we are together.”

He kissed Harry again before Harry could ask his next question and it quickly was wiped from his mind as Thomas’s tongue slid into his mouth. They kissed and kissed, hot and wet and heavy, until Harry was breathless and his knees weak. He would have sunk to the floor if not for Thomas putting his arms around him and tugging him close. 

When he finally was released, Harry was a little dizzy and had no complaints as Thomas draped a sheer red robe around his shoulders. He felt fuzzy with warmth as Thomas lay that golden medallion from the day before on his neck and added even more jewelry to Harry in the form of various golden bracelets that jingled together when he moved. Harry managed to snap out of it a little when Thomas placed something on his head, the weight of it not very much but a tingle of magic making him jolt in surprise. 

He reached a hand up to touch the band and asked, “What’s this?”

“That is a circlet,” Thomas said, “It is a companion piece to these,” he tapped the golden bracelets.

“What does it do?” Harry asked. He fiddled with it a little but didn’t pull it off. 

“It helps with memory and clarity of mind,” Thomas said, “You’ll be meeting many people shortly and this will help you remember them all.” As he said so, he put on his own over-robe and Harry noticed for the first time that Thomas wasn’t wearing a shirt of any kind. He wore a golden cloth wrapped around his waist much like Harry did and the crimson robe over that was clasped low, just above his navel. It left the soulmate mark on his chest revealed, though his own golden medallion rested on top of the snitch. 

He put on bracelets of his own, though they weren’t just gold and some looked to be made of stone or other materials, braided in with precious gemstones. Then he turned to Harry and held out another crown of gold to him. The metal was hammered into the shape of flames. Harry took it and watched, wide-eyed, as Thomas sank down to one knee in front of him. He bowed his head slightly and Harry carefully placed the crown on him. 

Thomas caught his hand before he pulled away and kissed his palm. Harry blushed. He couldn’t stop staring at Thomas, regal in his red and gold robes, with the crown on his dark curls and the ring of crimson red around the irises of his dark eyes. As the man rose to his feet, still holding Harry’s hands in his own, Harry blurted out, “You look like a king.”

Thomas gave him an amused look, his smile spreading wide. “Do I?”

Harry nodded emphatically. 

“Why thank you, darling,” Thomas said, “You look quite royal yourself.” He gave Harry’s hands a squeeze and then lifted them up, kissing his bare knuckles. “But of course, that is only fitting. If I am a king, you are my consort. You are my soulmate, after all, and thus my equal in all things.”

Harry’s heart hammered against his ribs. His face felt hot and his body light, as if he were floating and only kept grounded by Thomas’s grip on his hands. Shyly, he asked, “What’s a consort?”

“A consort is the spouse of a monarch—if I am the king, you are my consort,” Thomas gave him a teasing smile, “Unless you’d rather be known as my queen-” He laughed when Harry scrunched up his nose at the term, “No, I didn’t think so. Consort it is, then?”

“Does that mean we’re going to get married someday?” Harry asked. He’d always dreamed that he would have a family when he got older—someone who loved him and would take care of him, a house they could live in, and maybe even kids! The first step to that was finding someone who loved him and for the first time in his life, Harry thought he might have found that person. Sure, he might have thought he’d marry a girl, but Thomas was his soulmate and that meant they were destined for each other. How could he marry anyone else?

“Yes,” Thomas said, “At least, it does if you agree to marry me.”

“Of course!” Harry exclaimed, then flushed with embarrassment when Thomas grinned at him in response. “I mean, why wouldn’t I? You’re my soulmate after all.”

“There are those who choose to forsake their bonds,” Thomas murmured, “Some people fall in love before they find their soulmates, or refuse to let fate decide for them. Your counterpart did so, falling in love and marrying someone else instead of bonding with me.”

Harry squeezed Thomas’s hands tightly and said, “I won’t do that! There isn’t anyone else for me but you. I swear!” 

Thomas’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment and Harry wondered if he’d been worried that Harry might run away and marry someone else this whole time. When he opened his eyes again, Harry’s breath caught at the relief and affection that warmed them. “In that case, yes, darling, one day we will marry. I shall make a proper engagement ring for you soon, one that will let everyone know you are mine.”

Harry’s cheeks burned. He was going to get an engagement ring? That meant it was official! 

Of course, it had to be already considering they were living together and everything, but still! Shyly, he said, “It won’t be soon, though, right? I mean… Can I even get married right now?” He vaguely knew that there were probably laws about getting married so young. Was it even allowed? How long would he have to wait?

“You’ll need to be a few years older before we have the actual celebration,” Thomas said with some amusement in his gaze, “But it isn’t entirely uncommon for the younger partner in a soulmate bond to have a ring or some other piece of jewelry as a declaration that they have already devoted themselves to someone.”

Harry’s head swum a little bit at the thought of that—at the thought of being devoted to someone. He’d spent so long being so unloved—no one in his life even liked him before he found out about Hogwarts and being a wizard and all that. He’d grown up dreaming of being loved and now it was happening, now it was real, and it was a lot to take in. 

“And you’re gonna get me a ring? Really? And really marry me?” Harry asked. “For forever?”

Thomas kissed the back of his hands, one and then the other, his lips so warm against Harry’s skin that they seemed to burn even when he’d lowered them. “I am going to make you a ring that will let everyone know that I am yours as much as you are mine, my love. And then, one day, we will have the wedding of our dreams and declare our devotion to each other before God and Magic itself. After that there will be no force in existence that will be able to break our bond.” Thomas let go of his hands in order to cup Harry’s face in his hands. His skin was hot. Harry’s heart beat pounded in his throat. 

“Not even Death will be able to tear us apart, my beloved,” Thomas whispered to him. His brown eyes were bright and limned with a scarlet ring around the iris. Harry was captivated by his gaze, unable to look away, unable to doubt his words. “I swear to you, I will always be there for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry shivered at his declaration, the words an echo of the promise Thomas had given him from the very beginning. “Okay,” he whispered back, “Okay.”  He gripped Thomas’s wrists tightly in response and added, “I’ll be there for you too—I promise. I’m not ever going to go anywhere.”

Thomas kissed him. His mouth was hot; the kiss was insistent. Harry gasped when Thomas sucked on his lower lip and then lost his head as Thomas kissed him breathless.

When it finally ended, Thomas was supporting him with an arm around his middle because Harry’s legs had turned to jello. Thomas pressed a soft kiss to his temple, just next to his scar, and then murmured, “Hold on tight, love, we need to go now or we’ll be late.”

Dazedly, Harry nodded, clinging to Thomas for dear life. 

Harry was glad he held tightly onto Thomas when they landed. He would have certainly fallen otherwise and as it was he felt utterly nauseated and had to squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath in order to keep his stomach from churning. 

Thomas held him during it, murmuring, “We’re here in the manor now, in the Receiving Room. This is the one place in here that others can apparate into, though it has to be with my permission.”

He brushed a soothing hand across Harry’s back and murmured, “Before we go today, I want to properly key you into the wards so that you are as much Master here as I am.” 

Harry nodded, exhaling slowly as his stomach finally settled. “I don’t like apparation,” he mumbled. 

“It gets smoother the more frequently you use it,” Thomas told him. He relaxed his grip on Harry, letting him step back and get a good look at the room they were in. It had high ceilings and four large tapestries—one on each wall. They rippled as though there was a gentle breeze, but Harry couldn’t feel anything. He only caught a glimpse of one of them—it was blue and white, an image of the ocean caught on cloth with some creature in the midst of the waves—before Thomas led him behind the long tapestry and through a hidden doorway. 

“This is your manor?” Harry asked as they walked through another high vaulted room—a hallway this time, with multiple doors leading off to the right and a series of large windows on the left. Through the bright light of the morning, he could see a steep cliffside and crashing waves below. “Where are we?”

“It is,” Thomas said, “And we’re on our own smaller island off the coast of Wales. It’s a bit of a jump from the Abbey, but nothing impossible for me or, eventually, you.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed out. They reached the end of the hallway and entered a room that looked more like a throne room than anything else. There was a large chandelier above and a large stone table in a horse-shoe shape. All of the chairs looked the same, except for one that was at the ‘bend’ of the horse shoe and thus at the ‘head’ of the table. 

That chair was larger than the others, broader too, and made of either black stone or wood, Harry wasn’t sure which. It had carvings all up and down the side; at first glance they were flames, then they were lions, then they were snakes. Thomas walked up to the throne and drew his bone white wand from a small slit in space. 

Harry watched in awe as Thomas directed the magic around him like an orchestra conductor, guiding it through the air with a swish and a flick. He stood by as Thomas split the massive chair into two parts, making it slightly smaller but introducing another chair to the left of it, smaller and higher, but just as intimidating. The carvings shifted and changed on this chair as well, though Harry thought they looked mostly like snakes. 

When he lowered his wand, he gestured for Harry to approach. “Come, darling, take a seat and let me know if there’s anything you’d like changed.”

Bashfully, Harry approached and sat down on the smaller chair. It put him at a perfect height for the table and, he noticed, kept him close to Thomas’s own seat. “I like it,” he said, “It’s surprisingly comfortable.” He bounced up and down a bit, smiling. Despite the fact it looked hard as stone, it was soft like there was a thick, comfortable cushion on it.

“It is enchanted, my dear, as my own is,” Thomas said. He settled down beside him in his throne, the wand in hand still, and began to cast more spells.

Harry watched in awe as that little portal opened up again and dishes came dancing out of it. His breath caught and he grinned in amazement. It was like all the dishes were alive, bouncing through the air and settling gracefully at all the empty spots. Utensils followed plates, crystal goblets and folded napkins followed suit. Soon the table was laden with crystal and china, shimmering all over with the faintest touch of magic. 

Thomas chanted some long string of latin and then the table shivered under Harry’s touch. He recoiled from it, breath catching. “What was that?”

“I’ve activated the enchantment here,” Thomas said, “Once all seats are taken or declared empty, the meal will begin.”

“So now we just wait for everyone to arrive?” Harry asked, “When will they get here?”

“Soon, darling,” Thomas said. He stood once more, smoothing his hand over the front of his dark robes. They were thicker than Harry’s—not see-through at all—and the collar and cuffs had a golden brocade on them that was stitched in interesting patterns. The gold in his robe caught the light and flashed, distracting Harry somewhat. “Come, we’ll wait for them in a more comfortable room.”

Harry stood as well, reaching out for Thomas as he nodded to him. 

They left this room and entered one of the others along the hall, a smaller but still grand room done up in dark blue and soft gray colors. There were several plush couches, some still landscape paintings, a fireplace, chess table and, curiously enough, a record player. Harry gravitated to the player, wondering what sort of music Thomas listened to. 

“Here, I’ll show you how it works,” Thomas said. He took a record from a box tucked beneath the player and then placed it on the top. He moved the needle over, tapped the side with his wand and suddenly it began to turn and play. 

It started with a chorus vocalizing immediately as a slow, steady rhythm began to play. Soon there was a man singing a song Harry had never heard before, but made him blush as the man crooned, “Put your head on my shoulder, hold me in your arms, baby. Squeeze me oh so tight. Show me that you love me too.” 

He glanced up at Thomas and saw that he’d held out his hand to him, palm up, and was smiling. “May I have this dance?”

“I’ve never danced before…” Harry mumbled, the words trailing off. He looked up at Thomas and his heart swooped in his chest, fluttering so hard he thought it might burst. This was somehow just as embarrassing as it was wonderful—he’d never thought anyone would want to dance with him, let alone someone like Thomas. 

Gathering his courage, Harry took Thomas’s hand and let the man pull him close. He listened as Thomas murmured instructions—where to put his hands, how to move where Thomas guided him—and soon they were dancing around in a loose circle to the crooning voice on the record. A faster song came on after a while and though Harry stumbled through the steps, occasionally stepping on Thomas’s toes, he began to grin and giggle, moving quickly under Thomas’s direction. 

Thomas spun him around a few times and then pulled him closer as the music slowed down again. Breathlessly, Harry stared up at him, wholly entranced by the soft look on his face. He bent down and tilted Harry’s chin up with a touch to his chin. Harry pushed himself up to his toes to meet Thomas’s lips in a kiss. 

It was light, gentle, and made Harry’s heart flutter. He drew back slowly, grinning up at Thomas as the man brushed his hair back behind an ear. 

“That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” Thomas asked. 

“Not really,” Harry said, “I liked it.”

“I’m glad,” Thomas said. He suddenly lifted his head and turned it towards the door while making a thoughtful sound. “Our first guests have arrived, darling. Shall we go greet them?”

“Okay,” Harry said, reluctantly leaving Thomas’s grasp. 

Thomas offered him an arm and Harry took it with a smile, curling his hand in the man’s elbow. “Are you going to introduce me as Lord Carus to them too?” he asked as they approached the door.

“I am,” Thomas said. The door swung open with a wave of his hand, just as the record player went quiet behind them. “Some of them you’ve already met as well.”

They walked down the hallway together until they reached the doorway to the tapestry room. “Ready?” Thomas asked.

“I am,” Harry said, squeezing Thomas’s arm. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

Thomas smiled. “Darling, how could they not?”

Through the tapestry, Voldemort led his little soulmate into the apparation chamber in order to welcome the first of their guests, the most punctual members of the Inner Flames. He felt the tension bleed out of Harry when he recognized some of the faces waiting, most notably Barty and Christoph. There were six waiting already, including Barty Crouch and his wife Angeline, Pippa Macmillian and her husband Christoph as well as Lucius Malfoy and Frank Longbottom, the latter of two already in discussion. 

All six turned to greet him with bows, their robes of crimson and gold fluttering around them. Pippa wore the rich colors the best of the lot, with gold jewelry glittering on her arms and around her throat as well as sparkling in the fine, sheer layer of her outer robe. The woman’s arms were bare, revealing both the brand of his flame on her left arm and her soulmate mark wrapped around her right elbow. 

The Roman inspired attire certainly caught Harry’s attention—especially since he’d met them before in full wixen robes. The bare arms and exposed chests and lower legs made him curious, Voldemort could tell, but also helped him relax. With them dressed as he was, he didn’t stick out in his own sheer robe and golden toga. 

Voldemort absentmindedly greeted and introduced Harry to them, paying extra care with Lucius, so that the boy understood he was the headmaster of Hogwarts. 

Harry was shy in greeting them all, even Barty and Angeline, and huddled closer to Voldemort’s side as several more pops sounded and more individuals arrived.

The Prewitt twins arrived mid-conversation, which they broke off upon noticing Voldemort’s presence. They sketched quick bows to him, almost cheeky in their brevity, but despite Lucius giving them a flat, annoyed look, Voldemort greeted them all the same.

“Darling,” he said to Harry as the twins approached, “These are Fabian and Gideon Prewitt. I believe you mentioned you were familiar with their nephews in Hogwarts? They would be Fred and George Weasley.”

Harry brightened immediately, “You’re the twins’ uncles?  That makes a lot of sense. You look a lot like them!” 

“Wouldn’t you think that they are the ones who look like us?” Fabian teased with a half smile.

“Considering they are our younger nephews?” Gideon added. He boldly stuck his hand out to Harry, “Good to meet you, young lord. We’ve heard of your arrival, of course, but I must admit I’m quite chuffed. I hadn’t thought our Lord would manage bringing you here quite so quickly, you see, and lost out a few galleons for it.”

Harry shook the man’s hand and then his brothers, laughing a little as Fabian elbowed his brother. 

“Uncouth as always, dear brother. Don’t go telling the boy every thought that crosses your mind, now!” Fabian chided with good humor. Gideon elbowed him right back.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Harry said, “Do you suppose I could meet with Fred and George?” He half turned towards Voldemort to ask the question, eyes so gloriously hopeful. 

“Perhaps,” Voldemort said, “If they are willing. I understand that their days are quite packed. Overpacked, one might even say.”

“They certainly are that, my lord,” Gideon said, “But they do break away in order to meet with family. Perhaps during the next event, the little lord can visit. I do know Mother wouldn’t mind another mouth to feed and the cousins are always interested in a fresh face.”

Voldemort accepted this, knowing Harry would be quite safe with the Prewitt family, even if some of the lower branches of that same tree were untrustworthy. 

By the time this conversation had ended, the room was filled with all members of his inner circle, including Bellatrix, who was making her way over with Rodolphus in her wake, a bemused smile on his face. 

She wore the darkest, deepest reds of them all, her arms and shoulders bare in order to reveal the blazing red of her Brand upon her left shoulder and the small, heart shaped soulmate mark on her collarbone. Her dark hair was a tamed wildness and woven through with the only bit of silver in the room—coiling snakes with glittering bands of gold and ruby red eyes. 

Bellatrix dropped into a deep curtsey, the medallion of her station as Chief Warlock swinging from her neck, and then rose when Voldemort gestured. “My lords,” she intoned, her dark eyes burning, “The Flames are all in attendance. Shall we convene?”

The quiet murmur of the room dropped to silence as all the red-clad figures turned their attention to him, as they should. Voldemort looked over the group, his mind picking up the fragments of their topmost thoughts—interest, curiosity, eagerness—and then he turned to his little soulmate.

As usual, Harry’s thoughts were so clear, his eyes bright with them—anxiety, anticipation, hope, wonder, I hope they like me, I hope I don’t say anything stupid, do I look good?— and Thomas smiled at the boy. “Shall we lead the way, carus?” 

He offered his arm again to Harry, who blushed lightly and took it. Voldemort turned him towards the hidden door and stifled a smirk. He could tell the moment that his followers saw Harry’s soulmark even t through the sheer cloth—the snarling visage of the lion above the thick coils of a snake—by the sharp intakes of breath behind him. He didn’t allow Harry’s footsteps to falter, as the boy clearly heard them too, only urging him to walk onwards to the dining room. 

At the doorway, Voldemort drew them to one side, stopping there so they could do proper introductions. He made sure to point out the titles of particular interest to Harry, including the various professors in attendance. Harry was delighted to meet so many of his future teachers, including Amandara Patil for Magecraft History, Hephaestus Mulciber for Defense Arts, Rodolphus Lestrange for Transfiguration and Fabian Prewitt for Potions. 

Once the introductions were complete, Voldemort led Harry over to the head of the table, where their paired chairs waited. The others stood before their chairs, waiting for Voldemort’s invitation to sit. They looked radiant in their flame colored robes, varying from red to orange to yellow-gold. Many of them wore jewelry along their bare arms and necks and all of them had their left arm completely bare so that their Brand was clearly visible. 

Each Brand was as unique as the wixen who bore it, but each one was started with the shape of a hand where he had touched them to perform the ritual binding. Voldemort had once considered Branding more than his closest circle and had, indeed, Branded others before those who stood here. Some of those previous members had died, some he had revoked his Brand, but in the end he never needed a broader circle than this.

In centuries past, this would have been his coven. However, Voldemort’s roots were deeper even than those mid-millenium years of Darkness in Europe. He stood as Lord Prior, the Keeper of the Demiurge, the Lord of Voldemort and here were his Inner Flames—those positions of power and influence that he kept a tight reign over.

Voldemort raised his hands and spread them wide. “Welcome to my home, my Flames. It has been too long since I saw all your faces at once and basked in the combined power and pride that we share. I bring you all here in order to share with you the greatest blessing Magic has given me: I have found my soulmate and he has agreed to be with me for all time.”

He lowered one hand to Harry’s shoulder. The boy stood straight next to him, chin up and hands tucked behind himself. Voldemort could feel the rabbit-fast pulse in his chest, but was proud of the boy withstanding all the eyes now currently on him. 

“This is my beloved, my soulmate, my carus. Harry James Potter. I have borne witness to the forming of his mark and attest to the truth of the name he carries. I ask that he show you his mark now, so that you can confirm this and give us your blessing.”

He glanced down at Harry and, reading the question right out of his eyes, nodded to him. Harry flushed, his cheeks turning a bright pink as he turned to put his back to the table. Voldemort dropped his hand to the side and watched with a consuming feeling of greed and success as Harry lowered the sheer robe from his back.

Several of the Flames muttered oaths as the visage of the Demiurge was properly revealed to them. Voldemort managed to tear his gaze from the beautiful mark in order to take in their expressions. Awe, wonder, even envy was clear to see. A few were deeply curious or avidly jealous, for Harry’s mark was impressive in nearly every feasible way: it was large, colorful, intensely detailed and periodically shifted—particularly the flames around the Demiurge’s head and the position of the snake’s coils around each other.

Bellatrix was first to declare in a clear, firm voice, “You have my blessing, my lords. May your bonding be deep and true and as eternal as your devotion to each other.”

Beside her, Rodolphus spoke up next, repeating her words exactly. Beside him sat Frank, who echoed the sentiment as well. And so it was down the whole line as all members of his Flames added their own Blessing.

As the words were repeated over and over, magic in the room began to swell with the invocation of an unguided ritual. Voldemort saw Harry trembling under the weight of it and took the boy’s hand, squeezing it tightly. 

When the last voice spoke the Blessing, there was a clap of power that shook the whole room, rattling the dishes on the table and the chandelier above their heads. Harry swayed on his feet, turning to grip Voldemort’s arm for stability.

Voldemort caught him and tucked him close, allowing Harry to hide his face against his robes and running a soothing hand down the boy’s back. His skin tingled with the sudden influx of magic—he was well used to the feeling, however, so he gave his attention to Harry so that he could settle it quickly enough.

“Breathe, dearest,” Voldemort told him, “Just breathe. You’ll be fine in a moment. It was just a magical Blessing.”

Harry nodded and mumbled something Voldemort didn’t catch. Voldemort gestured to the others to sit and said, “Thank you my friends. Now, let us sit and partake of the meal prepared. There is still much that I wish to discuss with you all.”

He turned his attention back to Harry as the others sat. He eased the boy onto his chair, tugging his robe back up onto his shoulders and smoothing dark curls back from his face. Harry looked at him, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Wh-what w-was that?” He stammered, brushing at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“That was a Magical Blessing, my dear,” Voldemort told him. “It’s something very special and it means that we have been given a gift of magic in order for that blessing to come true. It can be very intense at first. Absorbing large amounts of foreign magic always is. You’ll probably feel a little strange for a while, but it will pass.”

Harry nodded and leaned back in his chair. Voldemort bent down to press a kiss to the top of his head before turning his attention to his inner circle. 

With the search for his soulmate completed, and the final stages of his plans coming to fruition, Voldemort could devote more time to the inner workings of his nation. He planned to make good use of that, beginning today.

Chapter Text

Harry stared in wonder as the dishes on the table magically filled with yet another course of food. There had been bite-sized pieces of cheese and meat, bowls of soup and salad, tender cuts of quail, sliced salmon, candied nuts, a beef dish served out of cut bone, and fruit so sweet that just the sight of it made Harry’s mouth water. He ate and ate and ate, listening as Thomas told everyone about how he’d found Harry in his world with his muggle relatives and how Harry had helped him scry, and their travel through dimensions. He listened as Thomas more thoroughly introduced his inner circle, detailing who worked in the Ministry and who worked for the Abbey, and who for Hogwarts, how everyone helped him guide their society to its current prosperous state.

He gaped in awe as Chief Warlock Bellatrix Lestrange cackled over stories of conquering giants and visiting Fae kingdoms. He listened as Abbess Esperanza Fiorella explained how the exchange program between the two Abbeys functioned. He laughed over Aurors Alecto and Amycus Carrow’s reenactments of the criminals they hunted down. He gasped as Cristoph Macmillian talked about strange magical maladies and shivered when Augustus Rookwood hinted at magical curses that he’d helped diagnose as an Unspeakable.

The meal seemed to last forever and yet pass in a moment as stories and topics bled one into another just as their courses shifted from plate to plate. And all the while Harry sat at Thomas’s side, occasionally basking in the man’s attention whenever Thomas took a moment to touch his arm or his leg or brush his hair back behind his ear. Harry couldn’t help but flash happy smiles at his soulmate, who had brought him here to this wonderful place with this incredible magic and delicious food and interesting, kind people. 

He was reluctant to finish his final serving—a refreshing glass of juice while the adults around him had various flutes of sparkling or fizzing drinks. Yet he didn’t complain when Thomas cleared his throat and gathered the attention of everyone present. The quiet conversations faded into silence. 

Into that silence, Thomas spoke, “I am grateful that all of you were able to be present today. It pleases me to share this time with you and to see you all welcome my carus to his new home with open arms.” He glanced briefly at Harry, reaching over to take his hand and squeeze it gently. “Before we adjourn to our afternoon plans, there are a few of you I would like to speak with separately. 

“Lucius, I would appreciate it if you and your professors could speak briefly with Harry, to further smooth out his transfer to our Hogwarts. Barty, I believe you should sit in on this conversation so you are aware of any further supplies Harry will need from Diagon tomorrow. Lavanya, Augustus, Christoph and Bella, I need to speak to the four of you briefly about a separate matter. I require some outside perspective about a recent conundrum I’ve encountered.” Thomas commanded them, glancing at each person as he named them. “If there are any concerns regarding your respective duties, I will only be available in the afternoons and some evenings until Harry goes to Hogwarts. Exceptions can be made for true emergencies, of course. Is there anything that needs to be brought up immediately?”

Most of everyone shook their heads, except for the pale man that Harry thought was Marcelinus Nott. He pressed his lips together in a thin line for a moment and then said softly, “I do have some concerns with…various messages we’ve been receiving in our department post.” His dark eyes flicked briefly to Harry before moving back to Thomas. “If I might have your ear later this evening or tomorrow, my lord?”

“Tomorrow, if it is not too urgent,” Thomas said. Marcelinus nodded and Thomas looked around, but no one else said anything. 

“If that is all, again I thank you for your presence, you are dismissed.”

Everyone rose to their feet, so Harry quickly followed. Thomas pulled his chair out for him, giving Harry space to step from the table. 

“Darling,” Thomas murmured, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “Will you go with Barty for a while? I need to discuss something with the others.”

Harry worried his bottom lip for a moment, but nodded. “Is it about…” He reached up and patted his dark hair back over the scar on his forehead. 

“It is,” Thomas said. 

“You don’t need me there?” 

“If I do, I will call for you.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He was anxious about the scar, but didn’t know what he could do about it, if anything at all. He relaxed a little bit when Thomas leaned over and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“It shouldn’t be too long,” he said, “Go enjoy meeting your new professors. I’m sure they have lots they want to talk to you about.”

Harry agreed, though it made him nervous to think about. He had once tried to be a very diligent student, but his Primary teachers hadn’t liked him and he always got in trouble with Aunt Petunia for good grades, which made him try less and less for his classes. Eventually, he barely tried at all, which only made it harder when he got to Hogwarts and was actually allowed to do better.

Of course, with poor Professor Quirrell as one teacher and Professor Snape as another, Harry had struggled there, too. He really hoped that he could learn better with Fabian as his new potions teacher!

Barty collected Harry with a grin and together they joined the handful of others in yet another sitting room, though this one didn’t have a record player in it. It was a bright blue and white room, very pretty and chilly looking, like being inside of an ice castle. 

He nervously sat down next to Barty on one of the couches. He was surprised how many teachers were in Thomas’s inner circle; there were five people in here besides Barty and Lucius, the headmaster. 

Pippa was one of the five, and she smiled brilliantly at Harry as she plopped herself down on one of the long couches. “Don’t look so anxious about me here, my lord,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Technically the only class I teach is on body health with Chris, which you’ll have for a semester in your second, fourth, and sixth year. You’ll not need to know anything in advance for my lessons!”

Lucius gave her a sidelong look. He was the most regal looking of all of them, sitting proud and tall in the dark blue wingback chair. “From what I understand, Lord Carus, your instruction at Hogwarts was fraught with peril and poor educational standards, would you agree with that description?”

“Um, peril is trouble, right?” Harry asked with a quick glance at Barty, who nodded.  “Then yeah, I guess. Plus I was raised by muggles so there was a lot I had to learn right away.”

One of the others who hadn’t spoken much yet hissed softly when Harry said that. He glanced over, a little afraid of the man named Hephaestus Mulciber who had taken up a spot near the fireplace, one elbow resting on the mantle. He had long dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail at his neck and a couple of jagged scars visible on his face and arms. Like many of the others, he had a blazing red and gold mark on his left arm that looked like a fiery handprint, but the other mark he had on the right side of his chest, just along his ribs, was a gray one. Harry wondered if that was his soulmate mark and if so, why was it gray?

“We’ll help you unlearn the bad habits of muggles,” said Amandara Patil, who sat next to Pippa. She had dark skin and looked very much like Parvati Patil. Harry had to guess they were related, though he wasn’t sure how. She gave him a kind smile, her eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of resources for you to access. Your Head of House, the prefects of your House, not to mention the counselors and independent mentors, if you decide to specialize in one of the various branches of magic. Speaking of which, have you had your Aura Reveal conducted?”

Harry nodded, “I’m an Inner Active,” he said and then asked, “Am I going to get resorted then? I mean, I was sorted before in my old world. I was a Gryffindor.”

“Of course,” Lucius said, “Traditionally, transfer students in their second year and above are sorted in the Headmaster’s office privately before the First Night Feast. This allows you to sit with your year mates without being mistaken for an earlier year.”

“Are there any plans for taking placement exams?” asked Rodolphus Lestrange, who lounged on one of the loveseats by himself. He flicked his gaze to Lucius before turning his intense focus to Harry once more. “We aren’t certain of your skill, after all. If this other Hogwarts was as horrendous an educational facility as we’ve been warned about, perhaps it’s necessary.”

Harry cringed at the idea of exams before he even went back to school. That didn’t sound far at all! Plus…he was worried that if he failed them, he’d end up having to retake his first year!

“I would be in favor of that,” Fabian said. He stood behind the couch that Pippa and Amandara sat on, leaning against it. He ran his hand through his red hair, and gave Harry a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, my lord, but it would be the best way to be sure that we aren’t throwing you too far out of your depth. The transition between schools is difficult on its own, but to do it between dimensions and through time? The innovation between decades is certainly enough to bring your relevant knowledge into question, not to mention what might be purely missing from one dimension to another.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, “I’m going to have to take exams before I even go back to school?”

Amandara gave him a sympathetic smile, “I must agree with my fellow professors, my lord. I suggest we have you sit the end-of-year exams for first years and see how you place.” She turned slightly to Lucius and added, “Perhaps we can give him a week of preparation beforehand? That way he can review what he learned properly.”

“I can be a proctor for him,” Barty offered. 

Harry stared down at his hands in his lap. He twisted one of the golden bracelets around and around. What if he failed his exams? What if he had to redo his first year? What if Thomas found out and thought he was an idiot? He couldn’t be Thomas’s equal if he was an idiot! Thomas was the smartest person he knew!

Someone sat down next to him and Harry jolted when a hand settled on top of his own. He looked up at Pippa, who offered him a kind smile and said, “We’re not doing this in order to make you feel bad about yourself or what you’ve learned, my lord. This is simply the fastest way to see what you’ve learned before and where your past professors were lacking. Maybe you’ll have to take a few first-year classes, but we have no doubt that you’ll rise up to your proper place. You are our lord’s soulmate, after all. His match and his mate in all things. There is no doubt that you will become a great wizard of your own merit.”

Harry’s bottom lip quivered and he blinked furiously. Quietly, he admitted, “What if I fail? Like my potions exam—my last professor hated me and I never got above an Average in his class. He gave me Trolls all the time for my essays and potions—no matter how hard I worked!” 

“That’s a failing on your teacher, not on you,” Pippa told him firmly. “The classes might be difficult, my lord, but never unfair.”

“The exams will show us where we need to help you,” Amandara added, “It will show us where your previous teachers failed. All you must do  is answer to the best of your ability and that will be enough.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wanted to do well, he really did. He wanted to learn and become powerful, just like Thomas. He looked at all these adults, these professors, who were willing to help him and he felt his heart swell. 

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll do my best then and—and even if I have to retake some classes, I’ll work really, really hard and move back up as soon as I can!”

“That’s the spirit!” Pippa exclaimed. She looked proud of him, an expression shared on many of their faces, in fact. Though some of them looked more curious or expectant. But even Hephaestus gave him a nod of support, which made Harry’s heart pound. 

He would study hard and would rise to the top, not just in his remedial classes but in his whole year! 

He’d do it to make Thomas proud—to be the best soulmate and consort that Thomas deserved!

It was the least he could do after everything Thomas had done for him.

Harry was halfway through the story about the Philosopher’s Stone—in fact he had just told his new professors about how he and his friends had faced off at the giant chessboard—when the door to the drawing room opened and Bella swept in. Harry trailed off his sentence as she approached, heart jumping into his throat.

Rodolphus stood—Harry had learned that he was married to Bella and that they were soulmates—but he didn’t stop her approach. “Bella?”

Bella flashed him a quick smile, but only stopped in front of Harry. She curtseyed and then said, “Our lord requires your presence, Lord Carus. I’m to escort you to him.”

Harry hopped up to his feet. “Okay,” he said, “Where are we going?”

“The ritual chamber,” she said. She glanced over at the others and said, “Lord Prior is grateful for your attendance, my fellow flames, however it is likely that Lord Carus will be too magically exhausted to continue this conversation afterward. This meeting is adjourned.” 

There were some quick exchanges. Pippa also rose to her feet, hand clenched in front of herself. “Is something the matter? Does our lord require any assistance?”

Bella’s eyes narrowed, “Our lord has access to the web if he deems it necessary. And there are enough bodies present already.” She held out her hand to Harry, “Lord Carus?”

Worried, but trusting that Bella wouldn’t take him somewhere nefarious since she was one of Thomas’s closest friends, he put his hand in hers. Bella drew her wand and cast a quick spell over him, making him feel even lighter than normal. With a glimmer in her eyes, she said, “Don’t let go of my hand now, my lord, or you just might float away.”

Alarmed, Harry held on tight. He let out a yelp of surprise anyway as she turned and began to walk. He was too light to even touch the ground anymore and bobbed in the air behind her as she walked. She must have made herself faster somehow as well, since they were zipping down the hallway and to some stairs so fast that the brick floor blurred together. 

Harry could have snapped his fingers and that was how long it took for them to leave the drawing room and end up down in the basement. The air was colder, the walls lined with glowing stones that cast a faintly blue light, and the walls were smooth as if carved out of the very ground. They reached a large doorway made of iron and it was there that Bella stopped, catching Harry by both arms and bringing him back down to earth.

She canceled her spell and Harry felt himself settle with a thump. Then she nodded to him and pushed open the doors. 

The first thing Harry noticed about the interior room was the pale gray walls. The second thing was the candelabras that surrounded a large carved circle in the middle of the room. Third was the people. Everyone Thomas had called for after the luncheon was there, including Thomas himself and someone else that Harry recognized but had only spoken to once: Not-Hermione. 

She was the odd one out, wearing purple robes when they wore their red and gold. Her dark hair was braided back and for the first time Harry could see a strange mark on her neck, under her ear. It looked like a scar, perhaps, though he couldn’t tell what it was from. 

She stood in the circle’s center with Thomas, the both of them speaking in low tones over a bowl of silvery water. 

“My lord,” Bella murmured, her voice soft but carrying, “I have returned with Lord Carus.”

Thomas looked up and Harry’s breath caught. He automatically shifted back a step, unable to help himself.

Thomas’s eyes were crimson. They looked just like the red eyes of Voldemort. 

“Ah, beloved,” Thomas murmured. A smile softened his bright gaze and sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. “Remove your outer robe for me and come here, would you?”

Fingers trembling, Harry obeyed. Bella took the sheer cloth and put it to the side, though Harry didn’t see where. He couldn’t look away from Thomas, some instinct keeping him from doing so. 

He walked forward slowly. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he got closer. 

He shivered again when Thomas touched his brow and then brushed his hair back from his forehead with one hand. The other hand cupped Harry’s cheek and turned his head towards Not-Hermione. “What do you see, Eloise?” Thomas asked.

Not-Hermione, or Eloise, Harry supposed, looked at him with wide eyes. He looked back up at her and swallowed nervously. Her pupils were dilated but as she stared at him, they thinned down to a slit reminiscent of a cat. He hadn’t noticed that before about her and wondered what it meant. 

“It is soul magic,” Eloise said quietly. She leaned forward, peering at the scar but not touching Harry, “A very vile kind of soul magic.” Her gaze slowly lifted from his head and she said to Thomas, “Have you come across something called a Horcrux in your readings, my lord?”

Thomas’s grip on Harry tightened for a moment and Harry sucked in a sharp breath. He bit his lower lip to keep from blurting out his questions. He didn’t know what was going on. What was all this?

“I have,” Thomas said, “Herpo the Foul was quite renowned for them. Is this one?”

Eloise peered at Harry again. “It is as close to one as one might get without actually being one. Perhaps the sealing ritual was incomplete or shoddily done, but the…for lack of a better term, edges of the shard are corroded, decayed. This was not bound properly.”

“Can it be removed?” Thomas asked. 

Eloise tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. “I think so,” she said, “I’ve never seen the transfer of soul shards, but considering the initial breakage and tethering is possible, there is no reason why not.”

“Can it be removed without damaging Harry?” Thomas asked.

“That…” she paused for a long moment, long enough for Harry to begin to sweat, nervous and anxious and afraid all at once, “That is unknown. Just from Sight observation, one cannot be sure how deeply embedded the shard is.”

Thomas nodded. He looked like he was about to ask another question, but Harry couldn’t help it. He had to know what was going on.

“What are you talking about?” He asked her and then turned his gaze up to Thomas, “What’s going on? What’s a Horcrux? What soul shard? Why is it in me?”

Eloise leaned back, wrinkling her nose, but Thomas smoothed Harry’s hair back and cradled his face in his hands. “Hush love, do not fear. Let me explain.”

He drew Harry to the side, turning so that he stood between Harry and everyone else in the room.  His thumb moved slowly over Harry’s cheek as he explained, “I conducted a ritual with my Flames in order to divine more understanding of the magic remaining in your scar. We realized that it was related to soul magic and so I summoned my foremost expert on soul magic, Eloise. She is singular in the depth of her study and devotion, my dear. She saw the image from Christoph’s memories and said it most likely was soul magic, and that we needed you here to confirm, which she did just now.

“A Horcrux is a sort of soul magic that one may use to tether their soul to the material plane. It requires the sacrifice of life, pain, innocence and sanity to conduct and the effect is that the soul is splintered and that splinter is placed within an item for safeguarding. It is a corrupting type of magic, one that causes madness in the practitioners.”

“And one of those is in my scar?” Harry asked. “How did it get there? What is it doing to me?”

“It isn’t clear yet what effect the Horcrux has had on you,” Thomas said, “But we can do a ritual in order to better understand it, since we know what it is now and it is a mostly magic-based curse.”

“But how did it get there?” Harry repeated. “Who—” his throat closed as he realized the answer to his own question before speaking it. “Voldemort,” he breathed out. “Is it Voldemort’s Horcrux?”

Thomas nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Harry grabbed Thomas’s forearms tightly and squeezed. “Please,” he breathed, “Please get rid of it! I don’t want it, I don’t want anything to do with him! He killed my parents and tried to kill me!” 

“Hush, love,” Thomas pulled Harry close, pressing Harry against his chest and running his hand through his hair. “I know. We’ll get it out of you as safely as possible, I swear.”

Drawing back slowly, Thomas rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Harry, darling, I need you to be brave for me right now. Can you do that for me?”

Harry sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “I can be brave,” he said, “What do I need to do?”

“I need you to drink something for me and to stand here in the center of this circle. We’re going to magnify your magical aura and see just how deeply rooted the Horcrux is.” 

“I can do that,” Harry said. That didn’t sound hard at all! “Is it going to hurt?”

“Not exactly,” Thomas said, “Have you ever seen how cotton candy is made?”

When Harry shook his head, Thomas continued, “Cotton candy is made by spinning hot sugar out in a whirl. The sugar cools immediately in contact with the air and turns into the thin strands of sugar. We’re going to do something similar with your magic, spinning it out in your body so that there’s a larger web that we can observe. When we’re done, we’ll be able to gather it back up and feed it back into your core. It won’t hurt in the same way it might if you were cut or bruised, but it will cause an ache in your body from the strain on  your magic.”

“How are you gonna put it back?” Harry asked worriedly, “What if you can’t get it all? Can I lose my magic?”

“Fortunately for you, our magic is very compatible,” Thomas said with a gentle smile, “There’s no way that we’ll lose any of it or misplace it. The magic won’t be able to escape this room, or even the ritual circle and the only two people who will be in the circle will be you and I. You will not lose your magic.”

“You’re sure?” Harry asked.

“I am. I promise,” Thomas said.

Harry relaxed. If Thomas promised him, then it had to be true. Thomas always kept his promises to him. So even if Harry was nervous and afraid, he knew he could trust Thomas!

Thomas wouldn’t let anything truly dangerous happen to him. It was such a wonderful and strange thing. Harry had never had any adult he could trust like this. 

Harry couldn’t help but throw his arms tightly around Thomas and hug him, pressing his face against the man’s chest. He only squeezed tighter when Thomas hugged him back, one hand resting on his back, the other threading through his hair. 

“You’ll be sleepy afterward as your magic will need to recover,” Thomas murmured, “But you’ll be fine. I promise, darling.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled into his robe, “I believe you. I’m just—” his throat closed around the words. How could he tell Thomas how much it meant to him that he could trust him, that Thomas would take care of him— even removing this Horcrux was to take care of him! Of course Thomas didn’t want him to have this splinter of Voldemort’s soul in him!

Harry drew back slowly, feeling a little embarrassed at this show of emotion, but then he met Thomas’s gaze and said, “I’m ready for the ritual. What do you need me to do?”

Standing in the center of the ritual, Harry held a single red candle in his hands. The small flame danced back and forth, wavering whenever Harry happened to exhale on it. Thomas stood behind him, his hands resting on Harry’s bare shoulders. There were others in the outer edge of the ritual circle, but Harry wasn’t supposed to focus on them, he was only supposed to look at the flame of the candle and breathe.

He did his best to focus, but his thoughts kept running around in circles. Why did he have a Horcrux in him? Did this mean that Voldemort made other Horcruxes? Or was his soul fragile and that’s why a piece broke off? Were they going to get it out of him? Was it going to hurt? What if it was lodged too deep?

Harry imagined it was like a splinter that was stuck under the skin. Sometimes you just had to wait for it to get pushed out as new skin grew. It could get infected, though. What if the Horcrux was infected? Was that why his scar ached sometimes? Did it have magic attached to it? What if it fought against them?!

“Breathe,” Thomas murmured. He moved closer until Harry could feel his chest against his bare back. He felt Thomas breathe, in and out, slow and deep, and Harry did his best to mimic it. He turned his attention back to the candle in his hands, watching the wax pool around the lit wick until it finally began to spill over.

The wax ran down the side of the candle and over Harry’s fingers. It was warm, but not burning hot and so he didn’t say anything at all.

As he stared, he felt Thomas’s hands slide across his skin until his thumbs rested at the base of Harry’s neck and his hands were turned, spread over his shoulders. There was a moment where he felt something strange—like Thomas was pouring something down his back—and then he recognized it from those few times Thomas had ‘pushed’ his magic into Harry before.

He did it now, feeding more and more magic into Harry. It was hot, almost hot enough that it hurt, and Harry felt sweat start to drip down his face. The more magic was poured in, the hotter he got, until he was gasping for breath and trembling. 

Harry felt like a candle wick himself, ignited with the flame of Thomas’s magic. It was strange and dizzying. 

All at once, the magic seemed to expand out from his body. The flame of the candle shot up several inches and turned pure white at the center with bits of green at the tips. It was so bright, too bright to look at, but Harry squinted and kept staring. Thomas had told him all he had to do was breathe and watch the flame. He wouldn’t stop for anything.

His eyes began to hurt. His vision began to blur. Harry felt so hot all over that he could no longer feel the wax over his fingers or Thomas’s hands on his shoulders. 

It felt like his chest was expanding out and out, as if he was being filled up with hot air and his body was stretching like a balloon! He blinked against the bright light, swayed on his feet from the heat, and surely would have toppled if not for Thomas holding him upright.

Thomas was still holding onto him, wasn’t he? Harry couldn’t tell anymore. All he could see was the flame before him, flickering in time with his own heartbeat. Was Thomas still behind him? Harry was worried he might have gone somewhere. What if the heat of Harry’s skin had hurt him? What if something bad was happening?

Harry wanted to look away, wanted to glance up to see if Thomas was still there, wanted to be sure—

Suddenly, all his thoughts came to a crashing halt as a blinding pain split his forehead open. It caught him completely unaware and yanked a painful scream out of him. His body arched with the force of the pain. It felt like something had stabbed him through the forehead and into his brain!

As the pain mounted, Harry continued to scream. His vision went dark, but he didn’t know if it was because his eyes closed or because the only thing he could register in his mind, the only thing that mattered, was the sheer agony he felt.

Harry felt afraid that this pain would never, ever end.

And then Harry felt nothing at all.

The screaming ended abruptly as Harry went limp in Voldemort’s arms. He immediately shifted so he could catch the boy, allowing him to drape over one arm while he used the other to carefully conduct the threads of his magic in their orbit. The candle that Harry held remained where it was, floating under the magic of the ritual, with his hands still wrapped around it. He was too entrenched for the magic to fail now.

Harry’s reaction had been surprising, to say the least. The boy had plenty of magic still in his body, more than enough that he shouldn’t be experiencing pain. And yet he had.

Eloise stood opposite them, on the outer edge of the circle. Her enhanced vision made her eyes gleam in the candlelight. Harry’s magic formed a silken web all throughout the inner edge of the ritual circle, silver and white-gold and green in some places. It glowed like charged wire and would have been dangerously hot to anyone but Voldemort. 

He could see the light flickering in the eyes of the other participants, wide-eyed and watchful, holding their anchors with tight grips. Voldemort can see their sweat-dampened brows as they worked to contain Harry’s magic with their own.

Carefully, Voldemort guided out another loop of thread and another and another. He could not See as Eloise did, but he could read her face—her pinched mouth and furrowed brow did not bode well for what she Saw.

Voldemort slowed the extraction as the candle in Harry’s hands reached the tops of his fist. He held the thread gently, pinching it so that no more came out and it did not immediately retract. 

Eloise walked the perimeter of the circle three times, first clockwise and then counter. Eventually, she ducked her head, closed her eyes and covered them with her hands, the runes on the backs of them flaring protectively. 

Voldemort relaxed his grip on the thread. Slowly at first, then rapidly, the magic began to wind back into Harry. The boy trembled in his grasp as his magic returned him. The candle flame burned brighter, faster, melting the wax until it poured over his fingers and onto the floor. 

Just as the last of the magic slithered back into Harry, the wick of the candle burnt away, leaving nothing but the swiftly hardening wax behind. Voldemort bent slightly and tucked his arm beneath the boy’s knees, lifting him up in his arms easily.

Oh but his little soulmate was so terribly thin, so terribly small. Harry’s limp head lolled over, resting against Voldemort’s shoulder.

As the pressure of the ritual ended, the other participants began to relax. Eloise remained standing as she was, hands pressed to her eyes. Christoph gave her a worried look, but approached Voldemort first.

“My lord?” He asked in a worried tone, “May I check on Lord Carus?”

Voldemort nodded in assent. He watched for a moment, but then turned his attention to Augustus and Eloise. Augustus stood near his apprentice’s shoulder, one hand resting lightly on her. He was bent in, whispering to her and then tilting his head to listen.

Augustus murmured something more and then turned to address Voldemort, “My lord. We have an early prognosis.”

“Yes?”

“Though the Horcrux was not properly set with a ritual, it has been within the boy for ten years. It has grown with him, has assisted his growth passively, and has gifted him with some impressions of Voldemort’s magic,” Augustus said, “Extraction may be possible, but there needs to be more thorough examinations. El was able to See quite deeply into his core, however, she will need time parsing it for information.”

“How much time?”

“A week, at least,” Augustus said, “It will be her highest priority. We understand how much this concerns you.”

Voldemort took a deep breath to settle the anger that threatened to rise. This was a minor setback, true, but it was fine. It gave him…time to prepare Harry. Not that he truly needed much of it but still. More time could not hurt much. Harry was still securely in his grasp. He could not lose the boy. Not now. Not after all he had done to get him here in one piece.

“I would like to be kept abreast of all developments,” Voldemort instructed, “And I expect a thorough report on the situation next week.”

“Yes, my lord,” Augustus bowed his head slightly. Voldemort turned his attention from them now, as Christoph was frowning, the tip of his wand glowing slightly.

“How is he?” Voldemort asked.

“He’ll recover completely,” Christoph said, “His vocal cords are quite strained, however, and the scar on his forehead split open. Very unusual. I suspect he might have a migraine afterward.” Christoph lowered his wand and bowed slightly, “I will have appropriate potions provided, my lord. He should be fine in a day or two, just make sure he rests.”

“I will,” Voldemort said. 

Hovering in his periphery was Bella, eyes sparkling and mouth split in a wide grin. Voldemort gave her his attention next, lifting a brow in silent inquiry.

“Might I be the first to congratulate you on such a fine match, my lord?” she said almost breathlessly, “Lord Carus’s power shines like the brightest of evening stars. He is truly your soulmate and much better suited to you than that heathen Evans.”

“Thank you, Bella,” Voldemort said with some amusement. “I do find myself quite pleased with him. He is well worth all the trouble it was to bring him home.”

Eyelids heavy, Harry stirred awake. He groaned. His whole body throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He could feel it even down to his toes. 

“Here, darling,” Thomas’s voice was warm. His touch was gentle, but Harry still whimpered as pain lanced through him. A hand slid beneath his head; an arm behind him to support him. He was lifted up enough that when glass was pressed to his lips, he drank and didn’t choke.

One, two, three potions were poured down his throat. Harry gagged on the second one, which was much thicker and sour. He coughed, then drank the water that Thomas put to his lips.

“Sleep, love,” Thomas whispered. His breath was against Harry’s cheek.  His lips touched his temple.

Harry slept.

“So what is he like?” Alice asked as she settled back on the couch, feet tucked up under herself. Frank let her settle and then handed her a glass of wine. She took it with a smile.

Pippa and Chris glanced at each other. She pursed her lips. He gave a dry chuckle. “He’s a little shy,” Chris said, “And sweet. He’s…troubled, too.”

“Troubled?” Alice asked, but even Frank was nodding to this.

“He brought up Voldemort on that first night,” Frank said, “He is unbound in that other dimension, you know. He killed Harry’s parents there.”

Pippa gave a deep sigh. “Poor boy. Not only was he raised by muggles but he had such a shoddy education. He’s going to have to make up so much! He’ll really have to buckle down.”

Alice huffed, “Well, of course he is. He is Lord Prior’s soulmate. Anyone who couldn’t keep up with him would be wholly unsuited. After all, that’s why Evans was his chosen before.” She sipped from her wine for a moment and then added quietly, “It’s a shame, you know? That they were led astray like that. Evans suited our Lord well.”

“Perhaps,” Chris suggested. He tilted his wine glass back and forth, “But then Harry would not have been brought to salvation and his soul…” He grimaced and took a deep drink of his wine.

The other three waited for him to continue, but when he hesitated to, Pippa prompted him, “What about his soul?” 

“What that other Voldemort did to him,” Chris muttered darkly, “It was worse than just murdering his parents.”

Harry woke as the world suddenly shifted around him. He was lifted slightly and then lowered back down. The bedding beneath him went from pillow soft to warmer, firmer. It was moving.

It was Thomas. 

He pressed closer to him, fingers curling in the thin cloth of his sleeping robe. Eyes still closed, Harry snuggled until his cheek was pressed against skin and he could hear the faint thump of a heartbeat that was not his own.

Thomas’s hand was heavy in his hair, sliding down his back. His body trembled with each long stroke. 

Softly, Harry let out a questioning noise.

“Sleep, love,” Thomas whispered to him, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry slept.

Rab waited at least until the children were abed before he asked anything, much to Rod’s amusement. 

“So?” he prompted, once the three of them were ensconced in the den together. Bella went straight for the bar upon arrival, ignoring his question at first while she rummaged through the shelves.

Rod and Rab shared a look, the brothers both a little bemused by this. The wine wasn’t hard to find, after all, it wasn’t like this ritual was all uncommon.

However, it was champagne that Bella withdrew from the chilled cabinets. She presented it with a flourish, conjuring three flutes with another. Grinning, she popped the cork and poured them each a full flute. 

Rod took his with an arched brow; Rab with a chuckle. 

Bella held her flute aloft and declared, “Tonight, we celebrate our lord’s success in finding his true soulmate. Tonight, we celebrate that the Northern star we have followed has at last found his undeniable match. Tonight, we celebrate, for the power that is born within our little Lord Carus is as bright and unfailing as that as our Lord Prior.”

Rod lifted his glass along with his brother in salute to and agreement with her words. “Huzzah to the Lord and his little mate,” he declared.

“Huzzah!” Rab echoed. “To the Lord and his little mate!”

They drank together, the fizzing, sweet alcohol cloying on their tongues. Bella refilled their glasses almost immediately, her eyes bright as stars, her face glowing with wonder.

“Let me show you what I saw,” she said, drawing her wand and pressing it to her temple. “For his magic is glorious.”  She spun out the memory in the air before them, in all its glittering, otherworldly wonder. And even if the boy screamed as though his very soul were being ripped asunder, it could not put any damper on the sheer magic that was drawn out of him and held in the air, visible and tremendous, entirely within Lord Prior’s grip.

Rod saw and he too was in awe.

Harry woke. The ache of his body had curled inwards, up into his chest just under his ribs.

Breathing hurt. His heartbeat hurt. He sobbed out in pain, gasping with it.

Hands soothed him. A voice whispered but the pain was so deep that he could not understand the words.

Magic flowed into him—rich and warm, like fire, like coals, hot enough to almost burn—and Harry sobbed again, this time in relief.

His forehead throbbed in sympathetic pain. The words became understandable, slowly.

“—little love, sleep,” Thomas whispered to him, “You are safe. I am here. All will be well. Rest. Sleep. Hush now, darling, sleep.”

Harry turned towards that voice. He pressed closer. He curled his fingers into cloth, pressed his face against a chest that rose slowly, moving with each breath. 

Harry slept.

“He’s a bright kid,” Gideon said, leaning against the counter and idly watching out the window as the kids ran around in the late summer evening. The sun caught on red and blond heads of hair and the warm air carried the laughter easily in through the open window. Gideon lifted his butterbeer to his lips and glanced over to one of his favorite nephews, who was mucking about in the kitchen cupboards. “Curious, a bit scared, and hates the idea of a summer exam.”

“Sounds like a kid,” retorted Fred with a snort. “Aha!” He ducked out of the cupboard and pulled out a large tin. Drawing his wand he began to unwind the wards on the jar. Gideon watched in amusement. 

His mother often hid away the best treats in containers like that one in the kitchen. It was an open secret where they were hidden, as the wards on the jars or tins or what have you were always too strong for the children to break past.

Or so it was for any child but Fred and George. Prodigies in their own way, the two were more menaces to society than anything else. 

Even if they were semi-respectable members of that society now, once one was at their family home, all bets were off. Gideon himself felt twenty years younger whenever he stepped foot at home. 

“How old is he again?” George asked, eyeing his brother’s work. 

“Just finished his first year, so about twelve,” Gideon said, taking another swig of his drink. “Tiny thing, though. He’s already seen Macmillan so I think there’s some health thing involved.”

“He took a nutrient absorption potion at lunch, definitely working through some malnourishment,” Fabian added as he swept into the room. He headed straight for the fridge for a drink. “Also, apparently his previous potion master was an absolute troll, too. Hated his guts but had it out for all Gryffindors.”

“Oh, is he one of yours then?” Gideon asked. 

“Was,” Fabian said as he got out a bottle, “But he’ll be sorted again this upcoming year.”

George looked over, brows lifting, “What’s the betting pool say for him being sorted there twice?”

“High,” Fabian said, “It’s almost fifty-fifty lion to snake.”

“Almost is not all. Long odds are what, Hufflepuff?” George asked. “Gid didn’t make him sound too bookish, so not a raven.”

“Aha!” Fred exclaimed again. The tin he was working on opened with a snick and he pried the lid off with a flourish. “Presenting, Mama Cassidy’s coconut chocolate almond crispies!” 

George slapped him heartily on the back as both sets of twins eagerly got a few handfuls of the biscuits. They munched for a while before Fabian picked the thread of their conversation back up. “You’re right on the long shot. Macmillans' are adamant that he’ll be a badger. Something about some determined glint in the eye. You know how it is.”

“I must concur,” Fred said through a mouthful of biscuit, “Kid has big shoes to fill. Evans was a powerhouse and a competent duelist. If he wants to be half that, he’ll have to work hard at it.”

“If that’s what he wants at all,” Gideon said thoughtfully. “I did not get the impression that Lord Prior would want that of him. He seemed very…” he paused there, considering his words. 

Fabian, of course, understood him immediately. He always had. “You’re right. I saw that too. He was very genial to him. Soft even. Coddling.”

George snorted, “No offense to the Lord, but that is one hell of an age gap. I’m not sure I could stomach it myself.”

“Ah, well, you know how he is,” Fabian said with a shrug. “If anyone can navigate something this unique it is him.” They all nodded to this, understanding him well.

For they all had experience working with or around Lord Prior before and there were some things about the man that one learned, if they spent enough time with him and were observant. There was only so much humanity left in someone with that much power, both magically and socially. Lord Prior was above all of them, above everyone else in all of their world, in fact. It was remarkable to ever see the man out of sorts. He seemed more than human.

“Evans never would have stomached that treatment,” Fred said suddenly, staring off into space, his voice soft. “Never would have tolerated being…”

“A chess piece.”

“A doll.”

“A prize.”

They all finish his sentence for him and Fred just shrugs. There’s silence for a while, except for the chewing of crispy biscuits and the distant laughter of children. 

“Macmillan said he was raised by muggles,” Fabian said after some minutes passed. “They were the ones to mistreat him. Our Lord took care of them.”

Gideon hummed as he lifted his bottle up. He glances out the window at the children running around. Lightning bugs are beginning to rise out of the grasses and both the children and the gnomes are chasing them. “He would,” he said.

“I’ll meet him,” Fred said as he put the lid back on the tin. He rapped it hard with his wand and a shimmering ward settled over the metal. “He sounds curious.”

“Bring him by the shop,” George said, agreeing with his twin, “Let’s see what he’s made of really.”

Harry woke.

He had no idea what time it was, where he was, who he was.

He just lay there for a long time, blinking slowly, staring out at nothing in particular. 

His aches were mostly gone, except for the one in his forehead.

There was a shift in the bed behind him and he stiffened for a moment as Thomas drew in a deep breath and let it out. Was he awake? Harry wasn’t sure. 

He waited for a while longer, but when Thomas didn’t do anything more, Harry figured he must be asleep.

Carefully, Harry turned around so that he was facing Thomas. The man had his arm around Harry and his face buried in a pillow. He looked so peaceful, lying like that.  His mouth was slightly open, his lips soft and pink. 

Harry stared at them. Then he let himself stare at the rest of Thomas’s handsome face. Then he looked at his hair—messier now than Harry had ever seen before—and then down to his neck and chest and—

His soulmate mark.

There was the golden snitch, the wings silvery and light against Thomas’s pale skin. The snake was curled up around it, like it was protecting it or perhaps claiming it. Harry reached out a finger to trace the edge of the snake. 

He had never noticed before now but the snake’s eyes were red.

Red like Voldemort’s eyes.

Harry shivered and pulled his hand away. He knew he didn’t need to worry about Voldemort anymore. Thomas had promised him over and over again that he wouldn’t hurt him in this world and there was no way for him to come over from Harry’s original world.

But that didn’t stop Harry from being afraid. Especially now because he had a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him. What if they couldn’t get it out?

What if Voldemort came to take it back?

What if Voldemort came and thought that it made him Harry’s soulmate instead?

With a shudder, Harry closed his eyes tightly and hugged himself. It all sounded so terrible. 

He started suddenly when Thomas made a mumbling noise. Harry blinked and looked up at him, only to see Thomas peering at him with one eye. He mumbled something else, sleepy and soft and sounding a lot like a question.

Harry scooted closer to him and wiggled one arm around Thomas, holding tightly onto him. Thomas murmured and tightened his arm around Harry as well, pressing his face into his dark curls. 

“Sleep, love,” Thomas mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, “Is late.”

Harry closed his eyes and slept.

Chapter Text

The next time Harry wakes, he stays that way, bleary-eyed and groggy but no longer in aching, full-body pain. 

He stares at the ceiling for a long time, watching as an arch of light from the window creeps across before he remembers something.

Thomas’s bedroom doesn’t have windows. 

Harry sits up with a jolt, heart jumping into his throat. He didn’t know where he was if not in their bedroom. Had he been so injured he was in an infirmary again? He fumbles around for his glasses to get a better look and finds them nearby. He puts them on quickly.

But no, when he looks around the room he can clearly tell it’s a bedroom. In fact, it looks similar to Thomas’s bedroom in the Abbey—the same colors, a similar layout. The bookshelves look almost identical. There’s a fireplace and a plush loveseat and there: the window. 

It’s a huge window. The panes of glass are perfectly clear and form an arch within the window. There’s a strange design in the center: a circle of glass with smaller geometric shapes in it. It kind of reminds Harry of pictures of cathedrals. All he can see through it is a clear blue sky and what looks like a stone ledge as if it opens out to a balcony.

Slowly, he peels back the blankets on his bed and scoots across the large mattress to the edge. He hops out of the bed, which is taller than the other one he shares with Thomas, and heads to the window. The room is cool now, with the fireplace full of embers, but when he steps into the sunlight he warms right up. 

The window stretches almost all the way up and down the wall and when Harry reaches it, he discovers there’s a handle tucked into a portion of the metal frame. He tries it, finds it unlocked, and then pushes the door open.

The first thing he notices is how cold it is outside as well. He shivers in his underrobe, rubbing his bare arms to warm them up. The second thing is how strange the air feels—it’s thin like it feels sometimes when he’s flying high on his broom. 

He steps out onto the balcony and then walks to the stone railing. Peering out over the edge, Harry gasps.

He can see for ages. The whole world seems to stretch out in front of him. It’s like being on top of the Astronomy tower except higher. It’s like being on a broom, really. He can see a winding river glinting in the sunlight, can see patches of bright green meadows, irrigated patches of land that must be farmland; there are small buildings barely bigger than his thumb with smoke rising from even tinier chimneys. There is a large dark area that must be a forest and there, off to the left, he spots cliffs.

He follows the balcony around, vaguely noticing that it’s round like a tower—he’s in a tower—and then he sees it. Stony cliffs with a sheer drop, a strip of sandy beach and then waves, dark and foamy, crashing on it over and over. He can just smell the salty ocean, but he’s too far to hear anything.

The balcony continues all the way around and so Harry follows it, curious. There is another window, a smaller circular one higher up and when he stands on tip-toes to peek in, he sees a bathroom inside. 

Another couple of feet down there is another huge window like the one in the bedroom and he notices that this, too, has a handle on the inside. More importantly, this one opens up to what looks like a study—there are bookshelves and couches and a desk. And there, sitting behind the desk, is Thomas.

Harry knocks on the window and then grins and waves when Thomas lifts his head and sees him.

The man stands quickly and moves his hand. Harry hears the click of a lock and the glass door opens in front of him. There’s no handle on the outside, but it’s not hard to just gently push the glass and swing the door in. 

“Hi,” Harry said excitedly, “I can see the ocean from up here!”

Thomas comes over to him and cups his cheeks with warm, warm hands. “Darling, you’re freezing,” Thomas chides gently and murmurs a spell that sends warmth rolling over Harry. 

“How high up are we?” Harry asked, “It feels like we’re even up even higher than Hogwarts!” 

“We are,” Thomas said. He guided him over to one of the couches. Harry followed without complaint. 

“Is this a part of your manor?” Harry asked, “I forgot to look down at it.”

“This is my manor,” Thomas said with a half-smile. He plucked a blanket out of thin air and draped it over Harry once he was settled. 

“But we’re so high up!” Harry exclaimed, “How is this a part of your manor? Is it really tall?”

“No, love,” Thomas said as he urged Harry to sit on the couch, “We’re in the air. The whole manor is in the air, foundation and all.”

Harry’s jaw dropped open. 

Thomas chuckled and tugged on his loose black curl. “Why are you so surprised? Didn’t I mention that before?”

“No! You didn’t!” Harry declared, “I would have definitely remembered if you said your manor could fly! How does it do that? How high up are we? Can it go on the ground anywhere? How do you control it? What about the basement? I’m sure Miss Bella brought me down into a basement!”

Thomas was definitely laughing at him now, but Harry was too excited to be bothered by that. His manor could fly! That was incredible! Harry didn’t know anything could fly except for brooms and maybe some magical animals like dragons!

“Haven’t I told you, darling, that with magic, anything is possible. You merely have to will it for it to be so,” Thomas told him with a sly look. He sat beside Harry on the couch and gestured to the room. “I built this place myself. I layered these stones and raised these walls. I cast the wards and I activated the runes. I designed every floor, carved each stair and archway, laid the glass windows and furnished it completely. This manor is my home. It is both my stronghold and my sanctuary. The things that I keep here are safer than anywhere else in the entire world. Here, I am in complete control.”

“Woah,” Harry breathed out, still in utter shock at a flying house. 

Then Thomas reached over and cupped Harry’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently against his skin. “And you, my dear, will soon have similar keys. The overall structure and magic will remain in my control, but you will have access to the wards and enchantments I have built into our home. Also, I have left an entire wing of the manor blank for you to turn into your own haven away from the world, away even from me if you so desire.”

Harry felt warm inside and out, and not just because of the spell or the blanket. His stomach fluttered with so many butterflies he thought they might actually pop out of his mouth when he opened it. “Why would I want that?” he asked, “You’re my soulmate and you’ve done so much for me—Everything I have is yours.” 

He whispered those last words, feeling a little bit embarrassed in admitting it, but it was true. Perhaps the only things Harry had taken with him that were his own—his wand, his father’s cloak, Hedwig, his photo album of his parents—were meager in comparison to what Thomas had given him—food, shelter, protection from Voldemort, affection and kindness — but Harry would share it all. Whatever Thomas wanted from him, Harry would do his very best to give him.

Thomas leaned down closer and Harry’s breath caught. The man’s brown eyes had that red glimmer to them, just around the edges, and his pupils had gone wide. “Truly?” Thomas asked, his words barely more than a breath of air that Harry felt against his lips. “Would you share everything you have, my darling? Even your very soul?”

Harry swallowed. He remembered, then, about the piece of Voldemort stuck to his soul, the Horcrux. He remembered, too, the ritual from before and the pain of it. Still, he reached for Thomas’s free hand with both of his and squeezed it tightly. “I would,” he whispered back, “We’re soulmates, right? My soul is already yours, isn’t it?”

Thomas’s thumb brushed over his cheek slowly, catching on the corner of Harry’s lips and making his face grow warm with the attention. “Yes,” he agreed, “It is, but there is power in the spoken word. Often the greatest magics have a verbal element, darling. Rituals and bindings are built on litany, on invocation, and those things must be spoken aloud.”

“Like when invoking the Tether?” Harry asked. The two things seemed related, reminding him of when Christoph had used Voldemort’s name to summon his power. Was there really that much magic in what you said? 

There must be, he realized, as Thomas smiled at him in a pleased way. “Precisely,” the man murmured, “There is magic even in the mundane if you will it. Every touch,” he slid his fingers into Harry’s hair, making a cascade of shivers run down his spine, “Every breath,” he leaned even closer, his breath warm over Harry’s lips again, they were so close, “Every desire.” His dark eyes met Harry’s and he could see what Thomas wanted, could practically feel it pressing against him.

“Kiss me?” The words came tumbling from Harry’s mouth without his brain really thinking about it. He was so used to asking, so used to Thomas waiting until he said something, and now it all made sense. Thomas wanted to hear him speak because it was a touch of magic. No wonder it felt so good to kiss him. No wonder it was so wonderful to be held by him!

“As my handsome little soulmate requests,” Thomas said with a little smile. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Harry’s, gently at first and then more firmly. He cradled Harry in his hands, kept him close, kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. 

His tongue slid against Harry’s lips, probing, questioning, requesting permission. And even though he couldn’t say the words, he thought them in his head—yes, yes, yes—and his lips parted. 

It was still wet, still a strange sensation to have another tongue moving in his mouth, but Harry didn’t push away or even just sit there and endure it. He kissed back, feeling the way Thomas’s tongue moved and attempting to mimic it. 

They kissed until Harry was breathless and dizzy, his body tingling all over, fizzy and light and bubbly. He pulled back from the kiss with a gasp, a little surprised to find himself in Thomas’s lap, and even more surprised when Thomas’s mouth continued down his jaw, his throat, to his collarbone. He felt heat flash through him as he realized he was in just a thin underrobe made of silk and Thomas was fully dressed beneath him. 

There was something strange and naughty about it, something that made Harry shudder as Thomas’s warm hands slid down his body, touching him through the thin cloth. Thomas laid kisses down his throat and then lower than before, pulling at the underrobe’s shoulder until it slid off and part of Harry’s chest was exposed. 

Harry shied back when he felt Thomas’s mouth near his nipple. That was enough to make Thomas lift his head again, to kiss his jaw, his cheek, and then his earlobe. “What is it, darling?” Thomas whispered into his ear, his breath warm, his voice so soft. 

Harry squirmed in place. He felt so strange, even more than usual, with his belly full of fire and his skin tingling all over. Was it supposed to be like this? He squirmed even more and Thomas let out a soft noise that made a shiver run down his spine. What was that? 

“Darling,” Thomas murmured, “Speak.” 

It felt almost like a command that he couldn't disobey. Harry’s belly swooped and he swallowed nervously. “Is it supposed to feel like this?” He asked, feeling shy and silly and a little bit stupid. He felt like he should know this already. Thomas didn’t seem to question any of it. But maybe he had done this sort of thing before? 

“Feel like what?” Thomas asked. His hand ran soothingly up and down Harry’s back. Though, it went lower than usual, brushing over Harry’s arse. 

“W-warm and sparkly?” Harry said, “When you touch me and kiss my body. Is that the magic?”

One of Thomas’s hands was on his ribs, holding him. His thumb was over Harry’s nipple, rubbing it in small circles through the silk. Harry squirmed under the touch, not exactly trying to pull away, but not sure if he liked it. Something in his brain was fizzling out and that heat in his belly was so hot now.

“That’s not unusual,” Thomas told him, pressing gentle kisses under his earlobe, “But that’s not exactly magic. That’s just your body responding to my touch. They say that love-making is more intense between soulmates.” 

“Love-making?” Harry asked, “Is- is that what we’re doing?”

Thomas chuckled softly and the heat in Harry’s belly grew stronger. His hips twitched and his legs tightened involuntarily, squeezing Thomas beneath him. Thomas pinched his cloth-covered nipple and Harry whimpered.

“Not quite,” Thomas murmured. He brought his hand up from Harry’s back and cupped his cheek again, turning Harry’s head so they were facing each other. “You’re not quite ready for that yet, my darling. What we’re doing now is a prelude to that, but it feels quite good, doesn’t it? Don’t you like feeling warm and sparkling?”

Biting his lower lip, Harry nodded. At Thomas’s tsking sound, Harry mumbled, “I do. I like it. So it’s normal? To feel that?”

“Oh yes it is,” Thomas said, “Very normal. I’m feeling similarly. In fact, I want to make you feel even more. Would you like that, love?” He pinched Harry’s nipple again as he asked, drawing out an involuntary whine. It hurt, but it made a jolt go through him at the same time. Harry didn’t try to resist it, though, since Thomas told him it was normal to feel like that.

It was a relief to know that what he felt wasn’t strange, even if it felt that way. Harry just wasn’t used to it, he supposed, kind of like how he wasn’t used to the wet kissing with tongue. But he had tried that and enjoyed that and he thought that he’d probably like this too, if he let Thomas continue.

Harry nodded again, but didn’t need any prompting to follow it up with a verbal response, “Please,” he said, “Please? I want to feel more.”

He couldn’t imagine what more felt like, but it had to be pretty good considering how good he felt so far!

Thomas kissed him then, tongue pressing into Harry’s already open mouth. Harry couldn’t stop the little moan that escaped him, or the one that followed that as Thomas tweaked his nipple again. This time, however, he felt a spark of something almost like lightning with the touch and it took a moment for his frazzled brain to realize what that was. Thomas’s magic.

His hands seemed to be dipped in it now, as each touch on Harry’s body carried sparks and heat. His tongue had it too, feeling slick and hot and consuming Harry’s thoughts. Soon, Harry was breathing hard, panting each time they broke their kissing, and his hips were moving all on their own.

He was pressed so close to Thomas, his arms were around the man’s shoulders, though he didn’t remember putting them there. His thighs were around Thomas’s waist, and the man’s hands were holding him down, helping him grind against him. Through the cloud of heat in Harry’s mind, he thought he felt something hard beneath him. Whenever he rubbed up against it, he felt so good. 

Thomas kissed him more. Thomas held him tighter. Thomas moved beneath him, his own hips thrusting up against Harry, pressing that hardness against him. Was it Thomas? Harry wasn’t sure, but it felt good, the grinding, the heat, the pressure, the slickness of his tongue. 

One of Thomas’s hands slid around the curve of his arse, squeezing him, using it to push him down. Harry felt his private parts grinding harder against Thomas than before and the flash of embarrassment he felt was there and gone like lightning. Then he felt Thomas’s hand on his bare skin, squeezing his thigh, then his arse, his robe pushed up higher, and he realized how naked he was beneath it. 

Harry broke the kiss to gasp for breath, his back arching as he rubbed against Thomas. His skin was on fire, his belly was hot as molten iron, his breathing so fast it almost hurt—and then Thomas’s mouth was on his chest again, hot and wet, an open-mouth kiss over his nipple before he pinched it between his lips, before he bit Harry through the silk—

With a cry, Harry’s body seemed to shake itself to pieces, hips thrusting, head thrown back, fingers digging into Thomas, practically clawing at him, and Harry’s whole world went white.

Harry came back to himself curled up on Thomas’s lap, the man shuddering beneath him, his face pressed to Harry’s throat, and a low, long moan leaving him. His grip on Harry was almost tight enough to hurt, but Harry didn’t complain. He just held Thomas, held onto Thomas, as the man went through what had to be that same white-hot pleasure that Harry just experienced. 

When Thomas relaxed beneath him, Harry stayed huddled against him, curling closer than even before, intentionally wrapping his arms and legs around him and clinging. He wanted to be even closer, but he didn’t know how. This had to be good enough for now. 

Thomas held him loosely in return, one hand idly stroking his side. He shifted on the couch, slumping them both over until he was lying down, head and shoulders on one couch arm, feet dangling off the other and Harry curled up on top of him. 

“Sweet little soulmate,” Thomas murmured into his hair. He left a series of kisses down Harry’s temple and then to his ear. “Darling little love of mine.”

Harry clung even tighter. There was a strange feeling that settled on him now, a melancholy he couldn’t understand. He’d done everything he was supposed to, right? He must have, since Thomas was touching him so lovingly. 

Suddenly, tears sprang to Harry’s eyes. He lifted his head a little and looked up into Thomas’s face. The expression he met was fond, gentle, and a little sleepy looking. Heart hammering in his chest, Harry blurted out, “I love you.” 

Thomas’s petting stopped for a moment, but then continued. His face softened even more and he responded, “You do?”

Harry nodded. “You’re—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mumbled. He knew it was silly to say, but it was so true it hurt. He couldn’t imagine his life without Thomas in it, not anymore. “You saved me and are gonna take care of me and—and you love me too, right?”

Thomas slid one hand behind Harry’s head and brought him down, pressing their foreheads together. They were sharing air, sharing this moment, sharing everything. Harry looked into Thomas’s red eyes, unafraid and yet terrified, hopeful that the answer he got would be the one he was looking for.

“Oh darling,” Thomas said, “I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you and it has only grown since then. My darling, my handsome little soulmate, my sweet dear, you are half my soul and all my heart.”

Harry felt his face burn up even as he grinned with relief and joy. “You’re mine too,” he swore, “My soul and my heart too. For forever and ever. Right?”

Thomas smiled at him, eyelids lowering slightly. “That’s right, love. For forever and ever. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the tears threatened to fall again. His heart lurched with those repeated words, that promise that Thomas had given him over and over from the very beginning. “Okay. Okay,” he whispered back. 

He trusted Thomas, of course he did, but oh how his heart soared when he heard the words out loud.

Thomas must be right, he concluded, there really was magic even in something so simple as a spoken word. 

It was after they had rested, and Voldemort had cleaned them up—though he didn’t think Harry had even noticed, half asleep as he was at the time—that he summoned a meal tray to the room and placed it on the low table in front of the couch. It took but a moment for him to conjure up the meal itself, enabling the enchantments on the dishes and deciding on a meal for them to share. Soon the tray was laden with various finger foods fit for a brunch. 

Soon afterward, he repositioned them both, sitting up with Harry on his lap. The boy was still somewhat drowsy, but willing enough to eat what Voldemort held up to his lips. About halfway through their meal, he made sure Harry drank his potions, watching as his thin throat worked up and down and as he licked his lips afterward. 

Voldemort hadn’t considered himself much of a sexual creature before he’d acquired his soulmate—he understood pleasures of the flesh, of course, and had participated before. Ever since he’d grown into his own features there had been those hopeful to share his bed and he had not turned them all away. Yet for years he’d waited for the final formation of his soulmate mark, for the name of the person who would be his. 

That it was this child, on the cusp of his own body developing, was both a hindrance and a benefit. Who could be easier to mold as he desired than one who had not finished forming their own self? And yet, that innocence of Harry’s was so sweet and so true that Voldemort found himself not entirely wishing to destroy it. 

How much sweeter it might be, for his soulmate to always be so bright and cheerful, to never quite understand the horrors of his life that hid under sun-dappled trees and beneath silken shifts. 

Harry turned a bright smile up to him, fingers holding out half of a strawberry for him. In his eyes Voldemort could see both curiosity and confusion—Harry saw that Voldemort liked to hand-feed him and wondered if it could be reciprocal. He wondered why Voldemort did so, was there pleasure in feeding your soulmate this way?

Voldemort dipped his head and ate the offered strawberry. He swiped his tongue over Harry’s fingertip at the same time, causing the boy to blush and laugh a little. 

“Don’t bite me!” Harry chided as he pulled his hand away. 

“No?” Voldemort teased, leaning closer, “But you did like it earlier when I bit you, didn’t you?”

Harry’s face turned even more red, this time tinged with embarrassment, but when Voldemort reached over and slid his fingers over his chest, he didn’t entirely shy away from the touch. 

“I dunno if I liked it,” Harry mumbled as Voldemort swept his thumb over the barely concealed nipple. The fabric was no longer damp from his mouth, but the boy’s nipple was easy to tease back into a tight nub. 

“No?” Voldemort asked, “Shall we try it again next time? You might find that you do like it then.”

“N-next time?” Those beguiling green eyes looked up at him, half hidden behind his dark frames and beneath lowered lashes. “We’re gonna…do that again?”

Voldemort caressed the boy’s chest once more, his touch firm, steady, as he looked into his eyes, “Do you not want to? It’s all right if you don’t, you just need to tell me and I’ll stop.” At the same time he said that, he removed his hand from Harry entirely, leaning back from him.

Alarm flashed across Harry’s face and he shook his head, “It’s not that! I do like it. I just— Some of it felt strange…Was I supposed to feel all… hot and everything? Was that normal?”

Again with that obsession… Voldemort considered his next words carefully. Should he tell the boy it was normal, he might tell others about it and expect them to understand, not knowing exactly what he was revealing. Should he tell the boy it was abnormal, he’d certainly upset him, but be able to convince the boy even more that only Voldemort would be there for him, only Voldemort was his soulmate and truest love. He could not have the boy run off and bond with another, convinced Voldemort was only evil and manipulative and cared nothing for him. 

“Come here, love,” Voldemort tugged gently on his arm. Shyly, Harry slid into his lap, those thin thighs spreading over his legs. It was the same indecent position as before and he knew Harry thought it was a bit strange for him to sit this way in these clothes, but he trusted Voldemort implicitly. Voldemort rewarded that trust by petting his side and soothing away his concerns. “What you felt when we touched and kissed before was normal. Our bodies are built to experience such pleasure from our soulmates. Of course, that doesn’t mean that it’s entirely proper to talk about it with other people. It is a private thing, kept between soulmates and lovers. This is what soulmates do, what married couples do, to show their love for each other.”

He leaned in to kiss Harry and was pleased that the boy immediately responded. When he pulled back, Harry was looking up at him with shining wonder in his eyes. “So when you kiss me, that’s like saying you love me?”

“Precisely,” Voldemort said. “And there is nothing abnormal about love, is there?”

Harry shook his head slightly. He leaned into Voldemort’s touch, seeking both comfort and reassurance, seeking that love he’d been forbidden for so much of his life. “And you love me?”

“More than anyone else,” Voldemort murmured. He gave Harry’s thigh a light squeeze. “And you love me?”

Harry nodded emphatically. “So much,” he whispered, “I love you so much.” Then he threw his arms around Voldemort and kissed him soundly. 

It was a pleasant thing, to be so desired and so beloved, to be shown such affection. Voldemort had been denied this love from his soulmate before and he found that Harry’s exuberance soothed an old ache in his chest. 

When they parted lips, Harry leaned back, still resting on his thighs, and asked, “But what about the piece of Voldemort in my scar? It’s a piece of his soul, right? Does that mean he’s part of my soul? What did the ritual show? And why did it hurt?” His bottom lip stuck out in a pout, “You said it wasn’t going to hurt.”

“It wasn’t supposed to hurt you,” Voldemort murmured. He pulled Harry against himself and the boy willingly came closer, tucking his head under Voldemort’s chin. Voldemort ran his fingers lightly down the boy’s back, glancing down at the color of his soulmate mark. He had to wonder if perhaps it was that Horcrux splinter that made Harry’s mark so honest… “It was only supposed to feed out your magic so that we could see what part and how much of it the Horcrux was clinging to.” 

Harry squirmed in place. His fingers tightened their grip on Voldemort’s robes. “It’s bad, isn’t it? That’s why you’re hesitating to tell me.”

Voldemort sighed. “It is not good, certainly. That splinter is perhaps why your magic is as developed as it is. Magic begets magic. The splinter was just enough of a powerful source of magic that it influenced the development of your core.”

Harry’s head popped up and he looked fearfully up at Voldemort. “Does that mean that Voldemort influenced me? Is he in my head and making me do things?”

“No, dear, no. Think of it as though your magic and your soul are two different plant beds. Soul plants go in one bed, magic plants go into the other. The Horcrux is a soul plant that was mistakenly placed into the magic bed. It may grow some, enough to grab the dirt and put out leaves, but it will never have what it needs to truly spread and flourish. 

“We’ve determined that the Horcrux is quite deeply rooted in your magic, darling, but since it was planted incorrectly, it most likely can be removed. Now, we’ll need to figure out how to do so and to do so safely. That will take some time as this is a new ritual not performed before.” Voldemort brushed Harry’s hair back behind an ear and then away from the scar to take a look at the thing that was such an unforeseen obstacle. 

“Will that hurt?” Harry asked quietly. 

“I do not know,” Voldemort said. “If it must, we’ll most likely have you go to sleep to perform the ritual then, much like a surgery in the Muggle world.”

Harry worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Voldemort petted his side gently, using the moment of quiet to enjoy the feeling of silk over his little soulmate’s body. He had not envisioned himself as one who might get pleasure from someone so young, but of course, Voldemort was capable of anything he put his mind to. 

“If it’s not hurting me now…” Harry asked cautiously, “And it’s not likely to hurt me in the future. And it only made my magic stronger…Do we have to remove it? Couldn’t we just…leave it in place?”

“That depends on what Eloise discovers with her study,” Voldemort said, “If the Horcrux has no effect on your soul at all, we can leave it right where it is. If it does, however, then we’ll need to remove it.”

“But why?”

“You remember how you wish to marry me one day?” Voldemort asked, delighting in the fierce blush the boy gave with his mumbled acknowledgment, “Well, there is a particular bonding ceremony that I’ve dreamt of using with my soulmate ever since I read about it. It’s one of total unity, of total faith one unto another. Our two souls will be as one soul in two bodies and we will transcend beyond all limits of understanding.” Harry’s eyes grew so wide and his mouth opened slightly in surprise. Voldemort ran his fingertip along the boy’s lower lip, making his blush return even more fiercely as he snapped his mouth shut. 

“Unfortunately, the ritual demands two singular souls, whole and complete, to be performed safely. That means that neither one of us may have a void in our soul nor any extra parts. To be honest, I did not anticipate that you might have an extra part—so if the Horcrux is attached to your soul, we will need to remove it first before we can properly bond.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he worked through all that, his mind whirling behind those bright green eyes. “So…” he said after a while, “We have to remove the Horcrux before we get married?”

“Precisely.”

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I guess that means it’s a good thing we weren’t going to get married right away then? So we have time to figure out about the Horcrux?”

A coil of anger rose abruptly through Voldemort—to have his plans pushed back even longer was so bloody infuriating, how long must he wait to achieve his goals!—but he smothered it with a deep breath and a strengthening of his Occlumency. Instead of giving into his rage, he took Harry’s left hand and kissed first his palm and then the underside of his ring finger. “Precisely,” he repeated, “Though I will give you a ring long before that. I have just the one in mind, it will suit you perfectly.”

Harry squirmed on his lap in that delightful way, face flushed and pupils dilating ever so slightly. Voldemort smiled against his skin. He absently checked the time—there was still an hour or two before he needed to be anywhere—and so he drew Harry to him again. 

Fingers curling in the boy’s dark locks, Voldemort murmured, “Come, darling, let’s move past such distressing talk and do something more pleasurable, hm? You wanted to get better at kissing, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry said breathlessly. And that was all that needed to be said, truly.

Voldemort had always enjoyed tutoring and he found that he enjoyed teaching Harry most of all. 

After they finished eating and Harry got dressed in something that wasn't a thin underrobe, Thomas took Harry by the hand and led him through the manor.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as he looked at all the beautiful rooms they walked past. He could see glimpses of windows here and there and was amazed to see the blue sky beyond. They really were in the air… It was amazing!

“I said I wanted to key you into the wards, did I not?” Thomas said, glancing down at him, “And you wanted to know how the manor was able to fly?”

Harry nodded. “Are we gonna do that now?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, “You’ve recovered enough for that and so there is no time like the present. Besides, soon we’ll have to meet up with Barty so he can take you and Odette school shopping.”

Harry frowned a little. “You’re not going to come with us?”

“I’m afraid that would not be a very good idea,” Thomas said as he led Harry down some winding stairs lit with covered lanterns on the walls. “You recall how we refrained from visiting the magical world in your dimension because of how famous you were and how people would accost you for various reasons?”

Harry nodded. 

“I have a similar issue in this world,” Thomas said, “The general public does not get to see me outside of Sermons very often, so when they do they can become quite intense.”

Harry frowned, “But we went out to eat at Parvati’s restaurant before. Why wasn’t it a problem then?”

“Well, there was the fact that we descended from the air right at the restaurant’s door, then we only went to the one place before we left again, and also the village around the Abbey is slightly more used to seeing me. Many people there go up into the Abbey for their Sermon and so often see me there.” They were all the way at the bottom of some stone stairs now and though they were encased on all sides, the air was faintly warm. “Going up and down Diagon Alley is an entirely different experience.”

Harry supposed he understood that. Still, he grumbled, “I wish we could go together. I’ll miss you.”

Thomas turned to him and bent over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “And I’ll miss you as well, but it is good for us to get used to spending time away from each other. You do have Hogwarts starting up soon after all.”

Harry sighed over that, but he didn’t argue because Thomas was right. At Hogwarts, he wouldn’t get to see Thomas at all so he might as well enjoy their time together now. Thinking that, he squeezed his hand tighter and leaned closer to him and asked, “Where are we now?”

“Right now we are outside the heart of the manor,” Thomas said. He turned to the wall in front of them which was a single slab of black stone. “Behind here is a special room where I keep the heart wardstone as well as the crystal that allows for the manor’s flight. The room is locked to anyone but myself, keyed with my magic and my blood.” He turned to Harry, his eyes very dark in the low light, “You will need to give it some of your blood in order to go past this threshold safely.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered, “What do I do?”

Thomas gave him a quick smile and then, with a turn of his wrist, opened that little slit in space where he keeps things and pulled out a knife. “This is an athame,” he said.

Harry brightened up immediately, “Oh! I saw one of those before! Mr. Rowle had one!” 

“Excellent, so you are at least somewhat aware of its significance. I will help you make your own when you turn thirteen, darling, but for now we’ll use this one. Here, we’ll cut your hand across the heel like so and press the wound to this portion of the stone.” He showed Harry where to put his hand and then, with a quick slice of the dark blade, cut open his hand. 

Harry hissed in pain but didn’t complain. He pressed the bloody cut to the stone and watched as strange runes lit up all across the dark surface. “Woah,” he breathed out in awe as they were bathed in a golden light.

There was a sound like stone breaking and then the slab in front of them broke in half to show a doorway that hadn’t been there before. Thomas pushed the doors open and ushered Harry inside. Harry stumbled in, a little distracted by the cut on his hand sealing itself up by magic. Then he staggered to a stop and stared at the surprisingly spacious room. 

It was made of black stone just like the slab outside. In the center of the room was a strange bramble or perhaps a ball of roots with something glimmering in its center. 

Thomas came up behind him and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder, holding him still. Quietly, he said, “This stone in front of you is just as unique to this dimension as you are, darling.”

Harry struggled to pull his eyes away from it. He could just see the shape of a shining shape in the center and was puzzling out whether it was a diamond or something else. Was it a crystal? A gemstone? “What?” he asked, confused. He was just as quiet as Thomas, unwilling to break the strange peace of the room. 

“This stone,” Thomas said. He looked down at Harry; his eyes were crimson red, somehow defying the blue light around them to stand out starkly in the darkness. Harry couldn’t suppress the shudder he felt at the sight of them. “It is not of this dimension, just like you are not of this dimension. I knew that I could find you and bring you home because I had done something similar before with this.” 

He gestured to the stone again and Harry turned to stare at the beautiful blue light. “It’s from another world? Like me?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, “It was the heart of an old civilization that used to build whole cities to float in the sky but had long since died out. I gathered it up and brought it back here.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and said, “What I’ve just told you is one of my greatest secrets, darling. Not everyone knows that my manor can fly, and of those who do, none of them know how I’ve accomplished such a feat.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed out. His chest felt so tight, his heart so big; Thomas gave him a secret, something that no one else knows. It made Harry feel closer to him, feel like Thomas really trusted him. They shared secrets now. “It’s so pretty,” he whispered.

“It is, isn’t it?” Thomas murmured. He guided Harry forward with a gentle touch. “I’ve built the wards into this room as well, see there?” He pointed out something below the circle of roots. There was a ring of stone that was much paler than the black stone around them. On this pale stone were a bunch of runes, none of which Harry immediately recognized. He did, however, recognize the dark red substance that filled the carved lines of the runes.

“I need more blood for these runes, right?” Harry asked, glancing up at Thomas.

Thomas nodded. “Not a lot, not enough to fill them, but there are several runes you’ll need to trace with your blood. I’ll show you which ones.”

Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself against the oncoming pain. He knew the wound would heal and there was no way that Thomas would let him do anything really dangerous, but still. Cutting his hand wasn’t that easy for him. Was this something that older wizards did a lot? Would he have to get used to doing it?

“Okay,” he said, “Okay. I can do that. Show me which?”

Following Thomas’s guidance, Harry cut open his fingers and traced the runes. He felt magic tingle in his fingertips and gather in the air around them. He did four runes in total, one on each of the cardinal points of the ring of pale stones. Once he was done, the blood on his skin dried up and the wounds knitted themselves closed. He scratched his skin, which was suddenly itchy, and watched as Thomas held up his hands and chanted.

Magic swelled in the room around them, making Harry sway on his feet, eyes fluttering closed. It felt a lot like all those times they kissed or touched, like heat and sparkles were swimming around his whole body, but instead of it building and building up, it suddenly vanished away in a pulse that made Harry stumble where he stood.

Thomas caught him with one hand, steadying him. Harry looked around the room but didn’t see anything differently. “Is that it?”

“That’s it,” Thomas said. “Now, once you’re older and have had some experience, you’ll be able to apparate in and out of nearly any room in the manor as well as modify most rooms to your liking, activate most enchantments and, of course, allow or banish anyone but myself from the manor.”

Harry nodded. His eyes were drawn once more to the shining blue crystal that was spinning ever so slowly within its nest. “...How does it work? Can I learn how to make it fly the manor too?”

“Mm, when you’re older,” Thomas said. “It requires intense concentration and manipulation of one’s magic, but I’m certain it’s something you can learn once your magical core stops fluctuating so much. One’s core usually settles as they get older and won’t fluctuate anymore.” He gently guided Harry into turning around and back to the door. “Come along, darling. Let me show you the barren wing that is for you to decorate.”

With one last glance over his shoulder at the shining blue crystal, Harry let Thomas lead him out of the room.

Chapter Text

Diagon Alley was somehow even more astounding in this world than his own. 

Harry went through a floo to get there, coughing a little on his landing and stumbling but not quite falling. Barty caught him by the elbow and steadied him, moving him away from the hearth so Odette could come through next. 

They landed in a building Harry hadn’t seen before, one that seemed to be exclusive for floo travel as there were three walls with fireplaces, a decorative fountain in the center, and then an open archway to the street beyond. Harry admired the fountain, which depicted several winged horses in mid-flight, and then followed Odette and her father out onto Diagon.

The moment they stepped out, Harry came to a sharp stop, eyes widening as he saw the crowd of people all up and down the street. He could clearly remember the first time he ever went to Diagon and how magical it seemed then, but this was much more magical than that! 

Not only did the people here wear far more colorful and wild clothing—with shooting stars and spinning flowers and shining cloaks and more—but there were a handful of smaller people (or so he assumed since they looked like people) floating above the heads with translucent wings from their shoulders. He saw people almost as tall as Hagrid, some of them large like him and some of them more slender like willow trees. He saw children his age and younger in bright summertime clothes with flowers in their hair. 

Seeing that, it made him feel much better about the flower crown Odette had offered to him that afternoon. Her crown was purple and white, matching her lavender robes that had white petal patterns on the long sleeves. His crown was white roses and carnations that looked as though they’d been dipped so that the tips of their petals were coated in gold. Thomas had him dressed in a deep purple robe that had red highlights to it and gold accents, so the crown on his head stood out brightly. 

Odette reached for Harry’s hand. “Come on,” she said, “We’ve so much to shop for!”

Harry nodded mutely, distracted by the front of a store across the street. There was some sort of advertisement about boots being displayed in the window. There were boots walking back and forth behind the window, the belt buckles flashing in the light and displaying their interesting gold and black pattern. As they walked down the street, Odette holding his hand and chattering at him the whole time, Harry saw so much color and life and patterns it made his vision swim. 

“Where are we going first?” Harry managed to ask when Odette took a breath.

She held up her other hand and counted off, “We need to get books, potion supplies, rune supplies, broom stuff, pick up Mama’s order from Trista’s, and get ice cream!” 

“We’re headed to the apothecary first,” Barty said over his shoulder. He walked slightly in front of them and Harry noticed people would give him a respectful head nod and move out of his way. He wasn’t so surprised by that, though. Barty had seemed very important to Thomas and if Thomas was famous, why wouldn’t Barty be too?

“Could we go to the pet shop as well?” Harry asked, “Only, I haven’t got any owl treats for Hedwig.” He felt bad for ignoring her for the past few days and hoped that some good quality treats would be apology enough. Soon he’d have plenty of letters for her to take, so that would help, but for now, he was hoping she was enjoying the Abbey’s owlery. 

“Of course, my lord,” Barty said. “We’ll go there before our final stop.”

“Great, thanks,” Harry said. 

As they headed down the street, Harry kept turning his head to look at everything. He noticed Odette watching him and blushed furiously when she giggled. 

“Sorry,” she said with a smile, “Only, it’s like you’ve never been to Diagon before!”

“It’s different than I remember,” Harry said. He stole another glance at a trio of winged girls who were fluttered past out of an open window. “Who are all these…people? I’ve never seen anything like them before.” Turning back to Odette, he amended, “Well, except for Firenze the centaur I guess. But that was a pretty brief meeting.”

Odette gave him a confused look. “You’ve never seen fairies before?”

“No.”

“What about sprites?” 

“No.”

“Pixies?”

“Aren’t those all the same things?”

Odette laughed, “Of course not! That’s like saying centaurs and unicorns and satyrs are all the same just because they’ve got hooves.” 

“Then what are they?” he asked.

“They’re all Fae Folk,” Odette said. “Papa says that Lord Prior helped them bridge back over from Avalon when he made it safe for us from the muggles. It was too dangerous before, when they could accidentally be spotted and then hunted down. But now they can come and shop and visit! It’s just like taking a trip over to the Continent.”

“Oh,” Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never heard of Avalon or Fae Folk—at least not about them being real. He knew stories of King Arthur, of course, and well, Merlin must have been real since there were wizards… Shaking his head, Harry asked, “So they’re just visiting or something?”

“Yup!” 

Harry watched some more flying Fae Folk go by and wondered what kind they were. They were so cool looking with their glittering wings and tiny hands and feet. It was like watching dolls move all on their own as they fluttered past. “There are a lot of them here,” he asked, “Is that normal?”

Barty was the one to answer him, pulling them to a stop near the front door of a shop, “There are a lot of sales that go up towards the end of summer as people finish up their holidays and start to prepare for school. Everyone likes a good deal, especially the Fae. Now come along, we’re at our first stop.” 

He pushed open the door and they went into the apothecary. Harry had been to one before, of course, so he wasn’t entirely surprised by the barrels of things like news tails and withered frog skin. It was strangely lit inside, some spots brighter than others, and Harry wondered why it was so. Barty went up to the counter to talk to the shop assistant while Harry followed Odette around.

It was hardly surprising to see she went for the dried jars of flowers. “These are so sad,” she whispered, “These poor dry flowers. I bet they were so pretty before.”

Harry nodded while he absentmindedly looked at a jar with wisps of dried white petals. He turned a little when he heard the door open and blinked when he saw a familiar face stepping through. Though taller and older, Draco Malfoy still had that pointy chin, platinum blonde hair, and silvery eyes as Harry remembered from the boy he used to go to school with. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice them at all as he strode in. In his wake were two children, a girl who looked about their age and a younger boy who was holding her hand. They also looked very much like Malfoys, though the boy had more yellow in his hair and the girl had dark blue eyes.

Beside him, Odette gasped and rushed over, “Angie!”

The girl gave a little smile and held out her free hand to Odette. “Ducky, what a pleasure to see you today! I didn’t know you’d be in the Alley.”

Odette took the girl’s hand and tugged on it, “We would’ve been out earlier this week but we had to wait for Lord Carus to be ready. Come, let me introduce you!” 

Harry tensed up as Odette dragged over the other two, who were looking at him curiously. Once they were close, the girl saw the medallion he wore and her eyes widened. She dropped into a curtsey and shot a look at the little boy so he bowed as well. “Good morning, my lord,” the girl said politely.

“Uh. Good morning,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Harry,” Odette said, “This is Angie and her nephew, Brax. Angie and I are in the same year and have been friends forever.”  She then turned to her friend and said, “Angie, this is Lord Carus. He’s Lord Prior’s soulmate and came from another dimension!”

Angie’s eyes widened slightly and Brax’s jaw dropped. “Woah,” he gaped. 

“Brax,” Angie chided him, “Malfoys do not drop their jaws to the floor.” Brax quickly snapped his mouth shut, cheeks turning pink. 

Harry nervously looked from one girl to the other, unsure what to say. Odette, however, had no reservations and promptly launched into what could only be called an interrogation of what Angie had been up to this summer. He was able to relax a little bit as the girls talked, grateful he didn’t have to explain himself all that much.

Brax, of course, kept staring at him, but he was six, maybe, and Harry wasn’t too bothered. He was used to kids staring at him for some reason or another. He did give Brax a little smile, but that just made the boy turn and hide against his…aunt? Wait a minute…

“You said she was his aunt?” Harry blurted out to Odette, “But she’s our age!” He realized too late that he’d interrupted the girls’ talking, but Odette didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Oh, Angie’s blood-chosen, and Brax is bloodborne,” Odette explained, “A lot of kids our year are blood-chosen, actually.” She started counting on her fingers, “Junior, Flynn, Riley, Flora, Bonnie, Sasha, Aria—”

“I think Lord Carus is confused about the term,” Angie said, also interrupting Odette. She wore a smile that made her eyes crinkle just a bit. Her expression smoothed out as she said, “Bloodborne children like Brax are those who are born naturally to wixen. Blood-chosen children are those who are rescued from the muggles at birth and brought in and blood-adopted. Technically, Draco is my half-brother since I was blood-chosen by our father, Lucius.” 

“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Thomas explained the Delivery Act to me earlier.” 

Angie’s eyelids fluttered a little bit, blinking fast as if she were startled. “You really must be Lord Prior’s soulmate to use his name so casually,” she said softly.

Harry blushed as he remembered Thomas’s fond smile and their farewell kiss that morning. “I am. Sorry, this whole names being a special thing is very new to me. All of this soulmate stuff is kind of new to me.”

Brax’s mouth dropped open again, though he quickly shut it after a glance from Angie. To Harry, she said, “That’s understandable. I can explain it a little more to you if you like.”

“Um, sure?”

“It’s very simple,” Angie said, “Soulmate marks show the true full name of your match on them somewhere, but the marks themselves don’t usually develop until your late teens, with some exceptions of course. Most children go by a half-name or a middle name as they grow up and though one might typically switch to their true name as they age, many keep their half-name until they’re matched to their soulmate. Father always explained that it was a left-over trait from before there was a greater separation between the muggles and ourselves, as it was scandalous to have a soulmate from outside the blood.

“However, now that we are all of the same blood, it’s mostly so that there is freedom until you’re ready to match. Many soulmates will wait to bond until they’re older either because they want to court properly or because their families want to do a formal arrangement.” 

Harry nodded at this, “Thomas mentioned bonding earlier, too. He said it’s like getting married.” He felt his cheeks heat up at the mention of it, but thankfully neither girl teased him about that. 

“It is,” Angie said as Odette nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh you and Lord Prior are going to have the most splendid wedding,” Odette gushed, “You must. There should be mounds of flowers and musicians and a cake with five tiers! No, seven! That’s a more magical number after all.” 

Harry blushed even more furiously. “I don’t think we need a cake that big.”

“Lord Prior’s wedding will be the event of the century,” Angie told him with a bright gleam to her eyes, “There are likely to be officials from all over in attendance as well as a full course dinner and traditional dancing.” Harry gave her a horrified look. She laughed a little, covering her mouth with a hand. 

“It won’t be so bad,” Odette said, “I went to my cousin’s wedding last year and it was so much fun! There were crystal doves released during the ceremony and they charmed the walkway to rain rose petals down as they walked to the altar.” She sighed, hands clasped to her chest, “It was so romantic.”

Harry wasn’t entirely opposed to a romantic wedding, of course, but the idea of it still made him red-faced. Thankfully, he was saved from this conversation as Barty came over to them. With him was Malfoy, who looked at Harry with a mixture of curiosity and shock. Harry immediately straightened up as they approached, wary of Malfoy. He’d always been a git to Harry and his friends, but that was the other Malfoy who, as far as Harry knew, didn’t have a sister at all.

“My lord,” Barty greeted him with a nod of his head, “It seems you’ve acquainted yourself with Miss Malfoy and young Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry nodded back, “Yeah. Did you get all the stuff we needed?”

“Indeed I did,” Barty said. “I wanted to introduce you to Draco Malfoy as well. You met his father yesterday.”

“Lucius, yeah,” Harry said, still giving Malfoy a wary look. “I know Draco too, well, the other Draco.”

“Barty mentioned that you were transplanted from another dimension,” Malfoy said. He even sounded similar, though older now. He bowed slightly, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Harry shivered at the oddness of it. He’d never seen Malfoy so…calm before. Usually, he had a nasty glint in his eye or a scowl on his lips. “Um, yeah. Sorry, this is just very weird because the you I met before was my age and kind of a git so seeing you be all polite is weird.”

The corner of Malfoy’s lip rose slightly, “I believe we’re all a bit of a git in our youth. I briefly knew your alternate self as well and he was quite…fiery, one might say. I believe it was an inherited trait.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly reminded of the fact that in this world, Harry Potter had grown up with his parents. He had to look away, blinking rapidly to keep from tearing up. Thomas had said his mom might still be alive, but she was working against him… There was no way that she would want to meet him…Right?

Malfoy cleared his throat and Harry looked back up at him. “My apologies, Lord Carus,” Malfoy said seriously, “I did not mean to upset you with my words.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I mean, I never knew my mum or dad so I can only imagine what it would have been like to be raised by them the way he was but everyone always told me that I looked like my dad and had my mum’s eyes.”

Malfoy met his gaze and, after a moment of hesitation, said, “That is a statement that remains true even here. There were a few years when Mrs. Evans was our Charms professor at Hogwarts. You do indeed have her eyes, though I never met or saw her husband so I couldn’t confirm either way.”

Harry fought down the urge to ask more about her, but something of that yearning must have shown on his face as Malfoy’s expression softened. 

“Perhaps, if Lord Prior is not averse to the idea, I might visit with you and tell you about her,” Malfoy said to him with only a brief glance to Barty.

Hope filled Harry’s chest, “Really? That would be so great. I’ll ask Thomas about it!” 

Malfoy inclined his head. Then he turned to the younger Malfoys and said, “We have a little more shopping to do, children. It’s time to go.” He nodded to Barty and Odette and then said farewell to Harry as Angie said goodbye as well. Harry nodded back and smiled a little as Odette hugged Angie and patted Brax on the head before waving them off.

Once they were gone, Barty cleared his throat and said, “Rune supplies next and then we’ll swing by the Quidditch store.”

Odette’s face lit up, “Yay, quidditch!” She then grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him away. With a grin, Harry let himself get pulled along with her enthusiasm as they swept out the door together.

The quidditch shop was bustling with activity. It was bigger than Harry remembered it being last time and had not only an array of brooms and Quidditch supplies but different flying gear. It even looked like there were saddles in one corner! Odette took Harry first along to the brooms which lined one whole wall. There were plenty of other people looking as well, including some other children. 

Harry didn’t pay them too much mind at first, since he was looking at the new brooms—he dearly wanted one of his own, especially a good fast one!—but he could hear Odette chattering excitedly with some of the others. 

He ended up standing next to a boy the same height as him as they admired the Zeus Bolt, which was said to be the fastest broom on the market right now. The staff was sleek and the bristles a dark gold color. It was streamlined more than any Nimbus Harry had seen before. 

“It says that they recommend the Solar Flare goggles to go with it,” said the boy next to him excitedly, “Those glasses are so cool! They are gold colored too, just like the broom!”

“Really?” Harry asked, “Have they got them here?”

The boy nodded and turned to point at the Quidditch supplies across the room. “They’re over there. I think they’re in the case, though. They’re supposed to have real gold in them.”

“Wow,” Harry said. He hadn’t looked at any of the gear yet. “I should look at some of the gear, I wonder if they have anything special for Seekers?”

“I can help you look!” the boy exclaimed, “My dad was a Seeker in Hogwarts. I want to try out too. Here, let’s go there now!”

“He was?” Harry asked. He looked the boy over as he led the way through the crowd to the display of gear. He didn’t look particularly familiar—he had brown hair and hazel eyes. His hair had lots of curls in it and was cut short on the sides. There were some freckles on his cheeks, but not as much as some of the Weasleys. When they made it through to the display, Harry asked, “What’s your name anyway?”

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Caleb!” he said with another grin. He was very friendly, which Harry appreciated. “Who are you?”

Harry nervously smoothed his hand down the chain of his medallion and covered the disk with his palm, pressing it to his chest as if to instinctively hide it. “I’m Harry. Are you headed to Hogwarts this year?”

“Yup! It’s my first year,” Caleb beamed. His eyes darted down to Harry’s chest and he gave a little confused look but didn’t ask about it. “What about you?”

“My second year, technically,” Harry said, “I, uh, went to another version of Hogwarts last year before I was brought here.”

Harry wasn’t too surprised that Caleb’s face morphed into a confused one. “Another Hogwarts?” 

“I’m from another dimension?” Harry said. 

Caleb’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” 

Harry nodded. 

“Wow.” Caleb said, “That’s amazing. I didn’t know anyone could do that. I mean, I heard that Lord Prior was able to walk amongst worlds but of course, he can do that, he’s the Lord. But just anyone?”

“We-ell,” Harry began, drawing out the word. It seemed he was going to have to spill the beans after all. Maybe he should get out of the habit of telling people that he was from another dimension even if he was allowed to…

Thankfully, that was when Barty appeared, Odette in tow. “There you are, Lord Carus,” he said, “I put in an order for Quidditch gear fit to your size and got you a suitable broom. Is there anything else that you need from here?” 

Caleb’s eyes were wide as he stared first at Barty, then at Harry, and then back at Barty. “He’s Lord Carus?”

“He certainly is,” Barty said, “Good afternoon to you, Mr. Diggory.”

“You’re Lord Carus!?” Caleb exclaimed. “But—But—You’re so small!”

Hands on her hips, Odette said just as loudly, “That’s what I said!”

Caleb whipped around and shouted, “Dad!” 

Harry saw a few heads turning, saw the attention beginning to center on them, and felt a dread creeping up his spine. Thomas had warned him that he was going to be famous here because of being Lord Carus, even if he wasn’t the Boy Who Lived. He hated the thought of it but at least…At least he was called Lord Carus for a good reason! He hadn’t done anything to defeat Voldemort, not really, but he was Thomas’s soulmate. 

A man made his way through the crowd. He was tall and handsome, with brighter brown hair that curled around his ears similar to how Thomas styled his. He went to Caleb, a little worried frown tightening his expression. “Caleb? Oh dear. Master Crouch, it’s good to see you. Is everything all right?”

Caleb rushed up to his dad’s side and tugged on his sleeve, “Dad, Dad, that’s Lord Carus!” He pointed to Harry.

“It’s rude to point, kiddo,” Mr. Diggory said as he pressed Caleb’s hand down. Then his eyes lit on Harry and jerked to a stop. 

Harry felt compelled to give an awkward wave. “Hullo, sir.”

At his side, Odette tutted, “You shouldn’t say sir to him. Only professors are sir to you, my lord.”

Mr. Diggory and Barty were talking over their heads as she chided him. “I’m so sorry about Caleb’s outburst,” Mr. Diggory was saying, “We’d only just heard about Lord Carus’s arrival and Caleb’s just started to show interest in soulmates so he was quite enthusiastic to meet him and see who was Lord Prior’s soulmate.” 

“It’s understandable,” Barty said with a shake of his head, “There are worse things than over-excited children. I believe Lord Carus is of the mind to be somewhat informal with his peers, so as long as he’s comfortable with it, your son is permitted to be familiar with him.”

Mr. Diggory gave a look of relief and turned to Caleb, then seemed to think better of it and looked directly at Harry himself. “I would be quite grateful if you would be kind to my son, my lord. He’s easily excited.”

“Dad!” Caleb complained.

“It’s okay,” Harry said, “Um, really, I don’t mind. I mean, Odette calls me Harry and is my friend and everything… So if Caleb wants to be my friend too that’s fine. It’s wonderful, even.”

Mr. Diggory had a smile on his face, but his eyes were strangely soft and sad. He bowed his head slightly and said, “I do appreciate it, my lord.”

Before the conversation could carry on much more, however, Barty cleared his throat. “We’ve still got some shops to go to, my lord. We need to leave if we are to make it on time.”

“Oh, right, and we got everything here, even a broom cleaning kit?” Harry asked. Barty nodded. 

With that, they said their goodbyes, Caleb enthusiastically saying he couldn’t wait to see Harry again at Hogwarts and the Diggorys waving them off as Barty led the way back out from the shop.

They were on their way to the pet shop when a man and a girl approached them. The girl wore an entirely black outfit, from the thick soled boots, stockings, poofy short dress, gloves and parasol. She even had black lipstick on, making the only points of color on her whole body her light gray eyes. She was taller than both Harry and Odette and swooped over to them with a smile that grew into a huge grin. “Ducky!” 

“Star!” Odette cried as she rushed forward to grab her friend’s hands. 

Harry lingered behind, not wanting to get in the way of the two girls reuniting. He felt Barty’s touch lightly on his shoulder and glanced up to see the man looking at him. “Are you all right, my lord?”

Harry nodded. “I’m fine.” He looked back at the girls and said, “Odette sure knows a lot of people.”

“She is a Gryffindor,” Barty said as if that explained everything. Harry frowned. He had been a Gryffindor too and he didn’t remember any of them being like this before…

“And this is Lord Carus,” Odette said as she half-turned and gestured back to him. “Lord Carus, this is—”

“Aster Rhiannan Lestrange,” the older girl said with a deep, deep curtsey. She held it, too.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, “Uh. Hello, Aster.”

“You may rise,” Barty told the girl. She shot him a glare and then turned her wide eyes to Harry again before ducking her chin—all the while she kept holding the curtsey.

Harry’s cheeks warmed and he echoed the man. Aster finally straightened, face beaming. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, my Lord. My mother has told me so many wonderful things about you.”

“Your mother?” Harry blinked, “Oh. Miss Bella?”

“Yes,” Aster said, “She said that you were the star to our Lord’s sun. His heart made flesh and his mirror in power. I was so looking forward to when we met! I want to be your left hand, just as Mother is Lord Prior’s!” 

“My left hand?” Harry repeated.

“Well of course!” Aster said, “Ducky’s already your right hand, is she not? I shall be your left!” She glanced at Odette, who was smiling along as if this made any sense at all. 

Barty cleared his throat, “Aster, Odette, perhaps this is a conversation for another time? When we are not in the center of Daigon?” 

Odette blushed in embarrassment, but Aster just rolled her eyes. She swept forward and linked her arm with Harry’s left. “Come, I’ll lead you to the pet shop. Ducky said you were going to get owl treats? Well, I know the best ones, as I have them for my uncle’s bird Gorgon.”

Harry didn’t resist as the girl tugged him along. She wasn’t much different than Hermione with her mind set on something, he noticed, and the thought of that made an ache appear in his chest, next to his heart. He missed his friends so much, but he was glad that these new ones were excited to meet him and talk to him. 

He did wish that they weren’t all so excited about him being Lord Carus, but tried to tell himself that that was okay. He was Lord Carus because Thomas was Lord Prior. They belonged together so of course they were Lords together! 

Inside of the pet shop, Harry let himself get distracted from his thoughts by Aster and Odette taking him around to show him the crup puppies and kneazle kittens. There were a few exotic looking birds as well, including some iridescent parrots and what honestly looked like a purple flamingo. Harry didn’t know why anyone would want one of those as a pet, it seemed very strange to keep. 

Then, of course, there were the reptiles. Aster led him along their terrariums, listing all the different kinds of lizards, salamanders, and snakes. 

“You sure know a lot about animals,” Harry remarked as she finished describing to him some of the habits of the bearded draglets. “Do you have a lot of pets?”

Aster heaved a dramatic sigh. “No,” she said, “Mother claims she’s allergic to fur, despite all those fur-lined cloaks she has, and Father doesn’t want anything underfoot. Uncle Rab has a few birds he keeps and Terry keeps some scorpions in his room, but I haven’t gotten anything yet.”

“You could get a Granian and stable it somewhere,” Odette said as she peered into the glass enclosure for some snakes.

“But what’s the point of that if I can’t have it with me every day!” Aster exclaimed. 

Some of the snakes shifted in their terrariums, one of them slithering closer as if to examine them. Harry thought it was quite pretty with incredibly dark blue scales that shimmered in the light. It was long as well, and Harry wondered if perhaps the cages were bigger on the inside since the snake seemed to go on for a while.

It noticed him noticing it and turned to watch him with dark eyes, tongue flickering in and out. Harry leaned a little closer and asked softly, “I hope your nest space is nice inside, from out here it looks very small. Do you like it?”

The snake lifted its head more, coiling back to partially rest on its body. “It is boring in here,” it replied just as quietly, “And it often does not smell of prey. But it is warm and there are dark places. I do not mind it.”

“My lord?” There was something in Odette’s voice that made him turn to look at her. She stared at him, utterly silent, eyes wide. Beside her, Aster pressed one hand over her mouth, the other clutching Odette’s arm. 

“Yes?”

“You speak to the snake?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s a talking magical snake,” Harry said uncomfortably.

Aster shook her head as Odette said, “No, my lord, it is not.  You were speaking the snake’s language.”

“Parseltongue,” Aster breathed out in reverent awe, “You speak Parseltongue, my lord.”

“I don’t,” Harry argued, but he could tell it was futile with the way they were looking at him. He turned, looking for Barty, and saw both him and Aster’s uncle Rab staring as well. “I don’t!” he exclaimed. “I mean I— It’s a magical snake, isn’t it? Surely magical snakes can talk?”

“Certainly there are some snakes that can speak a human tongue,” Barty said, sounding the most calm of them all, “But, my lord, I have heard the serpent’s tongue before, spoken by Lord Prior himself. It sounded exactly as you did just now.”

“But I didn’t—” Harry stopped himself by biting his bottom lip and looking away. He hadn’t noticed he was talking to the snake in Parseltongue. He hadn’t even known that he could do that.

Except…well there had been that one time at the zoo, hadn’t there? And it was unlikely that some python in a muggle zoo was magical. He’d never asked anyone about it when he finally did find out he was a wizard and went to Hogwarts. It hadn’t even crossed his mind…

“Are you sure that’s what it was?” Harry asked Barty.

“I am,” Barty said. 

“I too have heard Lord Prior speak to serpents,” Rab said, “Barty is correct.”

“That’s marvelous,” Aster whispered. She had shining adoration in her eyes. She came forward slowly and gripped Harry’s hands in both of hers, “My lord, for you to share such a gift with your soulmate can only mean that you are bound as closely together as the stars themselves.” There was a strange feverish quality to her expression and Harry felt himself shifting uneasily under the force of her attention. 

“You must have the most true bond that there ever was,” Aster said, “As only the clearest bond between soulmates can share such gifts. It is a sign, my lord. You and Lord Prior were meant only for each other.”

Odette nodded along enthusiastically and Harry found himself swallowing a lump in his throat. He knew Thomas had another soulmate before him, but they had died…and Thomas had come and found him afterward—not some other Harry Potter somewhere else. Was Aster right? Was he Thomas’s true soulmate?

He was still reeling from this thought when Aster turned to her uncle and Barty and said, “We must purchase the snake.”

“Now Aster,” Rab began, “Simply because Lord Carus can speak to the snake doesn’t mean he needs it as his companion—”

“True,” Barty agreed, “He has a familiar already, an owl, I believe.”

“Then I will carry Lord Carus’s snake,” Aster declared. “Come, my lord, we’ll go get it right now.” She tugged him along to the shopkeeper, ignoring the way her uncle was telling her to stop being so ridiculous. Odette was at Harry’s other side, just as steadfast as Aster about the whole thing.

After a whirlwind of conversation, wherein Aster all but demanded the dark snake be handed over to Harry (as well as a bundle of high-quality owl treats) and she trampled on the arguments of both her uncle and Barty—much to Harry’s utter surprise since she was only a little older than him (Aster didn’t seem to even care that they were adults who could punish her later!) Harry stood just outside the shop with the two girls. Aster proudly carried the dark snake on her shoulders and arms as it scented the air. 

It had turned out to be three feet long when they got it out of the cage and it kept silent throughout the whole exchange. Harry petted the snake’s side gently while Aster cooed over it and Odette admired the scales. 

A soft hiss caught Harry’s attention and he saw the snake slithering towards him a little, its dark eyes watching him. [So this is the land outside. Speaker, why am I here?]

[Well,] Harry hesitated, [My nest-mate Aster is the one you’re on right now. She wishes to be your Master and to bring you with her. Would you mind staying with her?]

The snake coiled a little tighter around Aster, who didn’t seem bothered by it at all. “What is she saying, my lord?” she asked quietly. 

[She is warm and scents of eager fire,] the snake continued after a while, [I shall remain.]

[That’s good,] Harry replied, [Do you have a name? Are you a female or male snake?]

[I am the Darkness-That-Clings-To-Shadowed-Branches. I have no clutch of eggs at this time, but will happily carry them if I find a suitable mate.] 

Harry frowned a little, head tilted to the side. Parseltongue was strange. He kept finding himself trying to say an English word and it changed when he hissed it, such as ‘friend’ being ‘nest-mate’. And at the same time, the snake said something simple for her name but it translated into a longer phrase. “She told me her name,” Harry said to Aster, “And that she wouldn’t mind being with you. She says you’re warm and smell of eager fire. I don’t know what that means though. I guess it’s probably good.”

“What is her name?” Aster asked, “Does she like to be petted? What are her favorite foods?”

Harry dutifully repeated the name and asked her questions. Aster seemed delighted over her new friend, calling her Dark Shadow and petting her along her body as she liked. He was sure they could have lingered there and talked about the snake for hours but they still had one more shop to go to and Aster had to return home.

“We’ll take the floo for her,” Aster said, “Since most animals don’t like the force of apparation. Come on, Uncle Rab! Goodbye, my lord. Bye, Ducky!” She bid her goodbyes with quick hugs, mindful of Dark Shadow coiled around her shoulders. The snake was rather relaxed, which was fortunate. Harry waved her goodbye, bemused by the whole interaction.

Once she was gone, and they were headed along to the final stop, Harry said, “Aster’s very interesting.”

“She’s just like her mother,” Barty remarked with a little smile. “She’ll be a good companion to you, my lord.”

“Star’s the best,” Odette agreed. She had her arm linked in Harry’s right, just as Aster had done for the left. “I wish I’d gotten a snake too. That would be so cool.”

“No,” Barty said immediately. “Your mother would riot. And if she didn’t, your grandmother certainly would.”

Odette wrinkled her nose and muttered under her breath about ‘spoilsports’ and ‘scaredy-pants’. Harry laughed a little. He was glad that things had turned out okay, even if he was still surprised that he could speak Parseltongue! He would have to tell Thomas later about it.

The very thought made his heart do somersaults in his chest, though. What if Thomas was upset by it? What if Thomas didn’t like snakes, even though he could talk to them? What if Thomas didn’t want him to speak to snakes? What if Thomas was mad that he’d let Aster buy a snake (or that Harry hadn’t bought one himself?) On the other hand, Thomas had a snake on his chest for Harry’s soulmate mark. Maybe that was related? And it wasn’t just because the Sorting Hat said he’d make a good Slytherin?

And as Harry wondered if he’d make a good Slytherin in this dimension, as he’d have to be re-Sorted after all, they continued their shopping down the street, heading for their final destination: the bookshop.

Out of all the places they had been so far, the bookshop was the most familiar. It looked just like Flourish and Blotts back home, with the shelves almost overfilled and people hurrying about to get their books for their kids. Harry’s list was actually quite light as there were only a few books that Thomas thought he should buy for himself rather than use his copies. Harry was excited to get his hands on a few quidditch books since they must have new information in them, and he told Odette as much when she asked what he wanted to get.

She led him by the hand to a section of sports books and excitedly picked out one or two, talking about them loudly. “And this one has a bunch of plays pulled from the latest events. There was this really incredible swooping dive that this Chaser from the Hollyhawks was known for doing. You should check it out. I think it’s in this book somewhere,” she flipped through the pages.

“It’s in the third chapter,” volunteered a new voice. Harry looked up from the book as a boy with sandy-brown hair and golden eyes leaned over their shoulders and flipped the book’s pages for them. He was taller than both of them and carried a couple of books in his arm.

Odette immediately brightened at the sight of him, “Lucky!” She pressed the book into Harry’s hands and threw her arms around her friend in a quick hug. 

“Hi, Ducky,” the boy said as he patted her back in return, “Who’s your friend?”

Harry used the book to keep his medallion hidden as he held out his hand, “Harry Potter.”

Lucky blinked in surprise at his name and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. Are you visiting from France?”

“No,” Harry said, “I’m, uh, not from around here but I’m transferring to Hogwarts this year. I’m a second year.”

Lucky grinned, “Oh yeah? Cool. So am I.” He pointed his thumb at himself, “I’m a Gryffindor. I’m trying out for Chaser this year, actually.”

“Oh cool!” Harry said, “I was a Seeker on my old team.”

“They let you play when you were a first year?” Lucky asked. 

“Um, it was a bit of a special circumstance,” Harry blushed, embarrassed. He glanced away and caught Odette’s curious look. She had her head tilted to the side a bit, watching their exchange. 

Before the moment could get too awkward, Odette said, “I’m thinking about trying out too. I like the idea of Keeper, myself. If you sort Gryffindor, Harry, then you could try for Seeker too! We’d be unstoppable on the same team!” 

Harry smiled. He did want to play quidditch again—it was one of the reasons why Thomas would be able to visit him at school, not to mention that he loved to fly. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a broom. I haven’t been able to practice much this summer. Hopefully, I’ll still be good.”

“If you got to play as a first-year then you must be a natural,” Lucky said, “There’s too much danger in the sport to let someone inexperienced play, even if the teachers can get as intense as the students.”

“That’s for sure,” Harry said with a shrug, “I think I almost died at all of my games my first year, but it was great fun and I won most of them.”

“Well you’ve got to be more careful now,” Odette said with sudden seriousness, “Lord Prior would be miserable if something happened to you.”

Lucky looked surprised at this turn, “Why would Lord Prior be miserable?”

Harry blushed again. Before he could try and downplay her words, however, Odette said proudly, “Oh yes, Harry is Lord Prior’s soulmate, Lord Carus. Isn’t it wonderful? Lord Prior is so happy to have found him after all this time.”

Lucky’s eyes widened even more. He leaned in, glancing over his shoulder briefly before he whispered, “But I thought Lord Prior’s soulmate died a few years ago. There was a whole article about it in the paper and my dad was gonna go to the funeral for him, but there wasn’t one publically.” He looked Harry up and down, “You don’t look dead. Or like an adult.”

“That was a different person,” Harry said uncertainly. He had no idea how much he was allowed to tell people. He should have asked Thomas! Sure, he was allowed to say he was from another dimension, but what if he didn’t want everyone to know that? It would just lead to them being shocked and confused and draw too much attention, like it had with Caleb.

“Are you sure?” Lucky asked, “Because you look a lot like him.” He turned to Odette, “Don’t you think so?”

She shrugged, “How would I know? I don’t remember that. Besides, Harry’s obviously not a dead person. He’s also younger! He’s our age. So it’s different.” She waved her hand dismissively, “Lord Prior is happy and my papa said they have perfectly matching soulmate marks so what does it matter anyway?”

Before things could get more out of hand, Harry heard a voice calling out, “Lucky!” 

Lucky sighed and rolled his eyes. “That’s my dad,” he said to them. He turned and called back, “Here, Dad! I found Ducky and her friend.”

A moment later a man came around the bookshelf, holding a basket of books looped over one arm and a thick one in one hand. He was in the middle of saying some greeting when his amber-colored eyes met Harry’s and he stuttered to a stop so hard he dropped the book he was holding.

It landed on the floor with a loud slap, making the three of them flinch at the sudden sound. The man’s expression paled to a buttermilk white, his mouth hung open, his body frozen. 

Nervously, Harry shifted on his feet. Who was this man? What was wrong with him? 

Odette stepped half in front of Harry, using one hand to press him behind herself while Lucky turned to face his father. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Daniel?” The man whispered, his voice barely audible, “But no, it can’t be. He’s gone—” He shook himself visibly and then cleared his throat. He crouched, picked up his dropped book, and held it with a white-knuckled grip. As he straightened, he demanded, “Who are you?”

Odette lifted her chin and somehow transformed before Harry’s very eyes as she faced down the man’s demand and declared imperiously, “This is Harry Potter, the Beloved Lord Carus, soulmate of the Eternal Lord Prior. Though he is a child, you will be respectful of his person, Mr. Lupin.”

This did not seem to make Mr. Lupin any more pleased as he just stared at Harry like he was a ghost or something. And, considering he’d just called him Daniel, maybe Harry was a ghost to him. 

“Dad, what are you doing?” Lucky whispered loudly at his father, “Stop it. You’re being embarrassing!”

“Lucas, come here,” Mr. Lupin ordered. He put his book into his basket and beckoned to his son. When Lucky—or Lucas, Harry supposed—hesitated, Mr. Lupin’s gaze snapped to him and he said harshly. “Come here. Right now.” 

Lucky hurried over and gave a little yelp when Mr. Lupin grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him even closer. He bent over, looking Lucky over and…sniffing him? It kind of looked like he was sniffing him. Lucky’s face scrunched up slightly, annoyed and pink with embarrassment that Harry could only empathize with. “Dad, stop it! We’re in public, Dad. My friends are watching!” Lucky complained.

Mr. Lupin straightened up and looked at them again. His gaze was fixed on Harry. 

Harry quickly looked away, one hand sneaking around the chain of his medallion and squeezing it tightly. “Odette,” he whispered, “Where’s your Dad? I want to go.”

It was clear Mr. Lupin wanted to say something, but Harry didn’t want to hear it. Mr. Lupin must have known his alternate self, and known them well to have that reaction, which meant that he was no friend of Harry’s or of Thomas’s. Perhaps he’d even helped Daniel hide from Thomas, which was a cruel, terrible thing to do.

Not that you really mind that Daniel hid from Thomas, a mean little voice said in the back of his head, You wouldn’t have gotten all this spoiling and attention from Thomas if Daniel hadn’t resisted their soulbond. 

“Let’s go, Lord Carus,” Odette said in that same stiff tone as she turned him around and ushered him away, throwing sharp looks over her shoulder. “We’ll find Father and take you back home.”

Harry could feel Mr. Lupin’s gaze digging into his back long after they’d left him behind.

Striding through the Crouch home, Voldemort listened as Barty recounted the day’s events to him. There were, of course, a few notable things that happened—his little soulmate had a tendency to get into all sorts of interesting situations—but only a few were worth commenting on. 

“Of course, that’s when Odette brought him over to me and we left shortly afterward. Lupin didn’t try anything, but that reaction alone speaks volumes,” Barty said with a glance at Voldemort and a frown on his lips. “I hadn’t been aware that he was part of the Order, but he must have been if he knew Evans.”

“From my understanding, there were four of them that were quite close amongst their peers at Hogwarts, and like many close friendships, things deteriorated over time. That he knew them well enough to know their son’s name is no great surprise,” Voldemort said, “After all, before they went totally underground, Gideon and Fabian frequently interacted with him.” He gave Barty an amused glance, “He was their brother-in-law, after all.”

Barty’s features twisted into one of disgust and then contrition. “I do apologize for having to bring this up at all. I should have kept a closer eye on who was around them.”

Voldemort waved off the words, “It seems as though Odette did an admirable job keeping an eye on things for us. I’m pleased with her actions to safeguard Harry. I had hoped that she was the right choice for a companion and it seems I was correct.” In truth, it did not bother him to speak about Daniel Evans anymore. Not only was the man now dead five years, but Voldemort’s aching soul was so readily soothed by Harry that he didn’t even miss the idea of him. Perhaps, if he had known the man better, or really at all, he would have been more grieved, but as it was, Daniel Evans was now nothing but a name to a corpse that was, for all intents and purposes, decayed beyond use.

Barty veritably glowed with the pride that one could only have for their offspring. He gained that misty look in his eye as he said quietly, “She is a good kid, reliable and smart, friendly and brave. I had worried about her being a Gryffindor since neither her mother nor I were, but she’s just as brilliant as she always has been.”

It was then that they reached the playroom that the children had been left in following their outing. Barty opened the door and gestured for Voldemort to enter first. He swept readily into the room, his attention turning unerringly towards his soulmate, only to come to a stop with a bemused expression.

He had expected them to be engaged in quiet play of some kind, whatever it was that took children’s fancy these days, perhaps books or instruments or something, and indeed, Odette was toiling away at a low table that was covered in a jumble of puzzle pieces. Harry, however, was curled up on the settee, a blanket draped over him and his glasses perched on the cushion beside him. With puzzle piece in hand, Odette looked up from her table and her eyes widened. “My lord!” she exclaimed. As Barty stepped in, she grinned, “Papa!”

She waved at them, “Have you come to collect Harry, my lord?”

“I have,” Voldemort told her. He approached the sofa, finding it hard to take his eyes off of the boy, so helpless as he lay there, curled up tight with his mouth slightly open, breathing softly. “It seems you have worn him out utterly, Odette.” He shot her a sharp, amused glance, “Just what nonsense did you get my carus involved in today?”

Odette was even more willing to prattle on than her father over the same thing, with the added flavor of a child’s rambling. “We met up with Star and Angie and saw even Braxy and, oh! Lord Carus talked to a snake! Did you know he could talk to snakes, my lord?”

Voldemort smiled and Odette grinned back.

“Well of course you did,” she said to herself with a shake of her head, “You know everything, after all.”

“Indeed,” Voldemort said, “I also know that you ensured the safety of my carus,” he reached down to run his fingers gently through the boy’s hair. As windswept as it looked, it was remarkably soft, though tangled just a little. He carefully worked the knots loose without disturbing him. “How did Remus Lupin look to you, Odette? Do you think he’s dangerous?”

She took the question seriously, frowning and tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the table as she considered. Barty had moved into the room by now and was on the opposite side of the puzzle, clearly distracted by it. 

“Well,” Odette finally said, “I don’t think so. But he reacted so oddly to Lord Carus. It was like he saw a ghost! But not one of the nice ones like at Hogwarts, like a scary one! Or maybe one that made him sad. He called Lord Carus Daniel.” She paused here and glanced up at Voldemort through her lashes, uneasy, but obviously curious—so much like her father that way. “Daniel was the name of the man who used to be your soulmate but repudiated you, right my lord?”

“You are correct,” Voldemort said. He gathered up Harry’s glasses and tucked them safely away into a pocket.

Quietly, Odette mused, “I wonder if he was more scared than sad. He made Lucky leave us and go to him and he sniffed him, like maybe he thought something happened to him by being near us. Do you suppose he is scared of Lord Carus for some reason? Wouldn’t that be so strange?”

“People fear what they do not understand,” Voldemort told her, “They fear what they cannot comprehend as well. If he is ignorant of how my carus came to be in this world, then he might be afraid of why he was there or rather, how he was there.”

Odette gave him a confused look. “What?”

Here, Barty stepped in to educate his daughter. He’d succumbed to the allure of the puzzle and had put together a few pieces while they spoke, but he straightened now and put down the piece he’d just picked up. “Lord Prior’s skill to travel through dimensions isn’t as well known to those unenlightened, kid. They might see Lord Carus and mistake his presence to be from some other magic. There have always been rumors on how to bring back the dead and it’s possible that Lupin might reasonably assume that one of these methods turned out to be possible to Lord Prior.”

Odette blinked at him, “But anything is possible for Lord Prior. And Lord Carus isn’t a zombie or something, isn’t that obvious?”

“Of course it is,” Barty sent an amused glance in Voldemort's way. Odette’s firm belief in his power was refreshing. Children were so honest sometimes. 

“If you two excuse me, I’ll leave you to this conversation. I do believe it’s time I took my carus home to sleep,” Voldemort murmured as he turned his attention fully back to Harry. He was a bit surprised the boy had stayed asleep for so long, only to notice that his breath had gone shallower, and his eyelids flickered like he was trying to keep them shut manually. With a smile, he bent down and gathered Harry up in his arms. 

It was as easy as ever to tuck the boy’s head against his shoulder and his body in his arms, Harry hadn’t grown much since they had first met, though he’d definitely put on some weight. Voldemort was glad for that. Having Harry at a more healthy weight would be good for his future growth. 

He kept the blanket tucked around Harry as well, knowing that it wouldn’t be missed for long, and carried him out of the room to the farewells of the father and daughter pair. Voldemort chuckled a little at the social faux pas, but forgave Barty for it. He’d rather the man spend time educating his daughter and doing puzzles than walking him through his manor.

Especially when Voldemort was then able to give his attention more fully to his soulmate in his absence.

Voldemort allowed the boy the pretense of sleep as he took him to the apparation point. He adjusted his grip on him then, tightening the blanket around him and tucking him even closer, before he apparated them out of there and directly into the antechamber of their bedroom in Voldemort’s manor. He had brought it close to the Crouch townhome, though it was currently obscured by heavy clouds in the sky around it, and thus was perfectly within reach. 

Harry continued to pretend to sleep even as they landed with a bit of a thump and his fingers were twisted in the breast of Voldemort’s robes. Aloud, Voldemort mused, “My poor darling must be so tired if he could sleep through all that. I suppose I’ll just have to get him ready for bed myself.” 

He carried Harry over to the bed and lay him down on it. Harry was doing a remarkable job staying limp, but the fluttering of his lashes and his pulse gave him away. It became even more obvious when Voldemort began to work free the buttons of his clothes, slowly peeling back the layers one after another like a lovely, cloth-wrapped gift. He was free with his touch as well, sliding his fingers under the fabric of each layer before guiding it open and doing the same again and again until Harry was in nothing but his shift and pants. 

Voldemort wondered how long the boy would pretend as he teasingly tugged on the edge of his shift. Could he strip him entirely before he ‘woke’? Would Harry lay there nude and let Voldemort pet and tease him, all while still ‘asleep’? 

It was a tempting game to play and one that Voldemort found himself willing to indulge. He smiled to himself as he spread one hand up underneath Harry’s shift as he had done so many times before when the boy was actually asleep. Sliding his fingers along the soft skin of his sides, the narrow cage of his ribs and then to their goal of the boy’s nipples, Voldemort watched his face intently, ready for the moment he ‘woke’. 

As he pinched one nipple, tweaking it slightly, gently, he watched as Harry squirmed a little on the bed, legs shifting, a blush rising on his pale skin. Voldemort stroked his thumb over the boy’s nipple a few times before moving to the other one. When they were both hard little nubs and sensitive, he pulled his hand out and rubbed them with the silk cloth between his hand and the tender flesh. Harry squirmed more at this, his chin lifting, his breath catching. 

And yet he kept his eyes closed. 

Voldemort bent over. He pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead, then one to his cheek, then one to his lips. “Sweet boy,” he murmured against his skin, trailing kisses down his throat. He pinched one nipple through the shift he wore, drawing a sharp breath out of him as he pulled, as he tweaked the nub. “My darling little love. Sleeping so soundly despite my touch. He must have been so worn out today,” he whispered teasingly.

With a flick of his wrist, he vanished Harry’s shift entirely. Harry gasped again, eyes now stubbornly squeezed shut, body stiff with the sudden exposure. Voldemort continued his kissing trail to the base of Harry’s throat, his collarbones, then to his chest. As he teased one nipple with his fingers, he bit around the other, laving his tongue over the nub as he dug in his teeth. Harry let out a cry that was abruptly muffled and Voldemort looked up, curious. 

Still the boy kept his eyes shut. Still he played this little game. 

Voldemort was pleased.

He shifted on the bed so it was easier for him to kiss down and down and down: relishing the way Harry’s ribs rose in stuttered breaths as he trailed his lips along their ridges, delighting in the softness of his belly beneath his lips, mouthing at the fine line of hair that had started to grow in on the boy’s abdomen. Voldemort felt himself filled with sweet honey as he worshiped the young body beneath him. 

His longing for his soulmate had been a burden he had carried with him for decades. When the mark had finally, finally taken on its proper shape, he had been filled with anticipation—only to have it dashed to pieces to discover his soulmate had already forsaken him. How it had burned him to know that his soulmate lay with another—how he had hated it but had been willing to entertain the thought that it was permissible, so long as his soulmate abandoned all others for him.

How he had raged when his soulmate chose death over him, chose to break the heart that Voldemort had kept in trust for him, chose to bleed out and die rather than reveal who he was—

Now, Voldemort mouthed kisses along the soft cotton of the boy’s pants, breathing in the scent of him—barely developed, barely present—and enjoying the way he trembled and shivered and whimpered despite himself. He spread his hands over the boy’s thighs, as slender as the rest of him, and placed kisses along the inside of them. He felt the dancing pulse beneath his lips and smiled against his soft skin. 

Slowly, Voldemort lifted his head from his worship. He slid his hands up to the boy’s hips, reverent in his touch. “My beloved little soulmate,” Voldemort breathed out, “How perfect you are for me."  [How precious you are to me…]  

He dropped into Parseltongue mostly out of curiosity, but also for the ease of the language that had always come so naturally to him. The reaction was somewhat underwhelming, just a breath, a gasp, a twitch of fingers as Harry curled them into the bedding beneath him. Still, Voldemort continued on, using his words as a minor distraction as he eased his fingers beneath the waistband of the boy’s pants and began to slide them down. 

[I have yearned for my soul’s mate since I was but a child myself,] Voldemort murmured, watching Harry’s face intently, [I waited and waited and yet was fiercely spurned by the one I thought was my chosen. The grief was terrible. Forsaken by the one who should love me above all others? How could I continue on?] He leaned closer, eyes burning as he stared down at Harry’s bare body, hungry down to his core. [But I would suffer all that grief and all that pain a second time if it meant that you were the one I had. No one else is as perfect for me than you, my beloved.]  

Harry’s eyes were only open a sliver as he stared down at Voldemort, his face flushed pink, his breath quick and sharp, his little cock standing erect and just begging for a touch. His mouth dropped open in a gasp as Voldemort vanished away his pants and then groped the inside of his thighs with both hands, squeezing his soft, warm flesh, spreading the boy’s legs with ease. 

Finally, finally it was too much for him to lay through, silently, feigning sleep. Harry’s eyes opened wide, pupils enormous, the green shine of them as rich as emeralds. “Thomas!” He gasped out. 

Voldemort swarmed up his body in an instant. Magic coiled beneath his skin, responding to his fervor, to his burning desires. How he wanted to plunder his soulmate. How he wanted so desperately to complete their bond. How he wanted at last, at long, long last, to have his eternal, immortal soul! 

Cradling Harry’s face in his hands, Voldemort kissed him soundly. He pressed everything into the kiss, his want and need, his burning desire, his fear and grief, his joy and lust. Harry came alive beneath him, twitching, writhing, one leg hooking around his waist, fingers clawing at Voldemort’s shoulders or digging into his hair, hips and back all arching up as he wriggled, instinctively searching for the friction that would bring him relief. 

As fine as his robes were, Voldemort wasn’t about to make Harry work himself off against them. He reluctantly pulled one hand away from Harry, flicked his wrist to summon lubricant, and then slid it between them. Harry was still small yet, and closer to hairless than not, but he reacted to Voldemort’s touch as if he’d felt nothing better in his short life, arching his back and crying out as Voldemort began to work his little cock between slick fingers. 

Of course, this was exactly what Voldemort had hoped for, had longed for, had desired in his mate. Someone who knew only him, someone who loved only him, someone who would, as the stories he’d read as a child had always gone, cleave unto him and only him in holy, eternal bonding. 

Voldemort broke the kiss gasping for breath and buried his face in the boy’s neck, kissing his pulsepoint, listening to him panting, whining, struggling to speak around all the noise he was making. He enveloped the boy’s genitals in one hand, heel pressed against his cock, fingers curled around the sack that hadn’t dropped yet, and Harry screamed his pleasure. 

[Mine,] Voldemort hissed against his throat. [My mate. My beloved. Mine.] 

How he wanted him— That final bonding, that final ritual— Decades in the making—

Immortality was at his fingertips and yet. 

Voldemort lifted his mouth from the purpling mark he barely remembered making. His gaze settled on the scar on Harry’s forehead, barely visible, but there. Harry himself was fully lax, his breathing hitched, his half-lidded eyes glistening and his face flushed with the rush of pleasure. 

Voldemort would not trade him for anything, but he loathed that little sliver of another Voldemort in his brow. If he could bite it and suck the poison out like from a crude myth, he would have. 

If not for that little sliver, he could be immortal now. At this moment he could have everything. 

“Thomas?” Harry slurred the name, head turning slightly. “S’wrong?”

Voldemort closed his eyes and pressed soft kisses to Harry’s cheek and jaw, “Nothing is wrong, darling.” He took deep breaths to calm himself down.

Harry’s hand gingerly petted his hair. Voldemort found himself oddly touched by the gesture of comfort. He gave in to it, laying more heavily on Harry as his hair was stroked. The movement reminded him of how achingly hard he was within his own trousers still—for all Harry’s desperate clawing he hadn’t removed a lick of Voldemort’s clothes—and thought of what to do about it.

Shifting his hips slightly, he reached down with the lube-tacky fingers and pulled open his clothes enough to expose himself. Harry sucked in a sharp breath when he did, as Voldemort’s cock landed heavily against his thigh. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked, “What’s—What are you gonna do?” 

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully. He had his head at Harry’s neck again, enjoying the warmth there, the way he could smell him and feel his heart racing. He refreshed the lubrication charm on his hand and began to stroke himself lazily. 

“Thomas?” 

Voldemort increased the pace. “You remember how good it felt when I touched you?” A nod. “How it built and built and built until you felt like you were going to explode and then you did?” Another nod. 

With a grunt, Voldemort squeezed his cock and dragged his hand up. His hips followed the motion, pushing up against Harry. It was tempting to simply rut against him, but no. Not tonight. 

“Are you— Does it—” Harry stumbled over the words, “Can I— Should I help?”

Voldemort kissed his lovely little soulmate’s throat. “Oh darling, how sweet you are to me.” He grunted again, working his hand harder, [Just hold me close, love,] Voldemort slipped into Parseltongue thrusting into his own fist, [Be here with me. Tell me you love me. Please.] 

Those last words slipped out involuntarily, surprising Voldemort in their sincerity. 

Harry, of course, took the request to heart. He held onto Voldemort, pulling him even closer than before, fingers petting his hair as he mumbled soft endearments. “Love you so much, you’re so wonderful. Love you, love you, I love you.” 

Voldemort worked himself to completion with a gasp, spilling himself across Harry’s groin and thighs. It made the boy’s words stutter for a moment, clearly caught off guard by it. With a long sigh, Voldemort relaxed against and slightly on top of Harry. He idly petted Harry’s side in return to soothe him.

He smiled as he felt Harry press a kiss to the top of his head and curled closer to him. They’d get up and clean themselves off later, Voldemort decided. For now, he wouldn’t say no to a nap in his soulmate’s arms.

Chapter Text

Harry was barely awake as he followed Thomas out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He yawned so wide his jaw cracked. Rubbing one eye with his hand, he asked, “Thomas? What’re we doin’?”

“I apologize for rousing you so early, darling,” Thomas murmured as he started the tub filling with water. The next breath Harry took made him blink awake more—it smelled like the ocean. “But this morning’s sermon is a particularly important one, as it’s the first since my return from your dimension, and I want to make sure everything is perfect.”

“So we gotta take a bath right now?” Harry wondered, “But we haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

“The timing is important,” Thomas instructed as he shed his night clothes and discarded them in a nearby hamper. Harry was immediately distracted from his complaints by Thomas’s nude body. The man never seemed to be ashamed of it or hesitant to be naked around Harry. 

For good reason, Harry thought to himself as he stared. Thomas was unbelievably handsome. How he looked so good all the time was a mystery to Harry. He would have said it was magic, but he never saw Thomas casting any spells on himself that made him look nicer. 

“—which is why it must be now instead of later,” Thomas said as he half turned to Harry. He caught Harry’s eye and his expression morphed into a smug little smile, “Do you understand why now, love?”

“I uh—” Harry felt his whole face heat up, “I wasn’t listening. I’m sorry. I was—distracted—”

Thomas gave a soft laugh. Harry wanted to throw himself back into bed and hide under the covers in mortification. To be caught staring at Thomas so hard he missed what he was saying!? How rude could he be?

“Come in and join me, darling,” Thomas murmured, “And let me explain it again.”

Harry nodded and silently shucked off his nightshirt. He hesitated just a little with his pants—Thomas was staring at him now—but Thomas hadn’t been nervous about getting naked and he’d seen all of Harry. He just needed to get over himself!

So he stripped down and climbed in. “So what’s so special about this bath?”

“It’s part of a purification ritual,” Thomas said. He reached for a container and opened it. The salty scent of the ocean became even stronger. “Instead of washing ourselves with soap, we’ll wash our skin with this salt paste. It’s been collected and purified through a series of smaller rituals to reach the state it is now.” He scooped out some and rubbed it between his fingers. 

The salt mixture was as white as snow and looked crumbly. Harry scooted closer and curiously reached in for some. It felt like a mixture between sand and powdered sugar; some sort of soft, flaky substance that was neither powder nor entirely made of grains. Harry rubbed it between his fingers. “So we use it like soap and scrub ourselves. What does it do?”

“It removes surface toxins and cleanses our magic from outside influences that will cling to it as we interact with things in our day-to-day lives. We might use something like this to help purify your scar, depending on how deeply rooted the soul sliver is. As for now, we’ll apply some to the scar and see if that helps.” Thomas told him. He got out more of the salt and began to scrub his arms. 

“What if it gets in my eyes?” Harry asked dubiously, “It’ll hurt, right?”

“It would, but I can help prevent that if you like.”

Harry nodded, “Yes please!” 

Thomas passed his empty hand over Harry’s face. He felt a strange tingling in the corners of his eyes and blinked a few times. Blinking suddenly felt…strange. Like it was longer. Like his eyes were doing it twice. 

“What did you do?”

“I gave you a nictitating membrane,” Thomas explained, “It’s like a secondary eyelid that will help protect your eye from liquid getting into it. It takes some getting used to, but for now your body will automatically use it when necessary.”

Harry gaped at him. “What? I just— I have a second eyelid now? For forever?”

Thomas smiled, “It’s only there forever if you want it to be.”

“Do you have a second eyelid?” 

In response, Thomas smiled even more as cloudy eyelids closed over his eyes. “I don’t use it often,” he said, “But it can be useful in certain circumstances.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. Oh. Wait. No, he totally did. “Wicked,” he breathed out, “Did you always have one of those or did you get it with magic?”

“Magic, darling,” Thomas said. “Of course. Are you really surprised? Haven’t I told you already that—”

Harry grinned, “With magic, and enough will,  you can do anything. Yeah. I know, but still! I didn’t expect that.”

Thomas’s second eyelid lifted and he rolled his eyes at Harry with a charming smile. Harry found himself laughing, feeling happy despite the embarrassed blush that made his cheeks warm. 

“Don’t forget to scrub yourself with the salt, darling,” Thomas told him, “Unless you want my help with that, too.”

Heat filled Harry’s belly with that suggestion. He squirmed a little in place and asked, “Would you?”

“I would,” Thomas murmured in that soft, warm voice of his that made Harry’s heart flip-flop. “All you have to do is ask me, love.”

Harry bit his bottom lip and glanced away. He really did like it when Thomas touched him. He was always so gentle and loving, it always felt so good even if it was a little strange or odd at first. He felt closer to Thomas than he ever had with anyone before. They were bathing together and sleeping together and kissing all the time—It was like they were truly in love with each other. It was a dream come true for Harry.

Looking up through his lashes at Thomas, Harry asked in a small voice, “Please, Thomas, would you help me scrub with the salt? I just- I want it to be done perfectly and you do everything right and—Please?”

“Oh darling,” Thomas practically purred, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you if you but asked it of me.” 

He gestured for Harry to come closer and to turn around to put his back to him. Harry did so eagerly, face hot and heart pounding. It always was so intense when Thomas touched him—especially his soulmate mark! Even now he shivered as the salt scrub was rubbed into his skin, from his neck and shoulders all the way down his back. 

Thomas’s long fingers curled around his ribs. His palms pressed against the flat of Harry’s back. He rubbed the salt in along Harry’s spine, over the sharp edge of his shoulder blades, over the soft skin of his sides and hips. Then his wonderful hands slid around to Harry’s front. The salty paste made the very air taste like the ocean and if Harry closed his eyes he could practically hear the waves crashing on the beach. 

He giggled a little when Thomas rubbed his belly with salt, a little ticklish there, but then his breath caught as his hands moved lower and lower. 

“Thomas—” Harry gasped, reaching for the man’s arm under the water as it slid between his legs. He gripped his wrist just as Thomas began to rub the salt paste on his penis and balls. The sensation made sparks jump up Harry’s spine and he jerked, surprised at the contact. It felt so different than just being washed there or when Thomas had touched him before. 

Harry’s back arched as Thomas continued to rub the paste into his skin, his touch firm, confident, unfaltering as he circled his fingers around Harry’s prick and began to stroke it up and down. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” Harry exclaimed as that weird, hot pressure he’d felt before built up so fast inside of him that he felt his head spinning. “Thomas!” 

“Do you feel that, love?” Thomas breathed into his ear, “Do you feel the magic?”

Harry felt like his belly was on fire, like his blood was pounding through his ears. His body moved on its own, hips thrusting up, driving his cock into Thomas’s fist over and over. He was burning up—he was going to burst into flames at any moment!

He was vaguely aware of Thomas’s other hand on his legs, pulling him closer, holding them open. He could feel Thomas’s chest behind him, firm and cool to the touch against his superheated skin. Harry arched his back as a jolt of pleasure snapped through his body as Thomas did something with his fingers on Harry’s prick that felt so good. 

All at once the pleasure seemed to crescendo, peaking so hard and so hot that Harry thought his skull was about to split open because of it.

Harry’s vision went white for a split second before it turned to a burning, fiery red. He felt surrounded by red—it almost felt like he was staring into the flames of the Gryffindor common room fireplace, surrounded by the plush red and gold of his House—but the feeling of the red was thicker, darker, bloodier. 

He was so hungry.

Then Harry blinked his eyes again and again, vision clearing, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling with Thomas’s jaw in his view. His body was utterly lax, like he was completely boneless, and Thomas was scrubbing the salt into his legs and feet as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t until Thomas was working the salt between Harry’s toes that he managed to get his mouth to form any actual words. 

“Wha’ ‘appen’d?” Harry slurred. He found the strength to move his arm, patting Thomas’s shoulder to try and get his attention before the limb slid out of his control and back into the water. “‘omas?”

“How do you feel?” Thomas asked. He let go of Harry’s feet, gently stretching his legs back out and adjusting how Harry lay draped across his chest. 

“Like jello,” Harry mumbled. It was such a strange feeling. He didn’t feel tired or anything. He just couldn’t get his muscles to cooperate with him. “Was that s’pposed to happen?”

“Not quite to that extreme, but yes,” Thomas said, “Perhaps it has something to do with the intensity of your magical aura and the type of magic that comes so naturally to you. I do think that this was the first time you’ve ever been purified like that. Your magic was uniquely responsive.”

“Oh,” Harry blinked. He frowned a little. “I don’t get it? Why would my magic—Why would it make that feel so good?” 

“Well, I suspect that the soul sliver attached to your curse scar has had a somewhat tainting effect on your magic. This purification is supposed to divest your natural magic of the influence of others—internal or external. When I touched you like that, it was to help your body absorb the purification and to expel internal toxins.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at this. He managed to turn a little from where he leaned against Thomas’s side and frown up at him, confused, “But it didn’t feel like that before when you touched me there. It was…it was different.”

“Different how?”

Harry squirmed a little, uneasy with talking about something so, so strange. It was almost perverse, wasn’t it? Touching people’s privates, touching your own privates, wasn’t that supposed to be bad? 

Kissing was one thing, but all this? For all that it made Harry feel good, he was also nervous about it. 

“Darling,” Thomas cupped his cheek with one hand. It was clean of the salt paste, but the residue had left him smelling like the sea. Harry leaned into his touch with a sigh. Thomas smelled so good… “Harry.” 

Harry blinked and looked up into Thomas’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“How did it feel different when I touched you just now as compared to before?”

Harry felt his whole face turn red as he thought about it. The heat and the mindless pleasure of it, how it had seared through his flesh like he was on fire, how it felt so good he thought he might explode, only for him to burst in the most amazing way. 

“It was hotter,” he mumbled. He had a brief thought to look away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Thomas’s dark eyes were so pretty and he looked so honestly curious and a little worried. Harry didn’t want him to worry about him, not over something that was ultimately very nice. “I felt like I was on fire all of a sudden instead of, um, slower. It was slower yesterday…” He bit his bottom lip. 

Merlin, but just thinking about it made Harry feel all funny inside. Especially sitting in Thomas’s lap like this, naked and straddling his thighs. Harry’s prick throbbed with the thought of being so close to Thomas’s own member—he remembered how big it was, how hot it had felt against his skin—would Thomas want him to touch it, the way Thomas had touched him?

Harry was momentarily distracted from his thoughts when Thomas brushed his thumb over his lips. He automatically licked them and shivered at the taste of sea salt that was left behind. 

“Did it scare you to feel so hot?” Thomas asked.

Harry shrugged, then blushed and mumbled, “A little? It was—It was so fast. I wasn’t sure it was supposed to feel like that. Was it? You said my magic was uniquely responsive. Does it not feel like that for everyone?”

“Some have somewhat adverse reactions to purification of this nature,” Thomas said, “They’re more reliant on ambient magic, or their cores are more isolated, or their cores should be purified in another way. I use this kind because it removes the immediate contamination of other magic quickly and efficiently which is what I require in this case, but my core reacts more with another type of purification.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, “I think I get it? Like, there are different types of cores so there are different ways of getting purified, kind of like there’s different ways of, say, cooking eggs. You can boil them and scramble them and fry them and poach them and even stick them in salt to cure them! I once read a book about it.” 

The book he’d read was a recipe book that Petunia had forced him to read in order to punish him for messing up poached eggs, again, but the joke was on her. He’d liked learning about different ways to prepare food! 

“Exactly,” Thomas said, “Now, would you like to help me with the salt paste, darling, or do you want to hop out and rinse off in the shower?”

All thoughts of eggs and cooking and everything else went right out the window as Thomas said that. Suddenly Harry’s thoughts were right back in the gutter again and he wondered if he’d have to— get to— touch Thomas’s prick just like Thomas had done for him. 

Shyly, Harry whispered, “Can I help you?”

Thomas smiled at him so warmly that a little dimple appeared on his cheek. “I’d love it if you would, darling.” He flicked a finger and the container of paste floated in the air next to Harry. “Now remember, start from my neck and work your way down, if I need to move so you can better reach my back, just let me know, okay?”

“O-okay,” Harry mumbled. His hands trembled a little as he scooped out the salt paste, but his confidence grew as he got to work and Thomas leaned his head back and let him do it. 

It was just wonderful touching Thomas. 

In all his life, Harry had never been as close to anyone as he was to Thomas. From the very first moment he met him, from that first touch of his soulmate on his chest, things had been different. Harry hadn’t balked at being held by him, at sharing a bed with him, even really at changing in front of him, though he’d always been quick and nervous about it. 

The more time they spent together, the more that Thomas touched him and the more that Harry wanted to be touched. He liked it when Thomas held his hand. He loved it when Thomas hugged him. He craved being kissed. He wanted to be picked up and carried in Thomas’s arms everywhere he went. 

Harry had thought he might always flinch away from someone moving quickly around him, afraid they might hit him like his aunt or uncle would have. He had thought he’d never get hugs and kisses, the way his friends did from their families. He had thought he’d never be loved for himself, not for being the Boy Who Lived. 

And then Thomas had swept into his life, handsome and amazing, bringing him food and presents and all his love, all for Harry, his soulmate, not for the hero everyone thought he was, not for the boy who had lived and not died with his parents, not for Harry Potter the celebrity. It was so overwhelming. From beginning to end. Every morning and night Harry wanted to pinch himself to remind himself he wasn’t dreaming. Thomas was real. Thomas was here. 

Thomas was right before him now, naked and relaxed, trusting Harry to help purify him in preparation for a special sermon. Thomas was breathing slowly, evenly, his broad chest rising in front of Harry’s very eyes, under his hands, as he rubbed the salt into his skin. Harry started with his soulmate mark and then moved out around it. There was some hair on Thomas’s chest, but not too much that it felt strange to add salt to. 

Harry brushed his fingers across Thomas’s nipples and felt his face heat up, remembering how Thomas had bit and licked and touched his own. He squirmed a little and tried not to think about that as he rubbed the purifying salt in and around them. They hardened when he touched them and, if he hadn’t just covered them in salt, Harry would have been hard-pressed to resist licking them, to see what that was all about. It must have been pleasant, or at least tasted sort of good or something for Thomas to have done it to him, right?

Unlike Harry, Thomas’s ribs didn’t stick out, but he could still feel them as he worked his hands down his chest and sides. The water went up to Thomas’s belly button, where a trail of dark hair started up and then went down, down, down to between his legs.

Harry bit his bottom lip as he scooted backward. Maybe he should do Thomas’s back first? Before he did—down there?

Harry looked down again and saw Thomas’s prick bobbing in the water and decided, yes, that sounded like a good idea. “Will you turn around so I can do your back?” Harry asked as he slid off of Thomas’s legs.

“Alright,” Thomas murmured. He drew his legs up and turned, giving Harry his back. “Don’t worry about my hair,” he said, “Just start at the base of my neck.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He got another handful of salt and went to work. Thomas’s back was even firmer than his front. The muscles were slightly more defined on his shoulders, which shifted slightly under his touch as Thomas settled his arms in his lap. Harry found a beauty mark under one shoulder blade and, to his surprise, some strange letters on his back along his spine and a little farther down that he didn’t recognize. He traced his fingers over them and asked, “What are these?”

“Those marks by the spine are part of a ritual that I did many years ago,” Thomas said, “That part of the spine is said to be the highest point of the backbone, where the crux of one’s structure is formed. I wanted to…change something about myself and so I had to tie it to that part of me.”

Harry traced his fingertip over the marks there. They were dark red, like permanent scabs, and must have been runes, though he didn’t recognize the shape of them. It was a rather long string of them too. 

The other mark was a scar, nearly white against Thomas’s pale skin. Harry touched the area next to it and asked, “And what’s this from?”

“That’s from an injury I took many years ago during an assassination attempt. It was early in my years as a preacher and I was struck through in several places, though that was the worst spot.” Thomas paused for a second and then added, “They thought they had killed me, but I pulled the spikes from my flesh and proved them wrong.” 

“Spike?” Harry breathed out in shock. “What?” He looked down at the mark again and then across Thomas’s back, searching for any more. “Did they get you anywhere else?”

Turning to face him, Thomas held out his hands. Harry squinted at them and, when Thomas pointed out the faint pale marks on his palms, the backs of his hands as well as on his inner and outer wrist, he gasped. “It went through?” 

“It did,” Thomas said, “It was intentional. They wanted me to be strung up like Christ, since they were convinced I was bringing back a muggle religion and not true faith to them.”

“Then—” Harry frowned, he only sort of knew the story about Jesus Christ. The Dursleys hadn’t been big on church and Petunia hadn’t wanted to take him somewhere like that since it meant he would have had to dress up nicely. “Where else?”

“My ankles,” Thomas said, “My elbows. And here.” He took one of Harry’s hands and brought it down into the water. He pressed Harry’s palm to his groin, close to his hip joint. Harry blushed at how close he was to Thomas’s privates, but then he felt the faint scar there and his breath caught. “That one was the one that went up through my body and out my back,” Thomas murmured, “I think they were aiming for my side, as Christ had been speared, but didn’t know exactly what they were doing.”

“Oh,” Harry tried to imagine it, but couldn’t—or rather, he didn’t dare to. He didn’t want to think of Thomas hurting like that, after all— “Didn’t that kill him? I mean, didn’t Jesus die that way?”

“He did,” Thomas said. His eyes were so dark. Harry stared up into his face, unable to look away, unwilling to move back. His hand was still held in place, held against Thomas’s abdomen by the man’s firm touch. “And they tried to kill me the same way.”

“But— How did— You didn’t die?” 

“That’s right,” Thomas said. 

“But how?” 

Staring into his dark eyes, Harry saw Thomas consider telling him a lie, or a story, or a half-truth. He saw the way the man’s eyes slid off of him for a moment, then two, and then moved back to him, considering, deciding. 

Please tell me the truth, Harry wanted to say, but couldn’t manage to get the words out, please, please don’t lie to me. I couldn’t stand it if you started to lie to me.

Thomas let out a heavy sigh. He gave Harry a smile and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. When he drew back, he pressed his forehead against Harry’s and whispered into the space between their mouths, “Darling, trust me when I tell you that it is a secret I must keep to myself for now. You are vulnerable and while I can let you know some of my secrets without much concern, there are some that I dare not even speak aloud yet.” 

“You won’t tell me?” Harry whispered back in a small voice.

“I will, but not until we are bonded,” Thomas said. He leaned back and looked at Harry as seriously as he ever had, “I want to tell you the truth, not some sugar-coated pleasantry. Will you wait until it’s safe for me to tell you?”

Harry wanted to pout and argue with him, but he could feel how serious it was as well as see it in Thomas’s expression. So he sighed and nodded and pouted only a little bit as he said, “I’ll wait. But only if you promise you’ll tell me everything about it later.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Thomas said, “I’ll show you the memory of it so you can see for yourself.”

Harry perked up at that. “You can do that? You can share memories?”

With a smile, Thomas said, “Of course. There’s a magical artifact known as a pensive that allows for you to take memories that have been extracted and view them. I’ll show you how it works either tonight or tomorrow, depending on when we have time.”

“Awesome,” Harry said, “I can’t wait!” 

Chuckling, Thomas said, “As for now, let’s finish this and rinse ourselves off. I’m getting quite peckish, darling. Would you like me to help you?”

“Oh, um, if you want to!” Harry felt his ears turn red as he hurried to finish. “I guess I kind of need it.” Thomas did have very long legs, after all, and Harry had to go all the way down and up them to get them clean!

“If you don’t mind, then I will,” Thomas said as he got some of the salt paste. Harry took another handful as well and started to work on Thomas’s thighs, only to glance up when he saw that Thomas was stroking his prick. 

Harry’s hands froze in place as he stared. He’d felt Thomas doing that last night, and felt it being done to himself earlier, but it was so different than seeing it happen. For one thing, Thomas was much bigger than he was and his prick looked…heavy. Thick. And dark. When it got hard, it was very obvious, much more so than Harry’s own prick. 

A part of him really wanted to move closer, to see what they looked like next to each other. Would his penis grow and change to look more like Thomas’s when he got older? Would it be thick and tall like that? Would he get as much hair?

Another part of him wanted to be the one touching Thomas, wanted to be the reason Thomas was shifting his legs open a little more, wanted to be the reason why Thomas leaned his head back and gave a moan of pleasure. 

Harry squirmed in place and forced himself to stop staring. He needed to finish Thomas’s legs and feet. He had to. Before he could do anything else, he had to. 

And maybe, he thought with a burning curiosity, if he was fast enough, he could help Thomas in turn.

So Harry put his mind to applying the salt scrub, working it down Thomas’s thighs to his calves—and oh his legs were very firm and kind of hairy and wonderful in their own way! He got to Thomas’s feet and rubbed the salt into them, blushing a little at how strangely intimate this was. Wasn’t this something that only couples did? He remembered hearing about it from the telly, sitcoms that he could never see but would hear Petunia watching.

When he was finally done, he looked up and froze. 

Thomas was still stroking himself, his hand working faster over his prick now, and his eyes were fixed on Harry, staring at him almost unblinkingly. 

And they were blood red. 

Harry swallowed dryly as the tiniest thread of fear slithered up his spine. 

He told himself it was silly to be afraid. Thomas loved him. If Thomas looked like he wanted to eat him, then he probably did, but not in a bad way. 

That thought made Harry feel hot all over, inside and out. His skin felt tingly, almost like his fingers were going numb, and he felt like his magic was glowing again, or maybe that it was pooling out of his body like it had before. He couldn’t see it like that, but it felt like that. 

[Come here,] Thomas hissed. Harry jolted at the sound, breath catching. 

He crawled up towards him, unable to resist the summons. Soon he was settled on Thomas’s thighs again, his legs spread wide over them, their bodies so close that he could feel the heat of him, smell the salt that he’d rubbed into his skin so clearly. “Thomas?”

Thomas curled one of his large hands around Harry’s jaw, fingers sliding back over his skin, into his hair, pulling him close so that they could kiss. Harry fell into the kiss, looping one arm around Thomas’s neck, giving back as good as he got. They’d been kissing a lot lately; he thought he’d gotten much better at it than when he’d first started.

Harry shuddered when he felt Thomas’s other hand slide around his prick, rubbing it, pressing it up against something hard and hot and— oh. That had to be Thomas’s own cock, the one he’d been stroking so much. Harry moaned into the kiss at the burning, aching feeling that it ignited in his belly. He thrust forward, grinding his prick against Thomas’s, eagerly chasing that wonderful slick friction.

Thomas kept touching them both with his hand and Harry clumsily reached down to help. He mimicked Thomas’s grip, stroking and squeezing, reaching down the length of it and going up and down like Thomas had done to him. It was incredible and strange. It felt like he was building up a hot bundle of wires in his belly. His muscles began to clench and twitch; his hips moved all on their own.

[Oh little soulmate,] Thomas panted against his mouth between one kiss and the next. [You drive me utterly rabid with desire. Would that I could carve out a place in my chest to keep you close forever.]

Harry moaned in response. He wished that Thomas could do that—He wanted to be with him always, at his side, on his lap, in his arms. He never felt so safe and loved before in his life. He never wanted to go without that feeling ever again. Eagerly, he kissed Thomas again, trying to push all that feeling into the kiss.

The blinding edge came abruptly. Worked up between Thomas’s hands and kisses and prick, Harry felt himself arching his back and groaning loudly—though the sound was all but swallowed by Thomas’s kissing him—and that blinding white light of pleasure struck him.

He distantly heard Thomas give a hoarse cry in response, distantly felt large hands on his hips, pulling him closer, distantly felt a pulse of magic from Thomas—comforting and exhilarating all at once.

When the moment finally passed, Harry was sprawled once more across Thomas’s chest. This time, Thomas was just as equally sprawled on the end of the tub, both of them sunk farther into the water. 

“We need to rinse off,” Thomas murmured, eyes closed. 

“I’m hungry too,” Harry mumbled, “Can we have omelets for breakfast?”

“Mhm,” Thomas said, “Sure. Whatever you like, darling, that’s what we’ll do.”

Harry smiled against Thomas’s shoulder. He didn’t care about anything else at that moment—this, right here, was the best feeling in the world. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered, because he was overwhelmed with it, because he knew Thomas liked to hear him talk, because he knew Thomas liked to hear him say those particular words.

“Oh, darling,” Thomas whispered back with his voice so full of affection it made Harry’s heart burst with happiness, “I love you too.”

After breakfast was had—omelets with toast and some cuts of fresh fruit—Thomas and Harry went back to their bedroom to change out of the fluffy bath robes they wore and into daily wear. 

With today being a Sermon day, Harry wasn’t at all surprised to see that Thomas had picked out nicer clothes for them to wear. He liked the nicer robes, they were soft and comfortable and fit him so well. He especially liked it when he and Thomas matched, like they did today. 

Much like their robes when they met Thomas’s circle of friends, they wore a lot of red and gold, though these ones were almost burgundy red. They were less like the roman clothing and more like classic suits—Harry even had a dark gray vest to wear under his open robes and a little folded piece of cloth for his pocket! 

While he felt like he was playing dress up in the suit and fine robes, when he saw Thomas standing at the vanity while wearing his own charcoal gray vest over the dark red shirt, Harry couldn’t help but stare. Thomas was utterly handsome, standing before the mirror and picking out jewelry to wear. He put in a few earrings, including one that had a longer chain with a black pearl hanging from it. 

He had cufflinks and a few rings and then finally his medallion, though it seemed like a slightly different one today—there were gemstones embedded in the gold disc instead of just plain gold like what he usually wore.

“Come here, love,” Thomas gestured him closer and Harry managed to keep from stumbling over. “I want you to wear something for me.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Thomas. Oh, he was so, so lucky to have Thomas be his soulmate. Harry didn’t know how he’d cope if it wasn’t the case! He’d be so embarrassed just to be around him! “Whatever you want.”

Thomas flashed him a quick little smile and then held out a ring to Harry. “Put this on your index finger, right hand.”

Harry did so, looking over the strange ring while he did so. It was smooth and cool to the touch, made of some gray stone, not metal. He ran his thumb over it and felt something was carved in its surface. More runes? He wasn’t sure.

“I really need to study runes,” Harry muttered, “I keep finding them everywhere and I don’t know what they mean.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Thomas told him. He’d turned back to the mirror and was styling his already perfect hair. Harry watched on with admiration at how his hair obeyed him so easily when Harry’s had a life of its own. “You’ll have plenty of time while at Hogwarts.”

Harry sighed. “I have to take my placement tests next week,” he muttered. He didn’t want to take tests generally, but he definitely didn’t want to take these ones. He felt like he hadn’t studied at all for them! “What if I fail? What if I have to redo my whole first year?”

“Then that is what you must do,” Thomas told him. “There is no shame in having a poor education before you got here. From all accounts, your old Hogwarts was very lacking.” He straightened up, examined himself in the mirror one more time and then turned to Harry and smiled.

Dazedly, Harry stared up at him. Thomas was so handsome.

“Why thank you, darling,” Thomas said, eyes crinkling with his smile. Harry’s face flamed as he realized he’d said that out loud. 

Thomas bent down and kissed him very lightly on the lips, just enough of a touch to make Harry’s heart swell with love. Then Thomas was away again, pulling on his outer robes and smoothing down their layers. “It’s time to go,” he said with his hand outstretched to Harry.

Harry took it and smiled to himself as they left their room. They were in the floating manor today which meant they had a short walk down the stairs and out to the courtyard to apparate from. Before they did so, however, Thomas stopped by a trellis that was covered with a blooming ivy Harry couldn’t recognize. 

The ivy’s leaves were small, almost dainty, though they kept their distinct ivy shape. They were a deep green, the largest leaves looking almost black, and the flowers that bloomed as seven sided stars were a pale yellow color. Thomas took a cutting as long as his forearm, and twisted the ends together to form a circle. 

“More flower crowns?” Harry asked as Thomas placed one gingerly on top of his hair. 

“It is customary,” Thomas said. “I’m sure there were other unique customs from your home dimension, were there not?”

“I guess so,” Harry mumbled, though he couldn’t think of any. “But they weren’t this.” He gingerly touched the flowery edge. “Why do I have to wear one and you don’t?”

“They’re a symbol of your purity,” Thomas said as he adjusted the blossoms just so. “Most children under the age of thirteen wear them.”

Harry felt his ears pinken with embarrassment. With how much he thought of Thomas’s naked body—and how much he enjoyed being touched by him, was Harry really pure?

Some of that must have showed on his face, because Thomas tucked his hand under his chin and lifted his gaze back up. “It’s a different purity that is being referenced, darling. Of course, it is expected that one keeps themselves pure for their soulmate, but that is not what I meant.

“I am speaking of your magical purity,” Thomas said, “When you turn thirteen, your magic is developed enough to attend the sacrament portion of the Sermon and to perform certain rituals. Until then, it’s customary for you to wear such flowers as these—they show your innocence. That you haven’t been brought into the pact of magic with Voldemort and you cannot Invoke his name.”

Harry nervously touched the flower crown on his head. “Will I have to do that?” he asked timidly, “Will I have to Invoke Voldemort?”

“You do not want to be able to call upon his magic?” Thomas asked. 

Harry rubbed his forehead. His scar didn’t ache, but the memory of its ache came to him then. “I don’t really want to be connected to Voldemort,” he mumbled. “He killed my parents.”

“Ah, but darling, you must remember, the Voldemort of this world would never have done such a thing to you. In fact, he would have been quite protective of you—even before you presented as my soulmate,” his hand cupped Harry’s cheek, the touch warm and familiar, and Harry felt himself relaxing somewhat into it, “Voldemort treasures those with magical blood above all others—Magic is a blessing, it is a sign of divinity. He would have cherished your parents for their magic and you as their child, especially considering the strength of your core.”

Harry found it difficult to imagine a world where Voldemort cherished him. Before Thomas, he would have had difficulty imagining a world where anyone cherished him. He hadn’t known what it was like to be cherished.

Now, however, he did. 

He wondered what it would be like to meet the Voldemort of this world. Harry had seen glimpses of his form—mostly from the various lion-headed talismans from around the Abbey but also in the mirror on his back. Since snakes were cold-blooded, but lions were warm-blooded, he wondered if Voldemort would feel warm or cool to the touch. 

Harry had always liked snakes—he’d seen a few while gardening growing up and then of course there was the one in the zoo and the ones at the pet store just the day before—maybe, if he could pretend really hard, he could imagine that this Voldemort was just a very large, very friendly snake. A magical snake that took care of magical people, like a guardian or a protector! 

This world was sometimes so topsy-turvy. He couldn’t even imagine telling Hermione and Ron of his past dimension about a Voldemort who wanted to protect him instead of kill him. 

But Thomas said it was so and Thomas never lied to him. 

Harry sighed a little and opened his eyes, looking up at Thomas. “Voldemort really would cherish me? You promise?”

Thomas cupped Harry’s face in both hands, his touch tender, loving. He bent down to kiss Harry ever so lightly on his forehead and then his lips. “I promise you, darling, that Voldemort does cherish you. While he cares for all magical children, you are special to him because you are special to me. Voldemort and I share a very close bond, after all.”

Harry blushed. He would have nodded, but his face was being held and, well, Thomas liked his voice. “Alright,” he whispered, “I believe you.” He swallowed down his fear and took up his Gryffindor courage. “I’ll do the ritual when I’m thirteen. I’ll meet Voldemort.”

Thomas smiled at him, eyes bright with pride. He gave Harry another light kiss and then pulled away, taking Harry’s hand in his own. “I had no doubt in your courage, darling,” he said, “Are you ready to depart?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Let’s go.”

Thomas pulled him closer to his side and then, with a crack of magic and a spin on his heel, he vanished them both away. 

The Cathedral wherein the Sermon was held was part of the Abbey. Harry had briefly noticed it before—it was a rather large part—but hadn’t put much thought into it at the time. When they went inside today, he immediately noticed it was far, far larger on the inside than the outside. There were dozens of rows of cushioned pews that ran the whole length of the chapel. The overhead lighting was a combination of chandeliers and large, beautiful stained glass windows that depicted various images. Harry wished he could go to each one and peer up at them to see what they were exactly, but the only one he could really get a good look at was the one behind the pulpit. 

The window there was enormous and depicted a vibrant image of the coiled snake body and lion head of Voldemort. Harry was completely caught off guard when he saw it and stumbled to a stop as he followed Thomas out from a side door and to their seats. 

“Woah,” he breathed out in shock. 

It was a beautiful window, but also kind of scary. Voldemort’s mouth was agape, presenting large fangs of a pearlescent white. The red eyes seemed to follow Harry no matter where he stood. 

Thomas had to gently urge him forward, guiding Harry to a series of comfortable, if austere chairs that were placed off to one side in a little line. The pulpit was in front of them, orientated so that whoever stood there would have their back to them, and as Harry looked around he noticed that he and Thomas were at the very front of the chapel on a raised section.

He saw the pews then, already starting to fill up with people—parents and their children, single people and couples, just a whole crowd of people all wearing fine robes and talking quietly to each other. They greeted each other with smiles and handshakes or even brief embraces. 

Harry saw that most of the children wore flower crowns like he did, some of them as simple as a band of green leaves and others out of silk flowers that didn’t wilt or fade. He also noticed that he was garnering attention. Quite a lot of attention.

Thomas stood, talking to a woman who’d been at the luncheon earlier that week—Esperanza Fiorella—who looked very nice in her sunshine yellow robes against her brown skin and with her hair done up in a pile of curls with a silk wrap around part of it. Harry inched closer and closer until he was right at Thomas’s side and was mostly hidden from view.

This got both Thomas and Esperanza’s attention as she looked down and gave him a kind smile, “Are you excited for your first Sermon, my Lord?”

Nervously, Harry said, “I’ve never been to church before. My relatives didn’t go much and never took me if they did.”

Esperanza gave him a solemn nod, “And there were no Sermons held by the wixen of your world?”

Here, Harry shrugged, “If they did, no one ever told me.” Which didn’t say much, really. He was sure there was a lot that he didn’t know just because no one thought that he should be told. 

“Considering what I have heard about the Voldemort that plagues your world, I am not surprised,” Esperanza said, “We are fortunate for Lord Prior to have taken on the burden of tying himself to Voldemort’s power for us and to act as a conduit between us and him.” Her gaze moved up to Thomas and there was a worshipful awe in them as she gaze on Thomas. Harry thought it was a little strange to see and leaned harder against Thomas’s side. 

“You flatter me, Abbess,” Thomas said with a slight smile. He rested one hand gently on Harry’s shoulder and said, “If you would allow me a moment to speak to my carus before the Sermon begins?”

Esperanza ducked her head and murmured something about speaking to the organist and then stepped away, leaving the two of them somewhat alone. They weren’t really, of course, there were a few others up behind the pulpit with them, including the organist that Esperanza was now talking to. Still, Thomas turned Harry to him and stood in such a way that he blocked out the view of everyone else.

“I can see you’re nervous about joining me on the stand,” Thomas said, “Would you prefer to sit with the congregation? I’m sure Odette wouldn’t mind sitting with you during the open session.”

Harry bit his lip. He was afraid everyone would spend the whole time staring at him during the Sermon. What if he accidentally did something stupid? What if he picked his nose or his robe rolled up or he fell asleep! He’d be so humiliated! 

“You don’t have to stay up here if it will make you uncomfortable,” Thomas said. He brushed Harry’s hair back behind his ear. “Though I promise you that once I begin speaking, no one will be paying attention to anyone else but me. Especially you.”

Harry blushed. “Could I sit with Odette this time? And next time…maybe next time sit up here with you?”

“If that’s what you want, my dear, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Suddenly, Harry was gripped with anxiety. He grabbed Thomas’s hand and squeezed, “Unless you want me to sit up here with you? Wouldn’t that be better? I’d be showing you support then, right? That’s what a good soulmate would do?”

Thomas cradled Harry’s face in his hands, soothing away that anxiety with his touch alone. “I care not for propriety with regards to what a soulmate should or should not do. The world does not dictate to me what is best for me—or for my soulmate. If you would feel more comfortable in the congregation at the side of your friend, then you may go to her. If you would rather sit up here beside me, then you may stay. I will not be offended if you choose one or the other. I want you to be happy and comfortable, my darling. That is what matters to me.”

Harry had to blink furiously to keep the tears that filled his eyes from falling. He sniffled and then pushed past Thomas’s arms in order to hug him tightly. His cheek was pressed against the gold medallion that Thomas wore and Harry thought he felt it humming with magic. 

“I’ll stay with you,” Harry mumbled. He felt a little silly—all that fuss and he stayed anyway!—but when he leaned back and saw the brilliant warmth in Thomas’s dark eyes, he knew he’d chosen the right option. 

“Good,” Thomas said. He pressed a chaste kiss to Harry’s forehead and then straightened up. “Come over here then. You’ll sit between myself and Esperanza. Let me explain how things will go so nothing will catch you by surprise, all right?”

With a light heart, Harry sat down beside Thomas on the plush chair. He was still anxious about people staring at him, but with Thomas at his side he knew he had nothing serious to worry about. They would stare and they would wonder and they would whisper about him—it was what people had always done before, when he was the Boy Who Lived and it was what they would do now that he was Lord Carus.

He could do this. He would do this. For Thomas, Harry could do anything.

Voldemort reclined in his chair as he waited for Esperanza to open the ceremony. He could feel the thrum of magic begin to build as the runes etched into the very foundation of the building started to channel magic from deep within the earth. 

She conducted the banal duties of informing the gathering of the purpose of their meeting, recounting various births, and welcoming new members who had been baptized in the week previous. As she gave an outline of the morning’s session, Voldemort reached over and laid his hand on Harry’s to still his fidgeting fingers. Harry made a soft noise of surprise and turned towards him, those guileless eyes of his looking up at Voldemort with his anxiety dancing clearly in them.

Voldemort gave him a comforting smile and brushed his thumb across the boy’s knuckles. He pressed a little magic into him as he usually did to comfort him and Harry let out a quiet sigh as he relaxed. 

As the opening prayer was given, Voldemort leaned back in his chair and settled in. He noticed Harry’s spike of nervousness when the others around them bowed their heads and clasped their hands to their chests, so he turned the boy’s hand and interlocked their fingers, giving a light squeeze. Harry blushed a little and leaned instinctively against his side. Voldemort leaned towards him in turn, taking advantage of the temporary distraction of the congregation to press a kiss to his dark hair. 

He smelled like salt and skin; his body was purified and perfect. Voldemort sighed.

If only that sliver of soul wasn’t there…

But there was nothing that he could do about it for now. He could be patient. What was a few more months in the span of eternity?

Eventually, the prayer was over and the next portion began; the organist began to play an interlude and the conductor—a young squib with a shining expression and robes embroidered with music notes and songbirds—rose to her feet and conducted the hymn. Voldemort knew them all by rote, of course, but he pulled out the offered hymnbook that was tucked beneath their seats for Harry to use. 

Adorably, Harry couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. His young voice warbled uncertainly and he sang too quietly for it to get much farther than Voldemort’s ears. Especially with Voldemort beside him, singing quite well. Of course, he doubted the boy had had any training at all, unlike himself. Voldemort tucked that thought away; he’d get the boy lessons later, once he was properly settled. 

When the hymn was over, next followed the first of the two speakers appointed by the Abbess. Voldemort listened with half an ear as they extolled the virtues of the Demiurge and told stories of their own experience of His Divine Touch. Most of his attention was on the magical threads in the room that were slowly gathering. 

As the sun rose higher in the sky outside and came to its peak, the magical currents began to grow and grow. Along with that came the whispers of thoughts—the prayers of his people. Voldemort let his eyes fall half-open as he slipped into a meditative state, lulled by the tedious cadence of the speaker and the thrumming magic around them. 

May Voldemort bless my aching back with relief. May Voldemort bless my business this week so I can afford that expansion. May Voldemort help my magic grow. May Voldemort curse Martin, that cheating bastard. May Voldemort help me find my doll. May Voldemort prove me right to Hannah. 

On and on the petty desires of the congregation rose and fell, a tidal wave of self-centered concerns and selfish desires. Voldemort heard them all and parsed out the ones that proved most interesting or simplest to achieve. Some of the magic siphoned off would be spent on these ‘prayers’, preventing it from overloading the delicate magical web that he held control of. 

He slowly became aware of Harry staring at him with a look of surprise on his face while in his trance-like state. Taking a deep breath, Voldemort shifted his attention back to his body and then looked down at him. He arched an eyebrow, a silent inquiry. 

Harry gestured for him to move closer and with a little smile, Voldemort dipped his head down and turned his ear towards him. Harry cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, “Are you making the air shine like that?”

“Shine like what?” Voldemort responded, just as softly.

Harry gestured around them with his free hand, the other still holding tightly to Voldemort’s. “You know, it’s all shiny, like when the sun hits a spider web.”

Voldemort blinked, caught off guard by Harry’s sensitivity to the magic he was weaving. “I am, actually,” he admitted. “I’m the lynchpin of the Tether, remember? The sermons are to gather magic for Voldemort and I am the one who guides and directs it.”

“Oh,” Harry seemed awed by this, his eyes moving to the air around them. “I didn’t realize that I would see it happen.”

Voldemort smiled more. Of course, it was an unusual phenomenon—and must be a result of all the magic he used to ease the boy and his own abnormally developed core—but he kept this to himself for now. He didn’t want to agitate Harry with yet another strange thing that he could do.

Instead, he murmured, “Watch closely, see if you can understand how I’m directing it,” and then he went back to his work. 

He continued this until the end of the second speaker before easing himself out of his meditation and magic manipulation. Voldemort lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of Harry’s as Esperanza took to the pulpit once more in order to conclude the tedious portion of the session. Letting go of Harry, he murmured for him to stay put and then rose to his feet.

Smoothing his robes down with one hand, Voldemort walked up to the pulpit and thanked Esperanza for her diligent work. He then took his rightful place at the stand and looked out over the congregation. Their faces were all turned up to him, even the youngest children and the eldest with their failing eyesight. Only the littlest babes were unaware, but even they quieted down from their fussing as the magic Voldemort carried was brought to bear over the whole group.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, extending out his hands to either side. He could feel the smaller flickers of personal rituals—held by those who could not commute to the cathedral or who simply chose to commune within their own properties. Still, their magic was linked to his mighty web, their ritual circles burnt into their homesteads by his magic and will. 

Feeling these threads of magic thrum, pulled tight with his attention and command, Voldemort opened his eyes. 

“My brothers and sisters,” Voldemort began, his voice resonating out along the strands of his magic. “My fellow children of magic, I welcome you all on this blessed day. I stand before you now as a witness both of the might of magic and of our connection to each other. No other magical society has ever been so prosperous or blessed as we. Even in our struggles, we are there for each other, a helping hand outstretched and with magic to aid and guide us. 

“It is good to see your faces today,” Voldemort smiled beatifically down at his people, “As I have missed you all while I was away. I’m sure many of you wondered about my absence and the cause thereof. Some of you have seen my guest behind me on the stand and perhaps have surmised the cause. To those of you fortunate to have met their soulmate and bonded with them already, I’m sure you’re quite pleased to have guessed correctly. The young man behind me is indeed my soulmate. I have seen and acknowledged his mark just as he has seen and acknowledged mine.”

There was an excited murmur that ran through the crowd and several of them craned their necks to see Harry better. Voldemort stifled a chuckle, amused by their burning curiosity. “I traveled quite far to find him, stepping through time and space itself in order to bring him to my side. As in all things, Our Lord Voldemort, He of the Eternal Flame was there to guide me. Not only that, but he blessed my soul’s mate with a mark of his own self, a burning reflection of my deepest bond to Magic and to the Tether.”

Voldemort waved one hand and with a pulse of magic that crackled across his skin like electricity, he projected the illusory image of Harry’s soulmate mark in the air. The gasp that pulled through the crowd was extremely satisfying, especially as several people clasped their hands in prayer while others motioned their hands across their chests in a symbol of blessing. Voldemort extended his power out to those distant members of the web, providing the same visual to them with the precise control he had over his magic. “This is the mark of my beloved. No truer reflection of my soul could ever be shown—As I am, in all things, the bridge between Lord Voldemort’s power and your dedication to him. 

“I can tell you all that Lord Voldemort is quite eager to meet his newest devotee, as he has been chosen from beyond our stars to be the one who will accompany in my ministry to all of you.” Voldemort smiled, letting his delight show in his eyes and crinkling them slightly as he said, “And I can also tell you that I am myself delighted to spend my years with my soul’s chosen. I have been blessed by magic and Lord Voldemort both to have a soul mate who is kind, compassionate, thoughtful, and brimming with curiosity for magic and life. He has embraced his new life in our blessed society with open arms. And as he comes to know all of you, I do hope you get to know him as the generous individual I know him to be.”

Another sweep of murmurs came through, some with laughter, and Voldemort glanced over his shoulder to see Harry was red up to the roots of his hair and had his hands half covering his face and a large, goofy smile on his face. He looked perfectly adorable and endearing, which is exactly what Voldemort wished. He extended his hand out to Harry, beckoning to him.

Harry shook his head at first, but then gathered his courage up and came forward to stand beside Voldemort. Voldemort subtly raised some steps out of the wood—hidden from view of the congregation by the low wall that separated the dias from the pews below—so that Harry could stand a little taller at his side and be seen by all in the cathedral. He put his arm around Harry’s shoulders and turned back out to the congregation, “This is my soulmate, chosen by magic and brought to my side through the guidance of Lord Voldemort himself. His name is Harry James Potter.”

He glanced down at Harry, who stood with his chin up and a nervous smile on his face. “Do you want to say anything, my dear?”

Voldemort could see that Harry very much did not want to say anything, but again he gathered up his courage and leaned closer to the pulpit, gripping the edge of it with one hand to steady himself. There wasn’t a microphone there, like there would be in a muggle church, but a permanent sonorous charm that projected one’s voice out clearly.

“Hello,” Harry said in a firm voice that belied his nervousness, “I’m very happy to be here. I came from a place that wasn’t so great, it was pretty terrible really, and Thomas rescued me.” Harry glanced up at Voldemort as he said that, giving him a fleeting smile and thus completely missing how many of the people in the congregation reeled at hearing Lord Prior’s ‘true’ name be spoken so casually. 

Looking back out over the crowd, Harry’s smile grew brighter, “I’m excited to learn things about magic that I never could back home and to get to know more of you. Um. That’s all.” He leaned back, gave a nervous look to Voldemort, and then relaxed when Voldemort gave him an encouraging nod.

“Thank you, darling,” Voldemort murmured. He looked out over his people and said, “I’ve waited a long time for my soulmate to join me and hope that all of you will help me celebrate his presence and welcome him here. Our bonding will be completed when he is older, of course, as is proper. Now,” Voldemort straightened up and simultaneously pulled tight on the magic of the web. He could feel that the sun was just about in alignment—it was time for the Sacrament. “As we enter the zenith of the hour, I ask for the Teachers, Deacons, and our Valiants to depart to their classes. Harry,” he squeezed the boy’s shoulder, “You’ll be joining them until you are prepared to join us during the Sacrament.”

Harry looked alarmed but relaxed when Odette came trotting up to the stand, under the direction of her parents no doubt, and came to take his hand. 

“Come on, Lord Carus,” Odette whispered to him, “I’ll show you where your class is!” 

Voldemort smiled as they went away together. He watched as the children and squibs left the cathedral with remarkable swiftness—of course, he modulated the magic of the room to hurry them along and keep them from lingering too long. Once the final child was gone and the doors were shut, Voldemort lifted his hands once more and began the long invocation for the Ritual proper. 

It had been some time since he carried this out himself, having been away in Harry’s universe for several weeks. He couldn’t wait to feel the manifestation of all of Wizarding Britain’s power through his veins once more.

Oh, how glorious it was to be a god.

Chapter Text

Harry followed Odette down a hall with children in it milling around and chattering. They were as young as four years old, he saw, holding hands with each other and laughing as they went with various adults into different rooms. To his surprise, he recognized some of them—there was the boy from the Quidditch shop, Caleb, as well as Angie Malfoy—but most of them he didn’t recognize. 

Odette, of course, did. She greeted them all cheerfully, hugging one or two of them and chatting. They all ended up in a larger room together that had several rows of chairs set out facing a chalkboard. Harry ended up in the second row with Odette, sitting in the middle with her on one side and Angie on his left. Caleb sat in the front row and was turned around in his seat, chatting with them about quidditch. 

Harry nudged Odette and asked, “Where’s that other boy we met at Diagon? You know from the bookstore?”

“Oh, Lucky?” Odette shrugged. “His family worships privately—his mum’s a Quidditch player so they’re often abroad and his dad is…” she frowned. 

“Draco says Lucky’s dad is skittish because he used to be a werewolf and before he got cured he had to be careful around people. He’s not contagious anymore, but some of the curse hasn’t worn off so it’s best to be careful around him,” Angie whispered, leaning over and joining the conversation.

“He was a werewolf?” Harry gaped, “Wow.”

“Didn’t they have werewolves where you’re from?” Odette asked.

Harry shrugged, “If they did, I never met them. I suppose we talked about it in my Defense class, though. It was kind of difficult to understand my teacher, though. He had a really bad stutter.” Harry hunched his shoulders in at the thought of Quirrell. He still felt bad about killing him, even if it was in self-defense, even if it had been an accident. He didn’t have nightmares as much anymore, but the one last week was still fresh in his mind enough to make him feel a little sick.

An adult stood at the front of the room and hushed them. Harry noticed then that there were four adults, all of them wearing the dark blue robes of squibs, thought one of them had embroidery on their robe. This one nodded to the one standing, who took the cue and began to speak.

“Welcome everyone. May the Lord’s fire light your way forward.”

“May Magic guide your path,” the children chorused back. Harry startled and looked around. All of them spoke at the same time and now sat silently watching their teacher.

“We have a new soul with us today, a very special member who will be joining us until his coming of age rites. Lord Carus, would you please stand so that we can greet you properly?”

Harry blushed harder but stood up, keeping his chin up. He glanced around at the other kids—there were quite a lot of them, at least a dozen or more, and they smiled and clapped politely, echoing the teacher as she instructed them to say hello.

“Lord Carus is the soulmate to the Eternal Lord Prior, he who guides us all in Magic’s name and keeps us protected from the wrath of Lord Voldemort,” she said, “Be respectful, children, for one day Lord Carus shall be bonded to the Lord Prior and together they will guide us all according to the Will of Magic.”

Harry swallowed thickly under the increased attention. He hated it, but at least it wasn’t the same as the Boy-Who-Lived nonsense. He would be as great as Thomas one day and he would help people in the same way. 

All the adults stood, then, and bowed. The one at the head of the room straightened first and said, “My name is Sister Foster, the secretary of the Valiant class. Along with me there is Brother Doyle, the president, Sister Atkinson the first councilor and Brother Sharp, the second councilor. The four of us lead the Valiants in instruction according to the teachings of Lord Prior, which are truths he has divined from the very will of Magic itself.”

Harry nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do. Sister Foster then said, “Everyone please stand for the recitation of our pledge. Lord Carus, we repeat this pledge in order to reaffirm with ourselves our understanding of Magic’s desire for us and our placement here on earth. The pledge is written here and you can follow along with the other children.” 

She stepped to the side so that Harry could clearly see the printed poster that was tacked to the side of the chalkboard. Harry squinted a little at it as the other children stood up and began to recite together the pledge.

“We are the children Chosen of Magic, Blessed by Lord Voldemort.
He cares for us and guides us, as we care for and obey Him.
We will stand as witnesses of His divine fire at all times and in all places
as we strive to live according to our Lord’s Values, which are:
Faith, Charity, Purity, Knowledge, Solidarity, Virtue, and Integrity.
We believe that as we grow into our Magic and our True Natures,
these values will prepare us to make and keep our Magical covenants,
receive the ordinances of the Eternal Flame,
and enjoy the blessings of Our Lord’s Favor.”

Harry mumbled along with the rest of them, feeling a little bit confused by the statement. He had thought that Voldemort was considered dangerous to everyone—that was why he was bound by Thomas so that he couldn’t attack anyone. Was Voldemort the Lord they meant when it came to the values or favors? He wanted to ask, but after the recitation was done, Sister Foster motioned for them all to sit and then she sat down to start the lesson.

Harry tried to follow along—he really did, it wasn’t that difficult, just an interactive story that Sister Foster prompted the others to shout out answers along the way—but the longer he sat there, the more his head began to throb and pulse. He first closed his eyes, trying to see if maybe it was too bright, but that didn’t help. 

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a little at his forehead. It was really starting to hurt, now, almost like someone was drumming against his forehead.

When he lowered his hand, he was shocked to see blood on his fingers. He quickly closed his hand to hide it, panic setting in quickly. Was his scar bleeding again? What did that mean? Was it something to do with Voldemort? The evil one from his world?

Harry’s vision in his right eye started to blur and darken. His headache got worse and worse until he felt like he might just throw up. Things were shaking, too, but he realized when it stopped that it had been Odette trying to get his attention.

Suddenly Harry was looking into Angie’s face, her eyes wide with shock, her hand coming away from his forehead. 

“I don’ feel s’good,” Harry finally admitted, swallowing down another wave of nausea. His right eye was totally dark now, and the pain was so, so bad. He couldn’t think of anything but how it hurt and how he wanted Thomas to come and make it better. 

Something pressed against his forehead. Harry heard someone calling his name. He thought his eyes must be shut because now everything was dark. The world pulsed red, like he was surrounded in blood, like he was seeing the inside of his own skull—

Harry collapsed.

The magic sang under Voldemort’s guidance. He stood before his people, their eyes turned to him, their attention focused on him. They held out their hands in supplication, offering what they could of their own magic, tying themselves to him ever deeper, ever more. 

Before him was a glittering silver bowl, carved with runes that glowed with the rising swell of magic. It was filled with the honeyed apricot wine that was made from the carefully cultivated orchard of the Abbey. Voldemort held his hands out over the bowl and drew his silver athame across his palm. 

He squeezed his hand into a fist and the first drops of blood began to fall as the congregation began to chant at once, their voices rising and falling in cadence together, bound to the rhythm of the magic that he controlled.

“O Lord Voldemort, the Demiurge Eternal,
we invoke Thee in the name of Magic to consecrate this blood,
to bless the souls of all those who drink of it,
that they may do so in remembrance of the Magic that has chosen them.”

Voldemort counted the drops of blood. One, then three, then seven, then seven, then three. Twenty-one drops of blood before he willed the wound closed and reabsorbed the blood still on his skin.

“Bless the souls that witness unto Thee, O Lord of the Eternal Flame,
that they always remember Him, that they may have His Spirit to be with them,
that they may call Thy Magic unto them. Amen.”

The bloodied wine stirred within the bowl, mixing together until completely blended. As the ritual chorus ended, the first members of the congregation stood and approached in a quiet line. Voldemort tucked his athame back into his hidden pockets and produced the crystal chalice imbued with as many runes as the silver bowl. 

He dipped the chalice into the bloodied wine and served it one after another to each member of the congregation. He felt their personal tethers to the intricate web of magic grow stronger with each swallow, and as that row moved away, another rose to take their place.

Voldemort oversaw it all personally, meeting their gazes, witnessing their adoration and faithful fervor. He served the consecrated wine continuously, though the bowl never ran dry no matter how many times he dipped the chalice into it. 

From the ancient crones to the bright eyed youths, Voldemort took magic from each one of them, winding the threads together so that he could reinforce the web with their power. 

Above him, the illusion of the Demiurge coiled and writhed, rippling with visual magic with each row that rose to offer their magic. 

When the last of the souls present in the hall had drunk from the bowl, Voldemort scooped up one more chalice full and held it over his head. The chanting began again, filled with the fever of fanaticism and True Belief.

“O Lord Voldemort, we invoke Thy name this day.
Protect our Magic with Thy might, O Everlasting Lord.
Protect our Souls with Thy reason, O Demiurge Everlasting.”

Voldemort drank from the crystal, blood rich on his tongue, sweetened by the apricot, and charged with the magical conviction of hundreds of people.

“O Lord Voldemort, we invoke Thee in name this day.
Guide our Magic with Thy wisdom, O Immortal Lord.
Guide our Souls with Thy judgment, O Demiurge Immortal.”

Voldemort filled the goblet once more and then drank again. Magic surged through him, sparking up and down his spine, darkening the air around him in a cloud of visible power.

“O Lord Voldemort, we invoke Thy name this day.
Bless our Magic with Thy hand, O Eternal Lord.
Bless our Souls with Thy blood, O Demiurge Eternal.”

Voldemort drank his third and final serving of the magical wine. Power crackled down his limbs and filled the air with heat and pressure. Those in the first few rows bowed their heads before him, supplicant in their worship. 

He vanished away the chalice and lifted his hands, spreading his fingers wide as if conforming them to an invisible orb before him. Taking a deep breath, Voldemort exhaled sharply and brought into the visible spectrum the very web that he had built out of the magic of all these fools and all those who came before them.

The gasp of awe sucked the air from the room. Voldemort lifted the netting until it appeared as though it bound the illusion of the Demiurge on the ceiling. As the threads touched the illusion, they turned from pale threads of silver to molten colors of flame; red and gold, orange and even bright blue cascaded down the threads and back along the web. 

His voice thundered through the room as he finished the chant alone.

“O Eternal Lord, bound in flame, offer Thy might, Thy wisdom, Thy hand in all our endeavors of Magic.
O Immortal Lord, bound in fire, render Thy reason, Thy judgment, Thy blood in all our labors of Will.
Thy might is mine, Thy magic is mine, Thy will is mine.
In Flame and in Magic. Amen.”

The echoed amen made the room ring with the binding force of the ritual.

Voldemort closed his eyes and let the flaming net and the image of the Demiurge fade as the power settled around his shoulders and then deep into his bones. He exhaled slowly, shuddering at the feeling of it. How glorious it was to feel the very fabric of the world bend itself to his will, his nature. 

He had gone without this deep connection while collecting his little soulmate from the alternate dimension. Never again would he have to suffer such lack—never again would he need to be separated from the divinity he had created for himself.

Feeling incredibly benevolent in his good fortune, Voldemort gestured and the pedestal and the silver basin upon it shifted to the side. He flicked his hand again and the narrow stairs up to the basin enlarged to service several at once.

Closing his eyes, he plucked a dozen souls from the congregation at random and gestured again. When he opened his eyes, runes burned above the dozen he’d chosen. “Come forth and receive the blessings of Lord Voldemort,” he told them, “Our Lord is most generous today.”

The chosen few hurriedly approached and knelt before him on the steps. Voldemort approached each of them one at a time, first lifting their chin to look into their eyes and then, once he’d divined what miracle to bestow, he placed his hands on their head and blessed them. 

When the last blessing was given, he dismissed the chosen few and stepped back to his placement before. He gestured for the closing ceremony to begin and smiled as the organist all but threw herself into her worshipful music.

Voldemort closed his eyes to bask in the sound, already picking apart the new threads and weaving them into the greater tapestry. The only thing this moment was lacking was Harry’s magic joining in this weaving—and Harry at his side, enjoying the fruits of his labors with him, those adoring green eyes turned up to him as he drank the wine that Voldemort blessed with his own blood.

One day…one day soon. He was so close he could almost taste it.

To Voldemort’s surprise, when the side doors were no longer sealed with the ritual magic that kept the congregation isolated, they were quickly pulled open and two of his faithful hurried to him with bowed heads. The fear they felt was so strong that he didn’t have to peer into their minds to hear it, as the echo of it surrounded them in a haze of terror-filled thoughts. Voldemort stood at once, his peaceful demeanor gone in an instant as he approached the squibs. 

They met at the steps to the pulpit and bowed deeply to him, one almost trembling down to their knees. Voldemort’s rage grew in time with his fury as he recognized the two to be leaders of the Valiants—the very same age group of children that Harry had gone to. “What happened?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“My lord, we have no idea what cause it-” 

“He simply seemed to topple over without any warning-”

“We saw no wound or anything unseemly except-”

“The scar on his forehead, Lord Prior, it was bleeding.”

For one horrible, heartbreaking second, Voldemort’s chest went cold. He gripped the podium edge to keep himself upright as his worry crested into the heartbreak of grief he’d felt time and time again. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“The infirmary, my lord,” both squibs said at once, bowed before him. Voldemort exhaled a hiss between his teeth and turned on the spot. The squibs could be punished later, if he found true fault with them or if Harry were dead. 

He didn’t want to think about the latter, though. Not until he was sure he needed to.

Voldemort appeared in the infirmary with a nearly silent snap of magic. He arrived to stillness, which was rarely a good sign in an emergency, and cast his gaze about the room in search of his soulmate.

One of the assistant squib healers approached him, trembling even as she bowed her head to greet him. “My lord, Lord Carus is this way.” She turned to lead him down the line of beds and into one of the private rooms attached at the end. “He was unconscious when he was brought in,” she explained, “With the only open wound being on his forehead. He has not yet woken, my lord. With him are two of his companions—Miss Malfoy and Miss Crouch.”

Voldemort schooled his expression considering those facts and stepped into the room. His gaze went first to the bed and the small body laying on it. He saw the slow, steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest—his breath unlabored by whatever had happened to him. Odette sat up on his arrival, with Angelica already rigid next to Harry. 

“My lord,” Odette gasped as he walked up, “I was praying you would hear and come to help—” she wiped tears from her eyes. “Is he going to be okay?”

Voldemort placed a hand on her back as he moved around her to stand beside Harry’s head. He tapped a bit of calming magic onto her and said, “I’m here to determine that myself. I appreciate the vigil you two held over him, is there anything you can tell me about what happened?”

Odette shook her head, “I didn’t even n-notice anything was wrong until he was already bleeding. I’m sorry, my lord!”

“I think he was in pain for a while before he reacted or said anything,” Angelica whispered, “I noticed his eye was drooping a little and turned him to look at me. He said he didn’t feel very good and then passed out.”

Voldemort nodded. “I will take care of him from here, you may go back to your families.”

There was hesitation, but no argument. Both girls got up and walked out. The squib assistant opened the door for them and then lingered there, wringing her hands.

Voldemort glanced at her and ordered, “I require the presence of Eloise Nott. Fetch her.”

The squib nodded and hurried away, leaving Voldemort alone with his soulmate.

First, he put his fingers to the boy’s throat, feeling for his pulse. It was strong, steady. Some of his anxiety passed at that. Then he gently pulled back Harry’s eyelids. The pupils reacted to the sudden light and contracted evenly, which relieved him of some other concern. Next, he brushed back his dark bangs and examined the scar. 

Someone had put a bandage on it, so he pulled that off and frowned. It looked freshly carved and so deep that he thought he might see the glimmer of white bone in it. Blood poured freely from the wound once it was uncovered, with no sign of stopping. Voldemort covered the wound back up and then leaned back.

Drawing his wand, he cast a cursory spell to check for any other injuries, just in case. There was nothing. He cast to detect poisons or curses or any other magical artifact on him—there was nothing save for the medallion that Voldemort himself had put on him.

A knock came at the door. Voldemort gestured it to open.

Eloise stepped in, her eyes lambent and focused on Harry already. “You summoned me, my lord?”

“Come and See,” Voldemort commanded.

Eloise joined him, striding over confidently to stand opposite him on the other side of the bed. Voldemort turned Harry’s head towards her and removed the bandage again. Eloise hummed thoughtfully, her eyes riveted to his wound.

At her gesture, he refreshed the bandage with a new one that he summoned from the infirmary’s stocks. He pressed it to the wound. “Well?”

“I suppose we have our answer to the question of, what would happen if we fed the sliver more magic,” Eloise said, “It’s gorged itself.”

Voldemort blinked, uncomprehending for one whole second, then two. Then, of course, it dawned on him.

The ritual he had constructed. The ritual he had just performed. The ritual that tied magic to him by name. 

The ritual that powered Voldemort. 

Whatever was left of that sliver, it clearly thought of itself as Voldemort. At least enough to count for the purposes of the ritual.

Voldemort hissed in displeasure. How had he not noticed missing magic, missing threads? How much had it absorbed? And from whom?

“There must be some way to drain it of that excess magic,” Voldemort said. 

Eloise tilted her head to the side, “Perhaps. If we knew the source of it then we might be able to transfer it back, but determining that…” She shook her head, “The arithmancy alone would take long enough that it could fully incorporate and not be removable.”

Voldemort, running through the stages of the ritual himself, and knowing that keeping the thread identifiable was at least part of how he’d set it up, considered the options. There was no way Harry had tapped into the magic of the squibs, it was negligible at best. Perhaps, if any of the children had been bound to his ritual, they might have given some magic to him, but they were the Valiants, their cores weren’t developed enough. 

Except for one.

Voldemort straightened suddenly. With a thought, he sought out Barty’s magical connection to him and tugged on it. He sent the silent suggestion to the man to bring Odette back to the infirmary. 

To Eloise, he said, “The search would take a considerable amount of time, yes, unless we knew that there was only one person in his presence who had bound their magic to the Sacrament already and was thus vulnerable to having it sapped without knowing by Voldemort.”

Eloise hummed thoughtfully, her head canting to the side. “An unforeseen weakness.”

“Alas,” Voldemort said, “Lord Voldemort did not think to build the ritual against alternate versions of himself. I do not think that even he could imagine a world where he had sunk so low as to create a Horcrux and place it in a child.”

“An understandable oversight,” Eloise agreed softly, “Few would do such a thing to their soul and then be so careless with it.” 

There came a knock at the door and Voldemort opened it with a gesture. Barty stepped in, Odette trailing behind him with wide eyes. “My lord?” He glanced to Eloise for a brief second, brows furrowing.

“Come in and close the door, Barty, and I shall explain.”

Hunger. 

More. MORE. I need it. 

Hunger.

I NEED IT. 

Deserve more. MORE.

No. NO. 

How dare they?

HOW DARE THEY? 

Harry woke with a gasp and a jolt. The remnants of his dream shed from his mind quickly like blood flowing over his hands. However, much like blood, there was still this stain of red that permeated everything. The pain that he’d felt carving into his skull, into what felt like his very brain, had dulled somewhat but still ached.

He felt trembly and awful, like he might turn over and throw up any second.

The first realization he wasn’t alone came when strong, familiar arms lifted him from his prone position and held him against a warm, broad chest. Harry could have sobbed in relief. Thomas was here—he hadn’t dreamt up being rescued and brought to Hearthstone. He grabbed a fistful of the man’s robe and pulled him tight. 

There were voices too, soft and indistinguishable. A touch on his leg made him turn his head and he saw Odette standing at the end of his bed, her blue eyes huge and shining with tears. “I’m sorry, Lord Carus, I’m so sorry.”

“The fault was not yours, sweetheart,” Barty whispered to her, “It was just a bit of a magical mishap. It happens, sometimes, we just have to do what we can to fix it afterward. This time we got lucky.”

That didn’t really seem to help Odette, who sniffled and looked like she was about to cry. Harry panicked, not knowing exactly why she was upset but not wanting to see her cry. 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, “I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean to, uh, do anything bad.” 

Odette’s bottom lip trembled but she said, “R-really?”

“Yeah, really.” Then, for good measure, he said firmly and formally, “I, Lord Carus, forgive Odette Crouch. You’re forgiven. I promise.”

Harry felt Thomas sigh heavily, felt the trail of his fingers along his side, and heard a soft, almost breathless chuckle. Odette’s eyes went even wider and she gave a wobbly bow to which Harry winced at. Barty quickly escorted her out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Thomas.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, turning his head to look at the man, “What did she do?”

“What do you last recall?” Thomas asked.

The vision of red—heat and blood and hunger— filled Harry’s mind for a moment, but he shook that off. That wasn’t a memory, that was some sort of weird dream. “I started getting a headache and my eye got blurry. I was in class with the other kids.”

Thomas ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. His hands kept moving over him as if he couldn’t move past the thought that Harry had been hurt. “The short explanation is that the sliver of Voldemort’s soul in your forehead absorbed some magic while I was conducting the Sacrament ritual. It’s designed to pull magic into the web, remember? Which is woven by Lord Voldemort. The Sacrament is bound to his name, which apparently the Horcrux has enough understanding of for it to gather magic accidentally.

“This perhaps would not have been an issue if you were with the un-initiated children and the squibs alone, but Odette has partaken of the Sacrament before. Her magic was open enough for it to get siphoned off. This is what she was apologizing for. If she had not been with you, this might not have happened.”

Harry frowned, “But without her I wouldn’t have known where to go or what to do…”

Thomas nodded. “Nevertheless, next time, Angelica will be the one to escort you and Odette will remain to take the Sacrament.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head and then to his forehead, next to the scar. His lips lingered for a long moment and then he whispered, “I was so worried when they told me you were injured. I let you out of my sight for just a moment and this happens… How am I to let you go to Hogwarts?”

Harry’s face went hot. “I’ll be safe at Hogwarts though, right? I mean. I wasn’t safe before because of Voldemort, but other than the piece in my scar, he hasn’t done anything to me here.”

“Oh darling,” Thomas sighed, “There are so many more dangers than that. You have to promise me you’ll be careful—watch your step on the moving staircases and do not go out into the forest alone or at night or ever, truly. Keep someone with you, so if something does happen, one of you can get help.”

“I can do that,” Harry mumbled. He had a lot of fun exploring and sneaking around Hogwarts last year, but he’d learned better than to get too much involved. He didn’t want something like Quirrell to happen to him again—it would have to be something equally as awful and without any teachers helping for him to get involved again. “If I do need help, which teachers should I go to?”

“First go to your head of house and then to any of my marked Flames,” Thomas instructed him seriously. “They will do anything they can to help you. If none of them can, you write to me and I will be there.”

Harry looked up into Thomas’s face as he said that and for perhaps the first time in his whole life, he believed that not only would Thomas really be there for him, but that Thomas’s Flames would be too. People actually cared about him in this world—and they really wanted him to be safe and happy.

For all that he’d been the Boy Who Lived and the Hero of the Wizarding world in his home dimension, no one had ever really cared about him half as much as Thomas or Barty or any of the others did. 

Thomas cupped his face in one hand, thumb brushing along Harry’s cheek as he met his gaze with unwavering sincerity. 

“You promise?” Harry asked, “You’ll come if I write?”

“I would move heaven and earth to do so,” Thomas said, “I swear this to you.”

“I love you,” Harry blurted out, “I really love you.”

“And I you.”

Harry tugged Thomas down, fingers curling in the beautifully embroidered collar of his robe, and demanded, “Kiss me.”

Thomas smiled and did so.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Harry settled into his routine with Thomas. Their mornings were slow and soft as Thomas woke him with kisses and touches that made Harry feel sparkling all over. They savored their breakfasts together, sometimes even eating in bed and hand-feeding each other. Then those few hours between breakfast and lunch were most often spent with Thomas helping Harry prepare for his placement exams. 

It turned out there was quite a lot that the first years in this world covered that Harry didn’t quite understand, but with Thomas’s help he was able to remember everything he did know from his own dimension. As the days passed and Harry’s nervousness grew, paradoxically so did his excitement. 

However he did on his placement tests, whatever he ended up having to do to make up for his missing year, he was sure Thomas would understand and help him through it. Harry wasn’t alone in this.

In fact, he wasn’t alone in just about anything. As, after spending lunch together, Harry spent his afternoons either roaming the Abbey with one or two of the squib children he’d gotten to know, or with Odette. 

He got to explore the kitchens and the library and dozens of more rooms and hallways of the Abbey. He saw the squibs as they worked with the priests and priestesses to make sure that the Abbey was taken care of and everyone inside was provided for. He got to play in the gardens, sometimes there to help harvest the fruit and vegetables, and he even met Neville. 

(Adult Neville was, to Harry’s surprise, was almost exactly like young Neville, except there was something more about him. He was kind and soft-spoken and helped Harry whenever he had a question, but he didn’t seem nervous like Young Neville had been. Harry hoped Young Neville got to grow up to be like him someday.)

By dinner time, though, Harry usually started to miss Thomas and so he was glad to see him again. They ate together at lots of different places, at the Crouch’s, at the Abbey, in the village sometimes, and even one night in the courtyard of the floating Manor while it was in the sky. 

That was a special night, as their meal happened late enough in the evening that they got to see the stars wink into existence in the sky above and the moon rise over the horizon. Harry—who had grown up near enough to the city to not see the night sky until going to Hogwarts—was amazed at how much more they could see being just a little higher up and far away from any other building but the manor. 

Thomas had pointed out the clusters of stars to him, using magic to light up the pathways that made constellations and draw the pictures of what they were around them. Harry had sat curled up at his side, tucked under his arm and listening and admiring in equal measure. It was these moments, where it felt like they were the only two people in the whole world that Harry loved the most. 

He was so happy here. He was the happiest he’d ever been in his whole life. He couldn’t imagine what his life would have been like if Thomas hadn’t rescued him from the Dursleys. 

He certainly wouldn’t be curled up with the most handsome, most kind, and most brilliant person in the world, his own savior and soulmate, who made sure he was well-fed, comfortable, and happy. 

These were the best days of Harry’s whole life.

Harry ended up taking his placement tests in Thomas’s outer office, with the tests split over two afternoons and Barty there to make sure he was doing them without any cheating or interference. Sitting down to work, Harry had never felt more confident about doing well—and never so confident that even if he didn’t do exactly what someone wanted him to do, it would be okay. He was just supposed to show what he knew—it was about testing the knowledge of the other dimension since there was no way their classes were the same as the ones here.

Harry’s hand ached by the end of his tests—it was much like taking the end-of-year exams again—but he pushed through the pain. It wasn’t unusual for him, after all. 

His practicals went smoothly. Harry’s lessons with Thomas about how to hold and move his wand had settled in and he brewed a common but complex potion. It turned out the best any of his potions ever had. Harry wished he could rub it in Snape’s face that he was good at potions, so long as he didn’t have a dungeon bat breathing down his neck and insulting him.

At the end of his tests, Harry felt like his brain had been taken and wrung dry of all the knowledge he had ever gained of the wizarding world. Barty allowed him to go and Harry stumbled through to Thomas’s office, only to discover that the man wasn’t there.

He stood in the doorway for a long time, rather surprised to see him missing, since he knew Thomas had stayed in here after lunch and he knew he hadn’t seen him leave through the door. He would’ve noticed that. There was no way he wouldn’t have. 

Perhaps he had apparated out, or maybe used the floo—it was possible, though Harry was a little disheartened to think that Thomas would have left without saying goodbye. 

Turning back, Harry discovered that Barty had finished clearing away the last of the testing supplies and had vanished as well, thus leaving Harry in quite a puzzling situation.

He’d never really been left alone in Thomas’s space—not while awake anyway. There had been a few naps in his office, he supposed, but nothing like this.

Harry stepped into the office. He let the door swing shut behind him. He was curious. What kind of things did Thomas keep on his desk or in his drawers? Could he have squirreled away little treats for himself? Did he have mementos of people he knew and cared about? Were there secret little notes that he left for himself that Harry could find?

Part of him felt bad for intruding on Thomas’s personal space, but the other part of it excused it. They were soulmates, after all, what was Harry’s was Thomas’s. What was Thomas’s, therefore, was Harry’s.

So Harry went rummaging. He’d seen all the shelves before, so he mostly ignored them in favor of Thomas’s desk. That was where all the interesting things must be. 

Harry plopped himself in Thomas’s chair—it was a little firm, a little squishy, perfect if you had to sit and write for a long time—and looked at what papers were spread across the desk. There wasn’t much—Thomas must have tidied it up before he left, which meant he wasn’t in much of a hurry. 

All the more reason he should’ve been able to say goodbye to me before he left, Harry thought to himself, blowing out his cheeks in mild irritation. He missed Thomas terribly. 

He had some very nice quills and a few muggle-looking pens, though that didn’t really surprise Harry. Thomas had a better understanding of muggle things than most wizards Harry had met before—he never was surprised by anything they’d seen when back in Harry’s dimension and he’d navigated muggle areas just fine. 

There were a few envelopes in a stack, blank and waiting to be used. Harry was tempted to write a silly letter—Hedwig would’ve been happy to take it for him he knew—but he put that off for later. He had to keep searching.

Harry went next through the drawers. There was one to the left that held even more writing instruments—backups, he supposed, as well as some blank parchment paper and things like paperclips and random things that drawers always seemed to be full of. 

The next drawer down was deeper and full of files. Absolutely chock full. Harry flipped through them, curious. They didn’t seem to be sorted by date or name but by some other thing that didn’t make itself immediately clear. He pulled one out at random, put it on the desk, and flipped it open. 

It was a list of items with numbers next to them. He flipped through it wondering what it was for. Prices of things? The amount of things that there were? What was Thomas keeping track of?

Harry shrugged, closed the folder and slid it back in the file drawer. He flipped through some more, getting readily more bored. Of course Thomas would have boring papers in his desk—it was where he did so much of his work. 

Which was apparently keeping track of things? Harry found another folder held a slim book with a list of words and numbers—only this one was of names, and the numbers were dates.

Curiously, Harry pulled that one out and flipped through it. It was a bit more difficult to read than the last one, as the columns of information were packed in tightly. Harry skimmed through it a bit until he caught on a name that jumped out at him: Potter, Harry James. He turned the pages on top so they were out of the way and looked more carefully at the sheet. The page was full of surnames that started with the letter P. There were several more clustered just by Harry’s name which made his breath catch.

Potter, James Fleamont. Potter, Adrian Arthur. 

All three of them had numbers right next to them in the column. Next to his own name was July, 31, 1980-May 2, 2006. Next to James was March 27, 1960-May 5, 2006. 

Next to the unknown Potter name was only one number. April 13, 2002. 

Harry, who had only just found out that the year he was currently in was 2011—August 19th to be exact—thanks to the tests he’d just taken, stared at those numbers.

What did that mean? Who was Adrian? They were nine years old, whoever they were. Wizards lived a long time and had kids whenever they liked—was Adrian James’s son? 

Or was he Harry’s?

Were they even related at all? It wasn’t like Harry knew an Adrians or Arthurs, and if he were to have a son, he might like to name them after a father he knew or someone he admired. After all, he was named after his own father and his father had his father’s name as well.

There weren’t any other Potters on the list, but Harry was burning with curiosity, so he flipped back and forth until he’d found every name he could think of—

— Crouch, Bartemius Julius Junior - July 9, 1962
—Crouch, Odette Delacur - May 28, 1999
—Malfoy, Draco Cygnus - June 5, 1980
—Longbottom, Neville Alan - July 30, 1980
—Granger, Hermione Jean - September 19, 1979
—Weasley, Ronald Bilius - March 1, 1980
—Weasley, Fabian Perseus - June 9, 1945
—McGonagall, Minerva Anne - October 4, 1921

— until he ran out of names. 

Everyone he ever knew was on this list—well, not Dumbledore—but everyone else.

Everyone except for Thomas.

There were no names under Gaunt. Harry had looked and then looked again. What did that mean? Had Thomas lied about his name? Then again, Harry knew that his counterpart had gone by a different name in this world and he’d seen that Hermione’s muggleborn name was in this list not the one she used now.

So this tracked birth names only? 

As Harry pondered this the thin book fluttered on the table, pages flicked by as it glowed a faint gold. When it darkened again, it stopped on a page and settled open. There, tucked between some of the text was a name that was written in gold—though the ink was quickly fading to black. Hughes, Harvey Asher - August 19, 2011. 

Harry leaned back, staring at the book. That was a new name. That was a new person, a baby. They had just been born and this little book knew who they were already.

Harry couldn’t even imagine what kind of magic could do that. What sort of spells kept track of people being born so quickly? He gingerly picked up the book again, closing it and turning it around in his hands. The front cover on the outside was blank. The inside covers were also blank and smooth. The paper inside was thick like parchment, though when he closed the book again it stayed very thin.

Setting the book aside, Harry turned to look at the drawer of files. What other strange and magical things did Thomas have in there, just waiting for Harry to find them? 

He turned to the other drawers on the right. The top drawer opened to a strange collection of items. There were a few wooden boxes with carved runes on them, a couple of small bags tied shut, and a series of black polished stones of varying sizes. Harry wondered what they were all for, pulling out different pieces and inspecting them. The bags were strangely heavy and felt like they might have sand, but he couldn’t open them or the boxes. The black stones hummed when he touched them, making the hair on his arm stand on end.

The bottom right drawer was locked. It resisted being pulled open with a thunk and Harry frowned. What could be in there? Even more strange books and magical items? He wasn’t sure. Aunt Petunia used a safe to keep special documents and some money, but maybe Thomas didn’t have a safe, he just used his desk. 

Or maybe there was other secrets there. Thomas did often get called to talk to the minister and other important people. There could be things about the government in that drawer. Harry was tempted to try and unlock it—he did, after all, know the spell to do that—but he was worried he wouldn’t be able to lock it back up. Thomas was brilliant, after all. What if he used a special lock that Harry couldn’t re-lock?

As tempting as it was, Harry decided against it. He instead rummaged back through the drawer of stones and bags of sand until he discovered one that was different. It was a smooth round stone, as dark as the others but with a star of bright yellow in the center that looked like a burst of light with six points. When he touched it, goosebumps ran up his arm and down his spine. The stone had been set apart from the others in their little velvet-lined tray, so he figured it had to be even more important than the others. 

Harry sat back in Thomas’s chair and turned the stone from side to side, staring at it in fascination. It felt like he was looking at an actual trapped star—there were twists of light that made it appear like the Milky Way above, something he recognized more easily after a few nights of stargazing with Thomas.

He imagined that maybe there was a star inside—maybe even a whole solar system and that there was a little planet with aliens living their lives all within this magical gemstone and never knowing that everything they knew was being held in someone’s hand. While a fantastical idea, it was also somewhat scary. What if that was actually possible? What if there was someone actually inside the stone? What if someone was holding the solar system that Harry lived in in their hand?

Swiping his thumb across the smooth surface of the stone, Harry shivered. If they had enough magic, anyone could do that, couldn’t they? They’d have to have lots and lots and lots of magic, though, like some sort of god.

Unbidden, Harry wondered if Lord Voldemort could do that. He was a Demiurge—whatever exactly that was—and as far as Harry understood it, that meant he was a god. At least, everyone here worshiped him like a god.

Wizards are very confusing, Harry thought to himself as he turned the stone over again in his hand. He’d thought Merlin was a bit like a wizard god, or maybe wizard Jesus, but it turned out he was just some guy. And the real wizard god was Voldemort—a creature that didn’t look human at all. A creature so powerful and mysterious that people actually prayed to him. And yet not so mysterious that they didn’t know what he looked like. 

After all, Harry had the image of the Demiurge on his back, didn’t he? How curious was that, anyway? That Thomas, who was his soulmate, was so closely tied to the Demiurge that his mark showed that as a representation of his soul? 

Thomas must be very dedicated to his responsibilities with the Demiurge Voldemort. Harry would have thought that maybe something else would stand out as Thomas’s mark—maybe something to do with how much he adored magic or how good he was with different kinds of magic or how he was a teacher, but no. His mark was of the Demiurge. How weird.

Maybe Harry should ask Thomas to take a picture of his back, so he could see it better for himself. Or, if that wasn’t allowed, maybe he could set up one of those mirror systems to look at it—like how someone would look at the back of their head. It was pretty inconvenient that his soulmate mark was on his back where he couldn’t see it.

“There you are, darling.”

Harry jumped a mile in his seat, hand squeezing tight around the stone so he didn’t drop it, and he jerked his head up to see Thomas walking over to him, a faint smile on his lips. He came over to where Harry sat and leaned against the desk, looking down at what Harry had gotten into, one brow lifted in question. “What have you found there?”

Guiltily, Harry held up his hand and opened it. “I didn’t mean to make a mess of your stuff. I was just curious.”

Thomas hummed thoughtfully. He plucked the stone from his palm and turned it around in his fingers. “Do you want to know what this is?”

Harry nodded.

“This is a rather unusual stone,” Thomas said, “It’s called a black sapphire. It naturally forms this way, though of course I’ve polished this one to be like this. They’re not usually so large. This one’s rather special.” He placed it back in Harry’s palm.

Harry admired the stone again, turning it around and letting the light glint off the gold deeply embedded in the dark stone. “It’s really pretty. I’ve never seen a stone like it before.”

Thomas smiled. “Why don’t you put it away, darling?”

Harry blushed and did so, nudging some of the other things in the drawer back into order. He closed it and then realized that the book of names was still out. He went to put that away, but Thomas stood in front of the drawer.

Holding the book in its folder, Harry looked up at Thomas and said, “Um. I can put this away too…”

Thomas held out his hand for it. Harry gave it over.

He bit his lip and then couldn’t help himself but blurt, “I’m sorry for going through your desk. I— I was just curious and I didn’t mean to—to make a mess or do anything I shouldn’t or read that.”

Thomas hummed again, his face was strangely unreadable as he moved to the side and let the book slide back into its space in the drawer. 

Nervously, Harry asked, “Did you know Hermione’s name is in there? As Hermione, not Eloise, I mean— Did you know?”

“I did,” Thomas said, “That book registers the first name every magical child is given in Britain and records when they die. It’s one of the ways we keep track of magical children born outside of our community so that they can be rescued and brought into the fold. Miss Nott was born to muggle parents but taken in by magical ones within a week of her birth. She acquired a new name at that point.”

Harry twisted his fingers in his lap and asked quietly, “Am I in trouble?”

Thomas reached out to him. Harry flinched and then immediately felt worse about that when Thomas’s hand hesitated and then dropped to the side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hunching his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Thomas eased the chair back with some magic and then moved to kneel in front of it. He put his hands over Harry’s in his lap. “You’re not going to be punished for your curiosity, love. You didn’t get into anything dangerous or make a mess that can’t be tidied in the blink of an eye.”

“But I got into your stuff and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, “I won’t do it again.”

“I’m not as worried about that as I am worried about you, darling,” Thomas murmured. He ran his thumb back and forth across Harry’s hand. “You asked about the names in the book—Did you find some that troubled you, or that you have more questions about?”

“There was another Potter,” Harry whispered, staring down at their hands instead of Thomas’s face. “There were three Potter names. Harry and James and Adrian. But I don’t know any Adrian. He was born a few years ago. He—he was born before the Harry Potter who lived here died.”

“That’s correct,” Thomas said. 

“But you said— You said you couldn’t find him, that you didn't know him— Your real soulmate—” Harry stopped abruptly when Thomas dropped his hands and cupped his cheeks instead, turning his head up, forcing him to look at Thomas. 

“You are my real soulmate,” Thomas said, “I don’t care if there was another who bore my mark first. You are the one that I accept. The one that I chose.”

Harry’s breath hitched, “But how did you not find him first if you could see when he was born? Why didn’t he— Why did he say no to you?”

Thomas gave a sad sigh. His dark eyes glimmered with hurt. His hands were so warm against Harry’s cheeks, his thumbs brushing back and forth. “He was turned against me from the moment he was born. When his parents left Hogwarts, they took new names and used those only. When he was born, he was never known to the world as anything but his second name. When my mark developed and his name appeared to me, I knew for sure he had been born here, but not where he was—

“So complete was his family’s dedication to refute me, that Daniel loved and married another. He drew his wife away from her family to join with him against me. They married right out of Hogwarts, refuting their own soulmates in the process.”

“But why?” Harry didn’t understand, “Why do that? Why didn’t he like you? You— You made everything so wonderful here. You made things better for me— You came and you saved me and you do so much for me— Why would he ever say no to that?”

“Oh, darling,” Thomas pushed himself up enough to press a soft kiss to Harry’s brow. “Not everyone has endured as much hardship as you. He did not need me to save him. He thought he had saved himself. He thought he did not need my love or my care or my anything to make his life better.”

Harry shook his head a little, though Thomas’s grip made that somewhat difficult. He put his hands over Thomas’s and mumbled, “I don’t get it.”

“I’m not sure I would want you to,” Thomas admitted quietly, “As, if perhaps you did understand him,  you would make the same decision.”

Harry gaped. “No! Never!” He pushed free of Thomas’s grip in order to fling his arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “I’ll never leave you.”

Thomas pulled him close, hefting Harry up into his arms and then turning so that he was the one sitting in the chair with Harry in his lap. “I know you won’t, my dear. I know.”

His broad hand brushed Harry’s hair back and then ran down his spine, pressing Harry closer. “He was led astray,” Thomas murmured, “But were I able to choose between the two of you, I would choose you again. I saw the mark he bore for me, and it is nowhere near as true to my soul’s meaning as yours is. Your soul sees mine in a way that his never did.”

Harry swallowed. He could feel that fluttering magical pressure flit across his back whenever Thomas touched him there. It was like his skin crawled towards the touch—like his whole body was reaching for it without him thinking about it. “Really? Even though it’s—It just shows—” he hesitated, more wary of saying Voldemort’s name after the Sunday Sacrament fiasco. “It’s the Demiurge.”

“I know,” Thomas murmured. “It’s perfect.”

“But—” Harry hesitated again. “But if it’s a soulmate mark—if it’s supposed to be your soul—”

“Then why is it of Lord Voldemort?”

Harry nodded.

Thomas ran his hand down Harry’s back again. Harry shivered. He pressed closer, so tempted to hide his face but also wanting to see Thomas’s expression. 

The man had a faraway look in his eyes. His hands moved slowly, soothingly, as if he were truly lost in thought. 

“When I was abroad,” Thomas murmured, “I saw much more of the world than I had known possible. I was hungry for it all—to know everything, to understand it all, to see it all. I knew that I would never have enough time to do so in my limited experience. I sought to give myself more time. More time to learn magic, to see the world, to spend finding my soulmate.” He glanced down at Harry and smiled. He cupped Harry’s cheek in one hand, long fingers sliding to the back of his head and into his hair.

“I had discovered one way to give myself more time, but it was not enough—what were two or three lifetimes when I wanted a thousand years or more? I sought out every method, but so many of them required unfathomable actions—they would cause corruption of my mind or my magic. I wanted to remain whole—I wanted to remain myself.” Thomas took a deep breath, eyelids fluttering for a moment as he whispered, “That was important, so important to me. Who was I but my mind and my magic? I considered my soul the fundamental piece of what made me me. I would cause no harm to it. I refused to.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s why the Horcrux is so bad? Because that other Voldemort broke his soul to make it?”

Thomas nodded, meeting his gaze once more. He was serious, as somber as Harry had ever seen him. “It might be a choice another could make, but I could never. The action of creating a Horcrux is destructive. Not just to the life you must sacrifice to make it, but to the life it affects. Later, I discovered that such a process would have removed me from the delicate magical influence that determines soulmates entirely. Had I chosen to do that, we would not be soulmates—I would have no soulmate at all.”

“That’s terrible,” Harry whispered. “Why would anyone do that?” He’d only had his soulmate for a few weeks and he couldn’t imagine going back to a world without one. Knowing he had someone to be at his side for the rest of his life? Someone to love him and protect him and take care of him? Someone he could love freely and protect and hold onto? Why would he ever give that up?

“There are reasons,” Thomas said, “But not ones I had. No, instead, I sought out ways to better preserve my soul.” He paused, “Harry, darling, would you keep a secret for me? One that no other knows save for myself and Lord Voldemort?”

Harry shivered at the name. But he straightened up, looking as serious as he knew how, and nodded. He could keep any secret of Thomas’s.

“You swear?”

“I swear,” Harry said firmly.

Thomas looked at him for a moment more but then ultimately said, “Through a ritual, I bound my soul to Lord Voldemort’s.”

Harry gaped at him.

“It was the requirement necessary in order to bind his power to my own,” Thomas said, “The only way to harness the magic that he took as offerings and turn it back in use for our people. My soul is immortal. My body is resistant to death, but not entirely so.”

Harry blinked, trying to adjust to this information. “Does—does that make you Voldemort?”

“It makes me able to act in his name, with his power, with his knowledge,” Thomas said.

Harry swallowed. 

“That’s why your mark reflects the Demiurge,” Thomas explained, “Because it reflects my truth to the world. To others, I was chosen by Lord Voldemort to work in his name, and it is my devotion that they think of when they see your mark. But now you know the truth. You show the Demiurge in your mark for my soul is tied to Lord Voldemort’s.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, looking away. If that was true—If Thomas had bound his soul to Voldemort’s then— “But…but what about when we bond? You said— You said you wanted it to be special. To bond with me in a really special way. Can we still do that?”

“We can,” Thomas said, “Lord Voldemort’s capabilities are infinite. His soul can be boundless and confined at the same time. I was hoping that you would accept to join my bond with him.” He squeezed Harry’s hand tightly, “It would give you access to his power as well, to his magic and his knowledge. It would allow you to help others as I do, to host the Sacraments, to guide people’s magic into the web and to offer it in Invocation. It is a great burden, which is why I wanted to wait until you were older to tell you, but knowing how you’re troubled by the Voldemort of your world, I wished to give you time to consider it.”

Harry’s head swam. Thomas had Lord Voldemort’s power because they shared a soul? He wanted Harry to share that power and that soul? Harry shivered, thinking about it. The Voldemort here hadn’t seemed very dangerous—just powerful and, if not friendly then at least willing to provide magic for people to use. And knowledge—though Harry had only seen that second hand so far.

But everyone was happy here. Thomas had done such a good job with Voldemort’s power. No one was hurt, everyone was fed, people smiled and sang as they worked. No one yelled or cursed or threw things or locked people away in cupboards with no food. He hadn’t gone to Hogwarts yet to see what it was like, but hope filled him as he thought about it, as he thought about the teachers he’d met, the other kids he had interacted with.

The only thing that was holding Harry back from bonding with Thomas now was the sliver of Evil Voldemort in his head. Thomas wanted to be with him forever—if his soul was immortal because of Lord Voldemort, then wouldn’t that make Harry’s soul immortal too?

Softly, he asked, “If I bond with you and L-Lord Voldemort, will my soul become immortal too?”

Thomas brushed his dark hair back from his forehead, curling one of the longer locks behind his ear. “It will. We’ll be immortal together, body and spirit.”

Harry blushed. He thought of that—being immortal with Thomas. Did he want that? What would it be like? He looked up into Thomas’s eyes. He saw hope there, hope and worry. Hope and fear.

“And you really want me to be with you forever?” Harry whispered, “What if you get sick of me? What if—What if I go through all your things again and you get mad at me.”

“Darling,” Thomas sighed, “Have I not already said what is mine is yours? I am willing to share all I have with you. My secrets are included, of course. How could they not be?”

Harry dropped his gaze. Did that mean his secrets would be Thomas’s? 

But then, weren’t they already? Thomas listened to whatever Harry told him of his past, had believed him about it, had helped him escape the Dursleys—who were the biggest secret Harry had ever kept—

“You don’t have to decide right now—”

“I’ll do it,” Harry blurted, interrupting him. He bit his lip for a second as Thomas blinked at him, eyes widening. “I’ll do it,” he repeated, a little more carefully. “What’s mine is yours already I mean—You have my heart and soul already, remember?”

“I do,” Thomas said. 

“So,” Harry felt his face heat up even more under the intense look Thomas gave him. “When we bond, I’ll share that responsibility with you. I’ll bond my soul to Lord Voldemort’s. We can bind his magic together.”

Thomas’s eyelids fluttered for a moment. Then he pulled Harry closer than before, so close there was no space between them, but for a little gap of air between their lips. “I would love very much to kiss you right now,” he said, “Let me show you how much I appreciate your generous heart, my love.”

Throat dry, Harry croaked out, “Yeah okay,” and in the next second he was being kissed heartily.

It was wonderful and sparkling, as it often was kissing Thomas. His hands slid down Harry’s body, as his tongue slid into his mouth. Harry heard his own embarrassing noises escape but couldn’t stop them even if he tried. His hips moved with Thomas’s touch, grinding down lightly at first and then again more eagerly as the jolt of pleasure that rose up through his body drove him onwards.

Harry clung to Thomas, one hand digging into his wonderful, dark hair while the other gripped Thomas’s arm to keep himself steady. The kissing continued until Harry was so breathless he was starting to see spots. He broke off with a gasp that became a startled moan as Thomas kissed down his throat, teeth nipping at his tender skin.

Thomas’s large hands held him firmly around his arse and thighs, pressing him down against the bulge that was steadily growing in his trousers. Having seen his cock several times now, and touched it as well, Harry felt a stronger spike of heat and nervousness rush through him. It was so large, so heavy, it must hurt to have it trapped down there—Harry could only imagine, as he’d not bothered with anything more than pants under his thicker robes today. His pants were thin enough that he barely even noticed them, even as his own prick got harder the longer Thomas touched him. 

When Thomas’s lips hit Harry’s robe collar, he thought he might go back up to kissing him on the mouth, but instead, Thomas whispered something under his breath and Harry felt all the buttons on the front of his robes spring open at once. Harry squeaked in surprise and had a half-second thought to pull his robe closed but then Thomas’s mouth was on his chest, kissing, kissing, kissing, until he’d caught Harry’s nipple in his mouth and sucked. 

Harry gave a surprised squeal at the sensation, head falling back as Thomas bit down and sucked again, his tongue hot and wet on his skin. He felt that tingling, sparkling feeling all over, but the heat burned in his belly, hot as coals, making Harry squirm in place.

Thomas’s hands slid under his thighs for a moment and then abruptly Harry found himself being lifted up and put on his back, legs spread open on Thomas’s desk. Harry gaped in shock—they’d never done this anywhere but on a couch or bed before!—and stared up at Thomas.

“Oh love,” Thomas breathed out, looking down at him with red eyes. His hair looked messy. His lips were swollen and wet. “Handsome little soulmate. How beautiful you are to me.” He ran one hand down Harry’s chest, brushing open his robes. He grinned, his eyes bright. “Nothing but pants on beneath, you little tease. Were you hoping I’d get my hands on you today?”

Harry felt his face burn even more. He hadn’t really thought about it, but he hadn’t bothered to put on an underrobe like usual because he’d been busy thinking about other things. Mostly, he’d been caught staring at Thomas as he dressed and forgot about it and had to hurry once Thomas spotted him. 

He didn’t manage any answer at all before he gave a moan—surprised into it by Thomas stroking his prick through his slick, thin pants. They were damp and clinging to Harry’s skin, but that felt so good being rubbed against him with Thomas’s grip. 

“Thomas, please,” Harry cried as he bucked his hips upwards. 

“Please what, my dear?” Thomas bent over him, eyes fixed on his face. “What is it that my darling soulmate needs from me?”

Harry grabbed Thomas’s robes in one hand and tugged. “Kiss me!” he demanded.

Thomas wordlessly obeyed. He let go of Harry’s privates entirely in order to bury one hand in his dark hair to guide him in their kiss and use the other to prop himself up. The rest of his body covered Harry’s own, his hips between Harry’s thighs, his crotch pressed up against his, the cold buttons of his waistcoat made Harry’s chest twitch with goosebumps. 

Breaking from the kiss, Thomas mouthed down to Harry’s ear and whispered into it, “Shall I strip you more, my dear? Do you want to be bare before your beloved lord?” 

Harry shuddered at the rough sound of Thomas’s voice. He clung to him, arms and legs wound tightly around him. The idea of being naked in Thomas’s office sounded so naughty—it wasn’t like in their bedroom or their private rooms. Harry had been here enough to know that people needed Thomas’s attention all the time—anyone could knock and come in to talk to him.

Somehow, the idea of them being caught like this made Harry’s whole body quiver. It was naughty and dangerous and yet, if they did it and didn’t get caught? How much could they get away with without anyone knowing?

“Please,” Harry panted out. He rubbed himself up against Thomas, shuddering at the feeling of sticky silk and Thomas’s rougher clothes against him. “Please!”

There was a hiss from Thomas and a ripple of magic over Harry’s skin. Then he was naked on the desk, papers crinkling underneath him, the cool wood smooth to the touch. Harry rubbed his small prick against Thomas, his legs squeezing so tightly that he ended up grinding against Thomas’s stomach. 

“So eager for my touch,” Thomas chuckled, pulling up enough to look at him and press him back down with a hand to his belly. “Hold on, darling, allow me to give you something worthwhile to feel.”

Harry glanced down as Thomas did something with his magic, curious and eager and dazed. When he saw that the man’s trousers were open, he whimpered. He watched as Thomas reached down into his pants and pulled out his own cock. It was just as thick as Harry remembered, darkened and heavy, and it rested on Harry’s bare skin like a hot brand. 

He looked small in comparison—would he ever grow as big as Thomas? He couldn't really imagine it—and bit his bottom lip, trying not to feel bad about it. It was easier to forget about that when Thomas wrapped a slick hand around both of them, pressing Harry’s smaller cock up against his larger one and then rubbing it up and down. 

Shuddering all over at the sensation, Harry arched his back, gasping for breath. His whole body sparkled with pleasure—he brought his legs up, hooking them around Thomas again, crossing his heels and digging in as he pushed up against him. 

Thomas bent down and kissed his neck as he moved against him, stroking him at the same time. He whispered endearments, praising Harry’s voice when he cried out and his body as he thrust against him. Some of those were soft and sibilant, like Thomas was hissing into his ear or against his skin, not just speaking.

Harry dug his fingers into Thomas’s shoulders, clinging to him tightly, desperate to be as close as possible. Heat swelled up through his body, burning and twisting like the coals had turned to flames. He grunted each time Thomas’s hand squeezed him tight, unable to keep quiet under the force of such pleasure.

The moment of pure joy that swept over him came suddenly. Harry cried out Thomas’s name, body jolting and twitching as his muscles contracted and his nerves were dipped in flames. 

When he rose from that sheer release, he blinked blearily up to see Thomas above him, one hand propping him up, the other wrapped around his cock as he worked it hard and fast. Thomas’s red eyes burned into his. [Turn over,] he hissed, teeth bared. Harry blinked slowly, barely understanding, but then groaned and did so.

His legs hung over the side of the desk this way, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Thomas rubbed up against his arse, but Harry knew that wasn’t really his focus. He could feel Thomas’s gaze was on the mark on his back—the Demiurge, Voldemort. Harry moaned as Thomas bent down and mouthed kisses along his spine. 

He thought he heard Thomas muttering “mine, mine, mine,” under his breath, but it was lost in the man’s loud groan as he released himself onto Harry’s back. The heat spread across his skin, splattering white semen in such a way that made Harry really blush. 

He’d only recently found out about semen and all that from Thomas—not really understanding what was coming out of them (or that anything was) when he felt such mind-blowing pleasure. That Thomas could make him feel so good—that he could drive Thomas to feeling so good—it made something secret and hot curl up in Harry’s belly.

He liked it. He liked being Thomas’s handsome soulmate. He liked being touched and kissed. He liked the sticky feeling of Thomas’s release on him. He liked the way Thomas relaxed after his orgasm, how he would flop bonelessly and pull Harry up against him for a cuddle.

Thomas did that now, staggering back to his chair and sinking into it. Harry felt pulled by magic off the desk and deposited into Thomas’s lap, where he happily curled up, tucking his head under his chin and perching across his thighs. Thomas was still mostly dressed, which made them look a little silly together, but Harry though that was kind of hot too. Especially when Thomas had only a few buttons undone on his shirt, his hair was a mess, and Harry got to sprawl on top of him while completely nude.

Thomas idly stroked Harry’s side, eyes mostly closed as he rested his cheek on Harry’s head. 

Harry smiled, comfortable despite his nakedness, happy despite how hard his life had been up until this point. He pushed himself up a little, tilting his head so he could kiss the underside of Thomas’s jaw.

Thomas made a questioning sound.

“Love you,” Harry whispered to him, nuzzling closer.

Thomas pulled him tightly against his chest, “And I, you.”

Harry drowsed then, content. He wasn’t sure what time it was nor did he care, really. Eventually, they’d get up and have dinner and go to sleep and the whole day would go again. Each day was better than the last, each moment more wonderful than before. Harry was happy. Thomas was happy. Was there anything else that mattered?

Voldemort returned Harry’s robe from the aether and draped it over his body as the boy fell asleep in his arms. He urged his chair forward so he could more readily reach his desk and, with a flick of his fingers, summoned parchment and quill. 

He penned out a missive to Eloise—he wanted an update on the sliver of soul embedded in Harry’s scar and how to remove it. The sooner it could be done, the better. 

There had to be a way. He would accept no alternative.

Chapter Text

Harry knelt patiently in the center of the ritual circle, trying his best to ignore the anxiety he felt about being in this room again. It was the same one that Thomas had spun his magic out in, so that they could see the shard of soul attached to him. It was a painful and scary memory.  He’d no idea that you could do that with magic. It led him to wonder if you could keep pulling magic out of someone until it was all gone and they turned into a muggle. 

There were three others in the room besides Harry—Eloise, Augustus, and Thomas. Harry had no real idea what they were talking about most of the time, so he’d begun to entertain himself by memorizing the shapes carved into different places on the wall or floor. 

They had put a pure salt circle around him to start, but whatever else they were doing was taking some time. Harry wondered if this was how rituals were often made, or if he was a special case.

If he had to guess, he would’ve bet he was a special case. He always turned out to be the exception, the unusual part.

Harry sighed. 

“Then we shall do that,” Thomas said, slightly louder than they’d been speaking before. Harry perked up, curious, watching as they broke apart and began to add more to the circle around him. He assumed it was more salt they were pouring, and was curious to see as Augustus put down pieces of stone or something at various points. Eloise was the only one who stepped over the circle and approached Harry.

“Lord Carus,” she said, “It’s time to inscribe runes on your body for part of this. Will you remove your outer robe?”

Harry blushed, but nodded. Thomas had told him about this and that he needed to obey for the ritual to work right but he still felt nervous about it. Yet, even if it was a bit embarrassing, at least Harry wasn’t getting fully naked.

He stood up and removed his outer robe, shivering a little at the cool air. Eloise floated his robe off to the side and then began to put runes on him, painting them first in the air with her wand and then lowering them down onto his body. He’d never seen that before. Nor had he felt that sort of static that came from her magic. It made his skin twitch and jump, muscles flexing involuntarily.

“Once they’re all complete,” she murmured, “You won’t notice them anymore.” 

“Okay,” Harry said. He lifted his chin so she could work quickly around his neck. He noticed her pause and look at something, head tilting a little to the side, but other than a quick glance to Thomas, she didn’t do anything.

Harry went back to watching Thomas, since he could see him easily enough. He was working on a floating set of runes all the way around the circle. They looked like Eloise’s runes, except backward and they stayed floating.

Before he closed the circle, Eloise finished binding runes to Harry’s body and then ducked back out. He noticed she was right—he couldn’t feel the runes anymore, his body was completely still. In fact, he felt totally and utterly calm in a way he hadn’t really ever felt before. 

Harry exhaled slowly. He took a deep breath. He felt a bit like the sea; his lungs filled and emptied themselves steadily, pushed and pulled with the tide. He saw the three adults walking outside the circle he knelt in, but other than observing them, there wasn’t a thought in his mind.

Hunger. 

Harry breathed, in and out. Thomas caught his eye through the glow of the runes—they were that brilliant red, Harry saw. He used to be scared by that color, but not anymore. Nothing about Thomas was scary. Harry loved him. He was suddenly buoyant, filled to the brim with light. Oh. He loved Thomas. 

Hunger.  

The chant from the other three rose and fell like the tide, like Harry’s breath, like the crest and dip of his thoughts. Light filled him with each intake and light left him with each exhale. But he never seemed to run out of it. Strange shadows began to flicker across the walls of the room. Harry watched them, wondering what sort of flame they lit and where it was since he could see nothing around him that produced light except the faint runes in the air, and even those were dimming now.

HUNGER. 

Harry was their light source. The brightness grew each time he took a breath. His skin was glowing. Harry could only look out of the corner of his eye—he was much too bright to stare at directly. Except he was not only light. There was darkness too.

Darkness, right in the center of his head, right in the center of his mind.

There was something clawing at the inside of him. Something hungry. 

HUNGER. 

Harry gasped. Then he gasped again. He kept breathing in, in, in, lungs ever-expanding, aching, trembling, filling in his chest. He felt like he was fit to burst. His ribs creaked. His head spun. 

Sensations flashed through his body. The feeling of isolation tore through him. The taste of mud and rot on his tongue. The smell of something alive and unwashed filled his nose. The feeling of smooth metal pressed to his skin. The sound of creaking wood and rusty hinges echoed in his ears. Before him he saw a dark landscape, thick underbrush all around him. 

He felt connected to a trembling, tenuous web of magic, of power, of sheer will. Understanding seeped into his very pores. These were the pieces, the slivers, the part of the whole soul.

Voldemort. 

The name burned through Harry’s body. Harry opened his eyes. His head turned, but he was not the one who turned it. His mouth opened and Harry heard his own voice, but it wasn’t him who spoke.

“Stop it,” the pleading voice cried. “Stop it! It hurts!” Hands rose and clutched Harry’s head. They were his own, but he hadn’t moved them. “My head!” A scream left him, but Harry didn’t feel the breath leave his lips. “You’re killing me!”

What is happening to me? He wondered in that distant, rocking part of his mind, where the tidal waves of magic had carried him. Is this supposed to be happening? What am I supposed to do?

He saw Thomas through the ritual circle. Saw his widening eyes, the way he leaned forward more intensely. 

Harry’s body bent without his permission. Tears blurred his vision, dripping down his cheeks. Harry’s voice broke in another scream, like there was true, honest pain, but he didn’t feel anything. “Don’t let me die! Please! It hurts!”

He wasn’t in pain.

This was all a lie.

Voldemort, Harry’s indignation rose like the tide, I know it’s you! 

Hands clutched at his chest, pantomiming pain in his heart. Another scream left him and his back bowed. Harry pushed against the creature that controlled his limbs. He pushed and pushed, using every ounce of will that he could scrape together. 

Voldemort, Harry shouted in his mind, you bastard! Get out of my head! Get out of my body!

That was why he was here, Harry remembered now. A shard of Voldemort had latched onto his soul and his magic and Harry had to push it out. He breathed in and out, huffing angrily. Get out. Get out. Get out! 

There was a wordless, furious scream that burst out from Harry’s mouth. It was partially his own, he knew. He could feel the strain in his throat. His hands clawed up from his chest to his forehead. If he could grab Voldemort and rip him out of his own flesh, he would. 

Thomas needed him to do it. Thomas couldn’t do it for him.

Voldemort was attached to his soul. 

Harry had to be the one to tear him out.

Fingernails dug into his scalp. His hands fisted in his dark hair. Harry bent over, focused so hard on pushing Voldemort out that all else fell away. The sensation of stone under his knees. The cool air on his skin. The breath in his lungs. The pulse in his veins.

Harry saw a flash of green light. He heard a woman screaming—his mother— he heard laughter, shrieking and chaotic. He heard a soft, rasping voice— Lord Voldemort knows no equal— and then the louder spell, hissed as a command, charged with absolute power and hatred. 

Avada Kedavra. 

Then suddenly the pain was real. Harry screamed and screamed, spine arching, his muscles spasming. Through the blinding, soul-tearing sensation, Harry could think only one thing.

Out. Out. Out. OUT. OUT. OUT. 

And then he thought nothing at all.

As the light of the ritual faded and the dull glow of the wall sconces was once more the only source of illumination, Voldemort found himself riveted to the spot in utter awe. 

He drifted forward, the first to cross the burnt salt circle, his steps echoingly loud on the stone floor as he moved. 

Harry lay sprawled in the center. The runes on his body had dimmed and faded away, the magic set there to preserve his body fading away in wisps of silver smoke. He looked so small, in his thin underrobe, legs still bent beneath himself, one arm cast to the side, the other curled over his head. 

Voldemort knelt down and gathered the boy into his arms. He felt even lighter, somehow, as if he carried a fae creature made of sea foam and dew and not a mortal child of flesh and blood.

Voldemort stood.

Harry’s arm swung down, something clutched tightly in his grasp. Eloise caught his hand before it dropped entirely and, gently, with eyes wide and fascinated, she pried his fingers open.

All three of them stood there, staring at the small stone in Harry’s palm. It was the color of coagulated blood—a deep, dark red with a slightly darker spot to it, shaped almost like an organ, a kidney or perhaps a misshapen heart. Eloise lifted the piece up and turned it back and forth, Seeing it with her Illuminated gaze, her eyes glinting with magic. 

“Incredible,” she whispered. “This is, in fact, a shard of a soul encased in blood.”

“Remarkable,” Augustus agreed, “I did not truly believe this would work.”

“It depended on Harry’s will,” Voldemort murmured, hitching Harry a little closer so that the boy’s head rested on his shoulder more comfortably, “And he is quite a stubborn child.”

Eloise's eyes dropped to Harry’s throat—marred by Voldemort’s own love bites—and then met Voldemort’s gaze briefly before they returned to the stone. “The blood seal will contain the soul, but if the Voldemort of his dimension is anything like our Lord Voldemort, this will not hold forever.”

She held out the stone to Voldemort.

He willed open a slit in the aether and allowed her to drop it in. “I shall converse with Lord Voldemort and determine the safest measure to deal with this sliver.”

“When it is safe and stable,” Augustus asked with his head bowed, “I humbly request permission to research the sliver, my lord. What is known of souls is an ever-growing field, and it is unlikely we will have access to such an irregular piece in the future.”

Voldemort considered it for a moment before he nodded. “Once it is sealed, yes.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Returning his attention to Eloise, Voldemort asked, “And how does Harry’s soul appear? Is it stable?”

Eloise turned her Sight onto Harry now. She was quiet for a while before she nodded. “It is. The damage done is minimal. It will take some time to repair but…not long. He’s young, he’s healthy, he’s in a magical rich environment, and has ready access to your soul to help support him, my lord. I give it two, at most three years before he is fully recovered.”

Voldemort nodded shortly. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d come to terms with the fact that he was going to have to wait at least a little while to bond with his little soulmate. Three years was far more acceptable than the ten or twenty it would have taken for the Horcrux to integrate naturally. 

“Acceptable,” he said. Summoning Harry’s robe from across the room, he covered the boy with it. “I trust you two can find your way to the floo?” 

He got two bows and, trusting them both enough to do as he had implied, Voldemort turned and carried his soulmate—his whole soulmate, with a singular, uncomplicated soul—out of the room. 

With Harry safely tucked into bed, Voldemort stepped through the hidden door in his study at the manor that led to his private lab a level below. He swiped his hand over the rune plate by the door, illuminating the room in a soft magical glow from the various points in the ceiling. 

Everything was precisely in its place, as it should be. His work tables were clear, his large desk bare except for his Book, and the various occluded shelves remained dark even with the lights up. Voldemort went to one of his many encased shelves to decide what, exactly, he was going to seal this sliver of his alternate self into. 

A gemstone of a similar color seemed ideal, but as he looked through his materials, he came across something he had kept for many years but had never found any use for. It was a hideous piece of jewelry, the metal scratched and dented, the stone itself dark and unappealing. 

The only reason Voldemort had it in the first place was because it belonged to his family. Morfin hadn’t been particularly pleased with giving it to him, but the wretched old man hadn’t been pleased with anything at the end of his life. Voldemort was Gaunt by blood, even if Morfin had spat upon his muggle birth and upbringing. 

The ring belonged to him. How fitting it would be to encase the soul of his other self in it.

He closed up the cupboard and took the ring to his workbench. Removing the black stone wasn’t particularly difficult—the socket was incredibly loose. He set that aside and then busied himself with refurbishing the silver. He summoned some raw silver to help, adjusting the band’s thickness, restructuring the socket, and carving runes into the metal. 

Shrinking the bloodstone down to a quarter of its size, Voldemort laid it in the socket and worked the metal around it like a webbing. One would have to do considerable damage to the metal in order to free the stone—but with his runes in it, such a thing would be nigh impossible. 

Summoning a plain pine box from his stores, Voldemort enchanted it with a minor ward to keep record of magical activity and placed the ring inside. If it remained dormant for some time, he would let Augustus study it. If not, Voldemort would take great pleasure in destroying this fragment.

With that done, Voldemort considered the black stone he’d removed from his family’s ring. It was still an ugly little thing, unnecessarily large for any decent-sized ring. It would be better fit put into a crown, or perhaps in a pommel. Even strung about the neck as an amulet would work…

Considering the possibilities, Voldemort decided to put it back for now. He had more important things to do than play with useless family heirlooms.

Closing up his cupboard, Voldemort gave one of the shrouded benches a smug look. He crossed over and with a flick of his magic, raised the shroud. Albus Dumbledore’s sunken body looked just as decrepit as the last time he’d seen it weeks ago. The preservation charms had held, of course, as they were literally etched into the glass he was encased in.

Voldemort stared at the corpse for a while. The feeling to gloat was particularly strong, but if he’d learned anything about dealing with Dumbledore and his ilk, it was never to be certain he had won until he held the proof in his hands. 

Still, he couldn’t help but say admonishingly, “If you had just kept your word, old man, none of this would have happened.”

Dumbledore was, of course, silent. Voldemort darkened the box once more and then turned on his heel. He had a little soulmate to tend to and an empire to run.

One dead old man’s broken promise meant nothing to him now.

Harry woke up in his bed, curled up, warm, and achy all over as though he were ill. He felt kind of sick—his hand trembled as he reached out blindly for Thomas. He didn’t want to be alone. He felt so cold.

Fingers wrapped around his hand, warm and calloused, a familiar large hand that brought Harry relief just from the touch alone. “‘omas,” Harry mumbled, face smooshed into his pillow. 

“Hello, love,” Thomas murmured. Harry felt the bed dip around him and long arms slide around him, pulling him closer. “How do you feel?”

Harry groaned in response. He felt himself be moved around and then when he next opened his eyes, he was sitting up with his back against Thomas’s chest as he sat on the man’s lap. “Did it work?” he asked, blinking slowly in the dim light.

Their room was illuminated only from the red-orange glow of the sunset, telling Harry they were in the Manor bedroom. That was probably good, he thought sluggishly. He didn’t wake up in the infirmary—that was really good.

“It did,” Thomas said, his voice soft, his hand brushing soothingly down his side. “Are you hungry?”

Harry blinked and then nodded slowly. “I feel achy,” he mumbled as he watched Thomas float over a bowl of soup. “All over my body.”

He looked down at the soup, it was a thick, creamy broth with floating bits of something in it. Chicken maybe? Harry wasn’t sure. He’d never really gotten sick before, and whenever he was ill, he never got soup—not even in the infirmary. Just potions and starchy blankets to sleep in. 

“That’s understandable,” Thomas said. He scooped up a spoonful for Harry and brought it to his lips. Harry blushed at being fed like a baby, but when he reached up to try and take the spoon, he saw why Thomas didn’t bother letting him feed himself. His hands shook far too much to do anything but spill. 

Still, he blew on the spoonful himself and then opened his mouth and let Thomas feed him. As he did so, Thomas said, “I’m not sure if you understood how the ritual was meant to function, but essentially, you performed a Horcrux ritual in reverse and Eloise did predict that you would be somewhat weakened in body and spirit for a few days. You’ll recover well with some rest and food, of course.”

Harry huffed out a breath and then opened his mouth for another bite. The soup was making him feel much better and also much sleepier. “S’like I never get to stay out’ve bed for very long,” he mumbled, “The magic thing an’ now this. What if I miss the first day of school?”

“You will not,” Thomas said, “We’ve still got some time before Hogwarts opens and I will make sure you’re quite well by then.”

Harry bobbed his head. He ate more slowly now, definitely filling up with soup. Eventually, he turned his head, refusing the next bite. Thomas chuckled and ate it himself. 

“All done?”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. He half turned in Thomas’s lap, hugging one arm around him as he tried to get comfortable right where he was. “Thomas?”

“Yes, darling?” Harry felt the ripple of Thomas’s magic, and heard the distant clink of the bowl landing on the tray. Then Thomas’s hands were around him again, holding him steady as the man leaned back in the bed. 

“What happened to Evil Voldemort’s soul?”

Thomas ran a soothing hand down his spine, “You expelled it from your body, love. You magically encased it in some of your blood and sealed it away. Eloise checked your soul afterward. It’s a little ragged, but wholly yours.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. He snuggled his cheek against Thomas’s sleep robes. His clothing was always so soft. Thomas was always so comfortable, so warm. “Is it gonna heal? My soul?”

“It will.”

“An’ then we’re gonna get bonded?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Harry sighed. He squirmed a little at the thought. “Are we gonna bond before I go to Hogwarts?”

Thomas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Harry rose and fell with his chest and felt the ripple of his breath against his hair. He shifted, putting one arm across Thomas’s chest and resting his chin on it so he could look up at the man’s face. 

“It will be better for you to be a little older,” Thomas said, “While your soul is entirely your own now, it is still damaged from the ritual. It is going to take some time to recover, unfortunately.”

Harry watched his soulmate’s face. Thomas was often difficult to read, but Harry thought he could sense the truth of him as he whispered, “You don’t want to wait.”

“No, I do not want to wait. I have waited for a very, very long time,” Thomas said. He glanced down. His eyes were not just lined in red this time, but were fully changed to a burning crimson color. “Longer than you have been born, longer than your counterpart—since, in fact, I was a little older than you now, I have wanted this bond.”

Harry nodded. Thomas looked back up at the ceiling. They lay in silence for a while as the sun set and the light in their room turned from orange to lilac and then to the dim blue of early evening. Thomas looked beautiful in all those kinds of light. From the very first moment to right now, Harry had thought he was beautiful—like a movie star, or a painting, or a sculpture of a god.

Harry pushed himself up more, ignoring the ache in his bones and the trembling of his limbs. He straddled Thomas’s hips, hands on the man’s chest. He immediately had Thomas’s attention and while that made his heart pound in his chest, Harry didn’t shrink under it. 

Thomas was powerful and beautiful. He was a leader of so many people and so incredibly smart. He had crossed through dimensions, could make whole buildings fly, knew everyone’s name, and almost everything about magic. He had rescued Harry—never once making him feel like he was worthless, unlovable, unimportant or stupid. He had taken care of Harry from the very first moment they met. He had crossed impossible barriers just to find him, just to bring him here and give him all the love and food and comfort he could ever want.

“Darling,” Thomas murmured, reaching up for Harry’s face. He brushed his thumb across his cheek, “What’s wrong?”

Harry blinked his blurry vision away. He felt tears run down his cheeks but he didn’t care. He just leaned forward, staring into Thomas’s eyes. “I love you,” he said as seriously and as honestly as he could, “And if you wanted to, if I could, I’d say we should bond right now.”

Thomas’s breath caught. “Harry—”

“You’re the most amazing person in the whole world,” Harry insisted, “You’ve helped everyone here live wonderful lives and you saved me and brought me here— You maybe could’ve picked another Harry in another world, but you saved me.” He sniffled and blinked furiously. “You deserve something nice too, l-love. You deserve to get what you want, after all the hard work you’ve put in. I-if you want to bond—I’m ready whenever you are. Right now or-or tomorrow or whenever.”

Thomas blinked at him in silence once, then twice. He pushed himself up, dislodging Harry a little but not letting him go far by putting an arm around his middle and tugging him closer. “You are far too wonderful for me, Harry Potter,” Thomas murmured, “I’d complete the bond in a heartbeat if I could, just to keep you at my side for all eternity.” 

He gave a rueful smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, then to his cheek, and then to his earlobe. Softly, he whispered, “I want nothing more than to bond with you, darling, and that you would offer such to me is all that I could ever ask for. Unfortunately, your soul needs to heal and your magic must be stronger. I want you to be as ready as possible for the bond, because it will be intense for us both. It’ll take time for us to recover and to adjust. 

“A few more years,” Thomas whispered, “I promise, that’s all it’ll take.”

“How many?” Harry asked with a pout, pulling back so he could see Thomas’s face. “Two? Three?”

Thomas looked him up and down and said, “You should be fully healed by fifteen. So, three more years, darling.”

Harry nodded seriously. “Three years.”

“We’ll bond in August after you’re fifteen before you return to Hogwarts. Until then…” His voice trailed off and he gave Harry a heated smile, “I’ll be sure to make sure you’re very well taken care of and very prepared for our bonding night.”

Harry’s face went hot. He squirmed in place and threw his arms around Thomas so he could hide his face against his neck. Thomas’s chuckle rumbled through his chest and into Harry’s making his heart jump all over the place.

Thomas turned and rolled, pressing Harry to the mattress beneath him now. His mouth pressed warm kisses up along Harry’s cheek and to his mouth. He pulled back and had just taken a breath when Harry pushed himself upwards and crashed their mouths together.

He opened his lips to Thomas’s tongue and moaned as he was kissed thoroughly. Harry’s trembling hands did little besides clutching Thomas’s shoulders and his legs spreading for him. He tilted his head back when Thomas broke the kiss and began moving his mouth down the column of his throat. 

“Thomas—” 

Thomas latched his mouth to the unmarked side of Harry’s neck, scraping his teeth over skin and sucking in a new mark. Harry shuddered beneath him—There was no way that Thomas didn’t know that would make a mark—Did he know people saw that? Did it not matter if they did? 

Why would it matter if they knew? Harry thought to himself, we’re soulmates. We’re supposed to love each other. 

But he remembered Thomas said they were to keep it private, to keep it between themselves.

I just need higher collars then, Harry thought hazily, as Thomas’s mouth latched onto the skin above his collarbone and sucked. Higher collars, longer sleeves, so no one can see these marks except for Thomas. His hips bucked up and he groaned Thomas’s name aloud.

The idea of wearing high collars to hide the marks Thomas left him made Harry feel hot all the way down in his belly. Could there be other marks that Thomas left that Harry would have to learn how to hide? 

Thomas didn’t bother removing Harry’s sleeping robe, thin as it was, but simply caught his nipple through it, teeth digging gently into Harry’s skin. Harry squirmed harder beneath him, legs trembling as he spread them wider, pushing himself up more. He wrapped his arms around Thomas’s head, fingers digging into his hair and pulling.

Thomas gave a throaty chuckle as he lifted his head. His eyes were brilliant, his pupils blown wide and his lips so red as he teased, “What is it, darling? Too much?”

Harry shook his head. He scrambled to pull at his own clothes, trying to get them up and out of the way. “More,” he asked instead. “More marks. Please?”

Thomas hissed something that crossed from a simple sound into something so filthy in Parseltongue that Harry felt his face burn with heat. He couldn’t put it into words—it was just something he knew was sexual—and it made him whimper.

Pulling Harry’s underrobe up and over his head, Thomas twisted the cloth tightly around before Harry could get his arms free, trapping them together. He tugged this over Harry’s head and muttered a spell that made them stick in place. Harry gasped for breath, struggling a little before Thomas ran soothing hands down his arms and over his chest, hushing him softly. 

“You’re safe with me, little love of mine,” Thomas murmured. He loomed over Harry, red eyes faintly glowing in the near-dark now that the sun had set. “Lay back and let me give you what you asked for.”

Before Harry could say a word, Thomas attacked. There was no other word for it. His mouth latched onto Harry’s skin, tongue and teeth finding places he had no idea were so sensitive. His hands held Harry tightly, pushing or pulling, gripping and squeezing, keeping him in place so that Thomas could scrape his surprisingly sharp teeth across places like his hip or thigh or nipple. 

The only thing untouched by his mouth was Harry’s own, leaving him unable to hold back any cry, any moan, any whimper of pleasure that was pulled out of him. His head was dizzy, vision swimming in the darkness. Harry swore he could feel Thomas’s tongue along his prick, under his balls, along the curve of his bum and inner thighs. He felt slick patches on his skin grow cool in the night air, where other places grew warm under Thomas’s touch.

Before Harry could truly come to terms with the man devouring his body, he felt that rising, cresting pleasure. It seared through him, burning from his back and through his chest like it had never done before. Harry arched his back, pressing his legs into those hands that held his thighs open, his hips into the mouth that worshiped his skin, and screamed.

When he was back in his own thoughts, thick and slow like they swam through a river of molasses, Harry felt Thomas’s thick cock rubbing between his legs. It was slick down there, and he smelled something faintly floral, like lavender-scented oil. Thomas held Harry’s legs together with one arm, knees pressed tight, thighs as close as possible, as he thrust between them. 

Panting, Harry struggled to respond—not just to say anything, but to do anything. He managed, after a few tries, to squeeze his legs together when Thomas thrust between them, making the man growl out his name in low, but obvious, desire.

It wasn’t very long before Thomas gasped above him, hips pressed up against Harry’s thighs, his cock spurting out across Harry’s stomach and groin. Harry moaned at the hot fluid that splattered his cooling, sensitive skin. He felt even more worn out now. Not just aching deep in his bones but on his skin in many places. His chest and legs throbbed from marks he knew were there, but couldn’t see yet.

Thomas let Harry’s legs go. They slumped to one side and Thomas to the other. He felt sticky, sweaty, and his arms were still stuck in his nightshirt, but Harry didn’t care much. He did his best to snuggle up against Thomas, sighing with relief when the man pulled him close and kissed the top of his head.

Harry shifted around so he could kiss back, though he only managed to get Thomas’s jaw. “Love you,” he whispered.

“Oh darling,” Thomas replied with a long, pleased sigh. He cuddled even closer, tugging Harry’s arms free with the help of magic and wiping their bodies clean with a snap of his fingers. He kissed the top of Harry’s head again and murmured back, “And I love you.”

Smiling despite the aches and pains he now felt all over, Harry drifted easily off to sleep. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the summer passed in a haze of joy. 

With the exams passed, Harry spent his mornings in a much more relaxed manner, enjoying lessons on whatever Thomas wanted to show him. They traveled out to the beach on some days, with Thomas spending those long hours out on the sand with Harry, helping him construct castles with magic and sea shells. 

Afternoons were filled with sticky fingers from harvesting fruits or, on a memorable occasion, several hours of chopping, mashing, and boiling up fruit into jams and jellies for canning. Harry had spent so many miserable hours cooking as he grew up that he never expected to enjoy cooking again, but discovered that when it was done in a group, with chatter and laughter and light, with magic and music and people that cared about each other, it was an entirely different experience.

He was proud of how much he could contribute and even managed to get to know some of the workers better, happy that they didn’t get flustered by his presence anymore. He brought home several jars to Thomas and they enjoyed the fresh jam on their breakfast scones ever since.

Harry grew taller, by a whole inch at least, and put on weight that he never had managed before. One Sunday morning, the last before September started, he stripped down for their cleansing bath and saw that he couldn’t see his ribs as much anymore. Harry turned this way and that in the mirror, amazed. Some of his clothes even felt a little more snug, prompting Thomas to send for Oswyn to alter them for him. 

With the sliver of Evil Voldemort’s soul missing from Harry’s head, he no longer was in danger during the Sunday Sacraments either. He attended with Thomas, sitting up on the stage for the first part like before and then going off to class with the other Valiant children his age. He still stumbled over the pledge they made at the beginning of class and couldn’t answer every question that the teachers asked, but no one teased him about it and Harry did his best to follow along and learn. 

That same Sunday that Harry noticed he’d put on some weight, Thomas gifted him a soft, leather-bound book with golden edges after dinner. They were in the sitting room with large west-facing windows in the Manor, enjoying the brilliantly blazing sunset outside, when Thomas handed him the wrapped box. 

Harry opened it slowly, not anticipating any sort of real present—should he have gotten something for Thomas? Had he missed some sort of exchange? They had had a party for his birthday ages ago—a small thing with the few kids he’d met and some cake and presents—but what was this?

With the wrapping removed, Harry pulled the lid of the thin box and blinked down at the book. It was bound in leather that was a dark burgundy color. It had his name embossed in the corner of it. He traced his fingers over it and then picked it up. The sides glinted gold and when Harry flipped through the pages, he saw they were thinner than any parchment or any book he’d ever handled before. It felt almost like magazine paper, but softer, smoother. 

Letting the book fall open, Harry skimmed a page. As he did so, he blurted, “Is this a bible?”

Thomas laughed a little. “Not in the sense that you’re imagining,” he said. “This is a record of doctrine given but not by any muggle institution. I’ve personally compiled the contents of this book. Every copy that there is has been made by my hand and given by me to those most faithful and devout—the High Priests and Priestesses who preside over the Sermons and congregation whenever or wherever I’m not present. They lead minor Sacraments, as well as accept offerings, Invoke miracles in Lord Voldemort’s name, and absolve the sins of our people.”

Harry flipped a few more pages, absorbing that information. Thomas said ‘our people’ a lot, he’d noticed. He really thought of the two of them as equals. It made Harry’s cheeks flush hotly. Looking up, he asked, “So why am I getting a book then? I mean… I’m not a High Priest.”

“You’re right. You’re something more,” Thomas looked at him, eyes bright and lips pulling into a growing smile. “You’re going to be a prophet, Harry, bound to Lord Voldemort’s very soul. He will work great wonders through you and you will be able to direct his magic as if it were your own.”

He reached out and put his hand on top of Harry’s on the page. Harry couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were red-lined, again, as they were more and more these days. “I want you to be prepared when you join with me,” Thomas whispered, “I want you to understand his teachings as well as any High Priest does, as well as I do or Lord Voldemort himself. People will turn to you the older you get, the more powerful you become, the more you grow into being a Lord, my love. This is to help prepare you.”

Harry ducked his chin. All that responsibility sounded intense, but Harry knew that it was part of the price of being here. He had given up being the Boy-Who-Lived when he left his home dimension, and in its place he was Lord Carus. At least he wouldn’t be alone in his responsibility. Thomas would always be there to help him. “What if I tell people the wrong thing?” Harry asked, worrying his bottom lip nervously, “What if I don’t know what to say or I give them bad advice?”

“You will always be able to call upon Lord Voldemort for guidance when you take part in the binding ritual, darling,” Thomas said to him, “If  you do not have the words, He will give them to you.”

Peeking up through his fringe, Harry asked quietly, “He’s… he’s not mad at me that I took the sliver of soul out?”

“Of course not,” Thomas said, “In fact, he’s quite pleased.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked, “Did you ask him? Do you talk to him a lot?”

Thomas chuckled. He reached out and tugged a lock of Harry’s hair, tucking it behind an ear. Harry blushed, thinking that he really ought to get a haircut, though he rather did like the way that Thomas played with it or how it felt when it was gripped during the times they made love with each other. 

“Darling, I am bound already—Lord Voldemort is available to me at all hours, I need only reach out to him with my magic.”

Harry considered this, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. He blushed harder when Thomas smoothed his thumb over his lips, making Harry let go of his lip. “Could I talk to him?” Harry blurted out, “Before we bond, I mean? Um. If it’s not too much trouble?”

“You may,” Thomas said. “What would you want to talk to him about?”

Harry shrugged. “Just, um, how he turned out so different in this world? Maybe why he was so evil in the other one, if he knows. What I can do to help? If—If he’s okay with me joining the bond with you?” He shivered, “I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

Thomas nodded. “We could speak to him tonight, if it’s not too soon for you, or you could wait until later. You’re not going to be joining me quite yet, after all.”

“I know,” Harry said, “But if I have this book and I’m supposed to learn so I can help people—Shouldn’t I ask first? If he even wants me?”

Thomas gave him a bit of an odd look, not quite helpless, not quite exasperated, smiling faintly as he brushed his fingers lightly through Harry’s curls. “Of course he wants you. How could he not? As brilliant and kind and powerful you are…Lord Voldemort would be honored to be tied to you, darling.”

“I believe you,” Harry said, “But I, um, I just want to be sure.”

Thomas sighed and leaned forward. He kissed Harry’s forehead—where it was smooth now, the scar had split open and healed over as if he’d never had it in the first place—and then whispered, “I understand, my dear. Having Lord Voldemort’s wrath turned against you would be a terrifying thing. So, shall we seek him out tonight or later? When would you have me summon him?”

Harry took a deep breath and plucked up his courage. “Tonight, please,” he said. 

Leaning back, Thomas looked him in the eye and nodded. Then he stood, smoothing down his robe, and held out his hand, “Come with me then, love. We should do this properly.”

Setting aside the scripture book and opened box, Harry got to his feet and took Thomas’s hand. He was nervous, terrified even, but resolute. 

With Thomas at his side, Harry could face down anyone—even Lord Voldemort.

The room that Thomas took him to was unlike any other room in the Manor that Harry had seen so far. 

To be fair, it was unlike any room Harry had ever been in at all.

Harry stepped through and immediately sneezed because of the smell in the air. It was somehow both herbal and smokey and made him sneeze a second time before he made it all the way inside. Thomas didn’t laugh at him, but his eyes crinkled in a way that showed he thought it was funny. He stopped to remove his own boots and socks, leaving himself barefoot. Harry hurried to do the same, leaving his smaller boots next to Thomas’s by the door. 

“Breathe deeply and slowly,” Thomas told him as he took his hand, “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered back, taking a slow, deep breath in. The air still tickled his nose, but he was getting used to it. 

Though the room was made of stone, it wasn’t cold at all with the fabric all over. It was a strangely cluttered room. There were blankets everywhere—and Harry really meant everywhere. Only they weren’t blankets, they were rugs—thick and patterned and heavy, swinging slowly back when they brushed past on their way to the center of the room. 

The center was enclosed in red and gold rugs like false walls. There were thick cushions on the floor in a circle around a raised metal basin. Thomas took a seat on a black one, legs folded the way Harry had been taught as a child in Primary school. He moved to sit next to him, but Thomas shook his head.

“Across from me, dear,” Thomas murmured, gesturing to the large purple and gold trimmed cushion. Harry sat down on it, mirroring Thomas with his hands in his lap.

“In this room,” Thomas said, “I use a variation of soothsaying in order to make Lord Voldemort corporeal. I’ll burn incense and summon his spirit here first and then build him a temporary body with magic. You will be able to speak to Lord Voldemort and to touch him, however, I will be too focused on maintaining his connection to be able to speak. When you are done speaking to Lord Voldemort, simply tell him so and he will leave.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. Hesitantly, he asked, “And he won’t—He won’t hurt me?”

Thomas’s gaze softened. “He will not hurt you, love. I promise. He might scare you a little, he can be quite…testy at times. But he will never hurt you on purpose.”

Harry took in a fortifying breath. “Okay. Okay. I’m ready.”

“Good,” Thomas said. He lifted his hands over the basin and with a murmur and a swirl of magic he summoned the cones of incense to burn. They lit with a flash of his magic and smoke began to pour out from the top. Harry leaned back a little as the smell got more intense, but he had gotten more used to it, so he didn’t sneeze—even though his nose did tingle. 

He watched in awe as the smoke rose between them, the three cones giving off three different colors—black, red, and gold—it was the same as most of the colors of the room and made the air around him become hazy and thick. 

When Harry felt Thomas’s magic unfurl around him, he gasped softly. It felt so incredible—so heavy and powerful, like a thick comforter, fresh from the dryer on a cold winter morning. He leaned his head back, unconsciously basking in the sensation. Harry often got to feel Thomas’s magic—either when he did little spells or when he used it to help calm him down—but this? This was like Thomas was flooding the room. It was amazing. 

He was so enthralled by the magic, that Harry missed when Lord Voldemort appeared. It wasn’t until he felt something brush past his leg that he blinked and looked down and saw the semi-translucent tail of a snake that Harry realized that he and Thomas were no longer alone. Blinking, Harry looked at Thomas and gasped again.

An enormous snake curled around Thomas and the basin. The coils seemed to go on forever, looping around his outstretched arms,  his torso and across his shoulders. Thomas’s eyes were closed still, his brows pressed together in a furrow of concentration as the snake body squeezed and settled around him. Harry’s eyes followed it all the way to the head—which was hidden behind some hanging rug. He felt his heartbeat increase as the rugs rippled around him. Was Lord Voldemort hiding amongst them?

“Who is this, that comes to speak with Lord Voldemort?” 

The voice was soft, rasping like the owner had a sore throat. Harry swallowed down his nervousness—was he or was he not a Gryffindor?—and he replied with more confidence than he felt, “My name is Harry Potter. I came to ask you a question, L-lord Voldemort.”

Abruptly, the hanging rug beside him shifted and Harry saw gleaming eyes in the darkness behind it. He stared back, unable to make himself look away, even though some part of his mind told him, warned him, not to look a predator in the eyes. “Harry James Potter. The elusive other half of my Chosen’s soul. You come to ask a single question? You? Who eluded my Chosen for so long?” 

“That wasn’t me,” Harry said, “I went with Thomas as soon as he told me he was his soulmate. I didn’t hide or anything.”

The face ducked back into the darkness fully. Harry turned automatically to his other side, sensing Lord Voldemort’s movement more than he was able to see it. The hanging rug on his other side parted and he saw those same gleaming eyes again. 

“Your words ring with truth. You have placed yourself at my Chosen’s side, the other half of his soul, the other half of his heart, the other half of his magic. The singular key to his happiness.” The rugs rippled and Harry flinched a little as the lion face suddenly appeared before him. He’d never seen a real lion before, but somehow, Harry thought that Lord Voldemort’s face was more of a lion’s face than a real one. His eyes blazed, his was slightly ajar and was filled with large white fangs. His mane was the color of blood and rippled around his head like a flame. Lord Voldemort stilled when Harry flinched, watching him with slitted feline eyes.

“Ask me your question, little one. Speak, so that Lord Voldemort might hear.” 

Harry’s mind was blank. What had he wanted to ask? If Lord Voldemort liked him? If he was mad at him? The questions seemed so foolish now. Harry glanced at Thomas, but his soulmate’s expression hadn’t changed in the least—eyes closed and brows furrowed. Harry looked back. 

Lord Voldemort watched him, eyes unblinking.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, “They’re stupid questions but—Thomas told me that he bonded with your soul as part of how he keeps um, how his magic holds yours or something. And he said that he wanted me to join that bond, to be part of what keeps you from hurting people? And what keeps you here? He gave me a book with all the teachings like a High Priest—and I don’t know the first thing about being a High Priest or about soul bonds or anything.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know the first thing about anything, really, I don’t know why Thomas wants me for a soulmate when he could have picked any other Harry Potter besides me.”

Lord Voldemort blinked once. Then his head moved forward, the long sinewy body flowing behind like water. The coils slid over Harry’s lap, curling and twisting there to serve as a base for the head which positioned itself before Harry. He held very still under the touch of the Demiurge, though his skin tingled from the contact. 

“You seek assurance from Lord Voldemort,” the Demiurge spoke, mouth agape but not shaping the words, it was very strange to see, now that Harry had noticed it. He nodded along with Lord Voldemort’s statements. They were true after all. “You seek approval from Lord Voldemort. You seek knowledge from Lord Voldemort.” 

“If you wouldn’t mind giving it to me,” Harry said quietly, “I— I know you’re very important and have lots of other things you could be doing rather than help me—”

Lord Voldemort gave a sharp bark of laughter and that startled Harry into silence. More coils of the snake made their way around him, piling around his legs and sides though never quite pinning his hands down. Harry automatically rested them on the snake’s body, unsure where else to put them. The snake coils were smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Lord Voldemort gives his time and attention where he so pleases first and foremost—this is something he shares with his Chosen Soul.” Lord Voldemort twisted his head to one side, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “This is not all Lord Voldemort shares with his Chosen Soul.” 

“Uh. Okay. Thank you?” Harry responded. 

“Thus far, little one, you have given great pleasure to my Chosen. You have assuaged his fears of isolation, of failure, of the inevitable end of all things save the Demiurge and Other Immortals. You have given of yourself freely, asking for little in return while knowing that my Chosen would turn over the very world to lay at your feet were you but to request it.” Lord Voldemort reared back, eyes blazing wide now, “Lord Voldemort Sees You. The path you walk, at the side of my Chosen, is one of power and pleasure. It is one of wisdom and worship. It is one where you are above, but not apart, the bridge between those who revere and survive on Lord Voldemort’s word and his Chosen Soul who contains his Great Knowledge and Power.”

Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest as Lord Voldemort came closer, the soft fur of his muzzle pressing against his jaw. The Demiurge didn’t breathe, Harry noticed, or if it did, he couldn’t feel it on his skin. He could only smell the smoke in the air, the incense in the room. He cautiously pressed back, feeling his whole body tingle with static when Lord Voldemort nuzzled his cheek. It was bizarre but also, somehow, adorable. Absent-mindedly, Harry petted the snake body that coiled up in his lap. 

Lord Voldemort drew back slowly. His expression was difficult to read, but Harry thought he might be pleased. 

“So. You approve then?” Harry asked, “Even though— Even though from my dimension the Evil Voldemort wanted me dead?”

Lord Voldemort’s eyes crinkled in amusement. It reminded Harry of Thomas—his eyes did the same sort of thing when he was amused but not laughing. “Lord Voldemort doubts very much that the one who claimed to be Voldemort from the slice of reality that birthed you is truly akin to himself. From what I have seen, his fear outweighed his judgment and his knowledge outstriped his power. It is a good thing that you have removed his tainted soul from yourself. I look forward to the time when your soul has fully mended and you will enter into the bond with my Chosen and I. Our union will be powerful and fruitful. It will be the Herald of a Golden Age.”

Harry blushed at the reminder of his bond with Thomas. He was happy that Lord Voldemort seemed to like him enough. He’d been so worried, but it was all for nothing. Relaxing a little, Harry said, “I’m looking forward to it too. After everything Thomas has done for me, I really want to be able to do this for him.”

“Then remember to keep yourself safe, little one. You must be one in body, mind, and spirit for it to be possible.” 

Harry nodded. “I promise I’ll be careful. Especially at Hogwarts.” 

“Yes, Hogwarts. You shall learn well there and it shall prepare you for your future. One day, little one, Lord Voldemort will call you his Chosen Soul and you will Speak His Word as his Chosen does now. Learn to lead those around you, for they will turn to your Visage for guidance, knowing instinctively that Lord Voldemort has Blessed you.” The lion head rose then and came closer. Harry closed his eyes reflexively as the Demiurge’s forehead pressed against his own. Magic flowed out of Lord Voldemort and into Harry, making him gasp for breath as his whole body felt charged like he’d been zapped by lightning and, somehow, trapped it under his skin.

“Th-thank you,” Harry stammered. He felt he might vibrate right out of his skin. He needed—He needed to do something. He needed—He needed to spend all this energy— He didn’t know what to do—He needed help— “I—I need Thomas,” he gasped out, “I need him.”

“Then you shall have him,” Lord Voldemort whispered and withdrew. Before Harry’s very eyes the body of the Demiurge turned translucent like smoke and then faded into the air. 

Thomas took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Harry was already on his feet, trembling all over. 

“Thomas, Lord Voldemort Blessed me and now I think I’m going to explode!” He exclaimed, throwing himself into Thomas’s arms.

“We can’t have that,” Thomas murmured, “Let’s expend that magic quickly. Hold tightly.” 

Harry clung to his soulmate, eyes squeezed shut tightly. There was a squeeze and a pop and then they stood in a different room in the Manor, one Harry didn’t recognize either but was long and well lit with lights embedded in the walls and ceiling. Thomas turned him outward and with a snap of his fingers, target dummies appeared before Harry in a wave.

“Have at it,” Thomas told him with a hearty thump on Harry’s back.

In the next moment, Harry’s wand was out and he was casting.

Voldemort watched, arms folded and resting on his back foot as his little soulmate expended the magical deposit he’d transferred to him earlier. It was a test, of sorts, one to see how well Harry could take a surcharge of magic that wasn’t exactly his own—he’d never be able to host Sacraments if each time he did he passed out.

But it seemed that previous issue was entirely due to the Horcrux’s reaction and not Harry’s own, because the boy was able to incorporate the new magic and use it as his own immediately. Wonderful. 

He’d later have to teach Harry how to let it pass through him and into the net, but until he was fully incorporated himself, that wouldn’t be possible.

Everything was going well. Harry had responded shyly to the appearance of the Demiurge at first, but adjusted soon enough. He hadn’t questioned what he was told, though there would be plenty for him to think over later. He’d find no fault in it, of course. Lord Voldemort hadn’t lied—he rarely did, only if he had to. It was easier to walk around the truth, to tell it in shades, to ignore questions that led to worrying answers entirely.

Harry didn’t need to know how many tries it had taken Voldemort to find his soulmate. He didn’t need to know how many Harry Potters that Voldemort had chosen. What mattered was that he was here, now, and that he would one day be exactly what Voldemort needed to finally attain his godhood. 

After a particularly explosive incendio that left Harry panting for breath, he whirled around to face Thomas. His green eyes gleamed with magic and will. His body still trembled with exertion and power. His grip on his wand was tight, but not so much his knuckles were white. “Thomas—”

Voldemort read the desire out of his mind with barely any effort. Harry had started to project his thoughts more and more, not just in his eyes but the way he canted his body, lifting his chin and licking his lips.

Stepping forward, bare feet silent on the stone floor, Voldemort murmured, “Shall I kiss you, my love?”

“Yes please,” Harry nodded enthusiastically. 

Voldemort swept his arms around Harry and gave him the lightest kiss to his lips. The boy whimpered. Magic rose off his body like static. 

Gently, Voldemort whispered, “Shall I take you to bed, darling?”

“Yes, please,” Harry begged.

Voldemort smiled and did so.

Chapter Text

The headmaster’s office is neatly organized and reminds Harry of the fancier sitting rooms in the Manor, with dark wood and gold accents, glass-encased shelving filled with trinkets and books, and a double line of portraits along one wall. As Harry brushes off the ash from his robes, he notices the men in the portraits murmuring to each other. All but one of the portraits moves and it’s the unmoving one that catches his attention.

It’s Albus Dumbledore.

The fire flared beside Harry and he hurriedly moved aside so that Thomas didn't bump into him on his arrival. Thomas arrived in a swirl of deep red and gold—he was showing his house pride, he’d told Harry. He’d wanted to dress similarly, but Thomas insisted he wear a charcoal gray robe instead. Harry sighed at the reminder. 

Lucius, already on his feet and awaiting them, bowed deeply. His long blond hair swept over one shoulder, elegant and straight. Harry wondered what it must be like to have such obedient hair. His never would be, after all. But maybe he could grow it out a little and see what it was like. Harry absently curled his finger around a stray lock the way Thomas sometimes did and looked at it while the men exchanged greetings.

“Come, darling,” Thomas murmured with a light touch to his shoulder. “There’s no need for dallying. The Hat is right here.”

Lucius held out the Hat in his hands. It looked somehow nicer than previously. Maybe it had been washed recently? Or some of the fabric had been fixed or something. Either way, it was old, but not as worn-looking, and it rippled a little as Harry approached. A face contorted out of the fabric, hollow eyes looking at him. Harry shivered.

He ducked his head and let Lucius place it down.

The brim seemed to swallow up the whole top of his head, down to the middle of his forehead. 

There was silence, at first, and then a familiar voice murmured, Well well. My first interdimensional transfer student. How curious! And why have you come here, young Mr. Potter?

“Thomas brought me here,” Harry responded. “To be with him.”

Oh, I can see that well enough, the Hat replied. Harry had the feeling that his brain was a book and the Hat was flipping through it and skimming memories here and there. Yes. I can see well enough indeed about him in here. But that doesn’t tell me why you are here.

“I’m here because I’ve got to go to school,” Harry said, somewhat confused by the question, “Unless you mean why am I here with Thomas, in which case it’s because he asked me to come with him and as his soulmate, why would I say no?”

You weren’t his soulmate before, the Hat said, but I suppose you must be now. Many children sit under my cap with unformed marks, hoping to meet their soulmate someday while many others haven’t a clue and don’t care either way. Rarely do I get to see someone with their soulmate mark present, it’s a very curious thing. 

“Do you not talk to anyone but children when you’re sorting them? What about the Headmaster?”

Oh, we talk, we talk, the Hat said, Some Headmasters are just more chatty than others. Now, I believe I’ve seen enough about you to know where you go. Do you have any thoughts on the matter? 

“I’ve already been sorted once, so I think I know where I’m going,” Harry replied confidently.

In that case, you’ll not be surprised when I declare you a “SLYTHERIN!” 

Harry popped the hat off his head and exclaimed, “What!?”

That wasn’t fair! He was a Gryffindor! He’d already been sorted there!

Lucius gently took the Hat from Harry’s tight fingers. “Welcome to the house of the ambitious, my lord,” he said with a little bow.

Harry whirled to face Thomas, “But—But I’m a Gryffindor!”

Thomas didn’t look a whit upset. Or surprised. He had the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile, “And you certainly are brave as one, but you’re clever too, aren’t you my dear? Clever and ambitious.” His eyes gleamed as they crinkled in amusement, “You want to be worthy of being my soulmate, after all.”

Harry bit his tongue because he did want that, but he was embarrassed by it being mentioned aloud. Thomas stepped closer and reached down, cupping Harry’s blushing cheek in one hand. 

“What’s wrong, love?” Thomas murmured. “Are you really that upset about your house?”

Harry frowned. “No,” he mumbled. It wasn’t like Draco the git was there to be bothersome, and neither was Snape. It might not be so bad, being a snake. At least, he had some hope that it wouldn’t be so bad. “I just—you didn’t have to say that out loud.”

“My apologies. I thought it was clear enough that you’re striving so hard and I wanted to let you know that I see your effort and appreciate them,” Thomas said gently, “You’ll do well in the house of the ambitious, my darling. And you won’t be alone there either. Angelica is one of its members, I believe.” He glanced up at Lucius for confirmation.

Lucius nodded, “She is indeed, my lord, as is her cousin, Aster. Lord Carus will have plenty of appropriate company in his house.”

Harry made a face at the term ‘appropriate company’, but didn’t complain out loud. Lucius was a posh sort of man. Harry figured he’d be like that.

Thomas tucked that stubborn curl of Harry’s behind an ear. “You will look lovely in the green and silver, my dear, and not to mention there are quite a lot of interesting secrets down there. Secrets you will have to explore and tell me about later, as I never got to explore them.”

Harry squinted at Thomas. “I don’t know… You’re a Gryffindor. They weren’t allowed down there when I was going to Hogwarts. Is that allowed here?”

“Outside of curfew hours, and as long as they are escorted by a member of the house, students of other houses may visit the common room. However, curfew still applies to them there, so they can get detention if they’re in another common room too late,” Lucius told them. 

Harry was amazed. That was never allowed before! “And what about at meal times? Can you eat at other tables?”

“It is expected for one to eat at least dinner at their house table,” Lucius told him with an arched brow, “Though lunch and breakfast are a bit more…informal.”

“Great,” Harry grinned. He turned back to Thomas, “Then I can sit with Odette sometimes and Angelica other times. Or Odette can sit with us.”

“Exactly,” Thomas said. He gave Lucius a Look, but when Harry turned to see why, Lucius looked exactly as before with his hands behind his back and his shoulders straight. 

“Now, darling,” Thomas said, “Let’s head back home, shall we? You need to finish packing for the ride tomorrow.”

Harry nodded and went back to the floo. Taking a pinch of powder, he cast it into the flames and called clearly, “Sunrise Tower!”  As the flames turned green, Harry stepped through and let them whirl him away.

“Take your cousin upstairs and go play,” Ginny said.

For a moment, it looked like Arty would argue, face scrunching up. She knew he thought Rosalie was too little to play with, but instead, he swallowed his complaints and turned to his cousin. “C’mon Rosa. We’ll play in my room now while the adults talk.”

Rosa blinked her big blue eyes, looking up from the dolly she’d been playing with. She turned a bright smile on her cousin, “Can we play house?”

Arty sighed heavily and muttered an agreement, effectively taking his cousin and leading her away. Ginny watched him go, her heart clenched tightly in her chest. Arty took after his father in a lot of ways, just like how Daniel had taken after Jason. 

With the children out of the way, Ginny finally went and opened the kitchen door, letting in the man who had been patiently waiting there. She didn’t meet his gaze, only nodded her head in greeting and said, “The others are already downstairs.”

“Good,” he murmured, his accent no less prominent now than it had been years ago when they first met. “We have much to discuss. I have heard that Lupin interacted with it directly?”

Ginny nodded. She shut and locked the door behind him and then followed him to the cellar door. He unlocked it himself, swiping a fingertip through the runic lock and then stepping heavily down the wooden stairs. The noise from below died off as they descended down the stairs. 

The Order had shrunk in recent times. After Albus had vanished, the group had splintered. Many of those splinters had broken off when he was confirmed dead, but this core of them remained, all rooted around their connections to Albus and to the Evans, or rather, the Potters.

Ginny rounded the table and took her spot to the left of their current leader—Lily Potter. Her mind still stuttered over the name—she’d been going as Lyla Evans for as long as Ginny had known her, but had shed her half-name with the death of her soulmate and son.

Lily Potter was a flame in the darkness. She was heat and life and light. She was the only reason Ginny had gotten out of bed when Daniel had been ripped away from her. She was the only one who had been able to get Ginny to understand that Arty still needed her, that they still needed her. That the work was not done until Daniel’s body was put to rest and the bastard who killed him—who was the lynchpin for this whole corrupted society—was dead.

Lily rose to her feet as Ginny settled. She nodded in greeting to everyone before her green eyes settled on the last one to join them—besides Ginny.

“Welcome Gellert,” Lily said, “It’s been some time. When we hadn’t heard from you, we figured you were dead. I’m glad to see that wasn’t the case.”

Gellert Grindelwald smiled briefly and nodded back. “I am as well.” His expression darkened, “But I have heard terrible news, hopefully not all true.”

Grimaces were shared around the table. Lily’s face was set into stone. “I’m afraid much of it is.” She took a deep breath and then shook herself. “But we’ll get to that. First, we’ll hear any reports from those who haven’t had a chance to speak yet and then we’ll get to the meat of the issue—what are we going to do about the construct.”

As Lily sat back down, she glanced at Remus, who took the cue and, with a brief expression of pain, got up and began to speak.

“I was in the bookshop—Flourish and Blotts—when I encountered it. Or rather, Lucas did first, and…”

Voldemort stood on the platform in a loose semi-circle that consisted mostly of his Flames and watched as his soul was taken arm-in-arm onto the train by a handful of girls barely older than he was. 

Girls he trusted to do anything to protect Harry, but still little girls. They weren’t trained bodyguards, those little girls, but they were loyal and diligent. He had to trust Harry was in good hands.

“It never gets any easier,” he heard one of the others murmur, as well as soft agreement from amongst the group.  The train was steadily filling up, now. The ratio of children to adults on the platform was dropping until all that remained were those too young or too old for Hogwarts.

Bellatrix stepped up to Voldemort, her dark gaze hooded as she looked past him to the train. “They’ll care for him, my lord.” Her mouth twisted into a wicked grin, “Aster especially. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Voldemort simply nodded. The first excuse to meet with his soulmate wouldn’t be for two months and then for another one after that, if he did make it onto the Quidditch team. 

He felt…bereft. It was a strange feeling. He’d never felt this way before in all his years without a soulmate—

Well. That wasn’t exactly true. This feeling was similar to the unmooring that had happened once or twice before, but always because of terrible, life-changing circumstances. Not because someone became slightly more difficult to reach out to. 

Death had brought this feeling before, but Death would not touch another person that Voldemort cared for. Never again.

He swore it. 

Taking a deep breath, Voldemort let it out slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed him. He yearned, for a moment, to step back through time and, just for a moment, speak the words of confession and have his heart be soothed, but no. 

Lord Voldemort’s heart needed no soothing. At least, none that could not be done by his gentle-hearted soulmate. 

So he turned and headed for the floos. There was always work to be done and never enough time—especially since he’d devoted so much of it recently to the care of his little soulmate. Those two months would pass quickly, he was sure. 

Harry would be back in his arms before he knew it, and not much longer after that, the boy would never need to leave him again. 

Soon. Soon. He simply needed patience.

Lord Voldemort would be patient, for no goal was greater than this.