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Chapter Text

The last thing Harry remembers is walking to his death. His palms had been sweaty. His steps stilted. His heartbeat a deafening drum that he could feel reverberate throughout his body with each step, each breath, each thought that this could very well and truly be the end.

He’d thought that if this is what it took to save his friends, the only family he had ever known, then that was a pretty okay way to die. It was the way his parents had died, dying to save who they loved, dying doing exactly with no hesitation what they thought was good. He just wished he could die laughing the way Sirius had. But there was no humor to be found in this situation.

Voldemort’s glee. Belatrix’s insanity. The injustice of Peter surviving his parents, Sirius, and himself. But most importantly, the loss of magical blood, the utter waste of human life. The wasted brilliance Thomas Riddle could have brought to the world instead of this hopeless darkness drenched in blood. His last thought, as Voldemort raised his wand and uttered the incantation to kill him, was if reincarnation was real, maybe he had hope for a more permanent family and a happier life in his next one.

The one thing Harry would say about Avada Kadavra was that it was a painless death. Almost like slipping into sleep mid-thought after taking a strong pain-killing potion. He was in the Forbidden Forest, listening to Voldemort’s sickeningly gleeful Avada Kadavra, then he blinked and then he was here.

Kings Cross station, but all white. And it was much too bright, it almost hurt. Like driving in Muggle London after dark. Blinding and uncomfortable.

The pained cries of….something…someone broke the silence, and he followed the noise to find a baby under a bench. The baby was….gruesome. Its splotchy almost translucent flesh was marred with what looked like burns. It was too skinny like it’d never eaten in its short life, and the pain in the cries. It split Harry’s heart into pieces. Harry had heard countless babies’ cries. But never like this. Never like the baby’s very soul was on fire, like it knew that all the pain it felt and all the cries it uttered and all this torment it endured were utterly useless. Because it would just continue. Indefinitely.

Harry reached for the baby to offer a modicum of comfort, but a voice made him stop short.

“Pitiful, creature. There’s nothing you can do for it, Harry.”

Harry’s spine stiffened. He raised his eyes to meet the gaze of Albus Dumbledore, the champion of the light who had sent a 17-year-old to die.

A silent, brief but all-encompassing ware waged within him. Because he knew he had walked to his death and faced it willingly. He had been happy to die to spare the world a second war with Voldemort; he’d been happy to save his friends and limit the amount of blood spilled—on both sides. But now in the afterlife after it was all said and done, Harry couldn’t fathom ever asking a teenager to sacrifice themselves for “the greater good.”

“He’s in pain, sir,” he replied, carefully keeping these new emotions behind a neutral mask.

“Nothing you can do, Harry. Come, sit with me. I’m sure you have many questions.”

They took a seat away from the crying baby, and Harry found he only had one question for the man he’d once seen as a pseudo-father. “Did you always know I’d have to die?”

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye dimmed. “Not always, my boy. But I slowly pieced together what was necessary.” Dumbledore turned towards Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. “If there had been any other way, I would have taken it. In a heartbeat. But alas, that fateful night on Halloween when Voldemort made you a horcrux cemented what must be done.”

Harry nodded, pretending to understand Dumbledore’s predicament. When really, he was scolding himself. How could he not have seen it? But, of course, he thought bitterly, that was the point. He wouldn’t have, would he? He who had been abused in every imaginable way at the Dursley’s suddenly finding a home at Hogwarts and a parental figure in the grandfatherly, all-powerful, seemingly all-knowing headmaster. The headmaster who had commanded the respect and loyalty of his parents and his godfather. The headmaster who the Weasleys, the only family who had ever cared about him and accepted him and the family his first and best friend had belonged to, had trusted. Blindly, Harry added bitterly.

He had been ripe for the slaughter. Had been raised especially for the prospect of death and sacrifice.

“So…I’m dead?” Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded.

“And the afterlife is Kings Cross station?” Harry was so confused. This was so British-centric. Or did each country have a different afterlife? Each culture maybe? How tedious.

“I imagine it works like a train station, my boy. You can go wherever you want. You just need to catch the right train.”

Harry mulled that over. “So….I can go back?”

Dumbledore paused. “If you wish, I doubt any entity would deny you anything. Though nobody would blame you for wanting to rest.”

Harry jerked back. What the hell? “Sooo if I can go back. Does this mean this isn’t real? That it’s all in my head?”

Dumbledore stood up and grinned, eyes twinkling. “Of course, this is happening in your head, Harry. But why would that mean it’s not real?”

He turned back for a second, “I’m proud of you, Harry,” and then walked away, fading from whatever plane Harry was on as he walked.

“Thank god, I thought he’d never leave,” a voice sounded behind Harry.

Harry jumped and rounded on a hooded figure. It almost looked like a dementor, except not evil or hideous. Just a figure in black robes with a hood that obscured its face almost completely. Harry stared, not daring to move or breathe, or maybe he just didn’t need to breathe anymore.

The figure stepped forward and extended a skeletal hand. “I’m Death.”

“Uhhhh.” Harry was at a loss for words. He extended his hand on instinct and was pleasantly surprised to find softness in Death’s touch, a warmth that was like a welcome home. “Nice to meet you?” It came out as a question, but really Harry didn’t know protocol for meeting Death.

Death chuckled. “Nice to finally meet you, too, Harry.” The figure’s head tilted as if thinking through a tough equation. “You’re technically my master, but having watched you your whole life, I thought you’d be more comfortable with a more casual form of address. Did I assume correctly?”

Harry nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, I am nobody’s master.”

Death chuckled again. “You are mine. But I will address you as whatever pleases you.” He gestured to the bench with the crying baby underneath it. “Come, sit.”

Harry sat next to death and because he couldn’t help it, some tether in his chest that connected to the poor creature beneath the bench, quivering uneasily and needing to do something, he picked the baby up and held it against his body, rubbing comforting circles in the baby’s back and cradling its head as if it was something precious.

Because really it was.

The effect was immediate. The baby settled against Harry’s chest and heaved out a sigh so heavy and grief-ridden that one so small had no business making it. Tears welled in Harry’s eyes, “How long as it been here?”

“70 years,” Death answered.

Harry’s heart broke. Nobody deserved this. Nobody, not even…

Harry froze. “This is Voldemort, isn’t it?”

Death nodded his head. “Yes. Thank you for giving the tortured creature some reprieve. Now, Harry, as the master of death, I’d like to go over your options and give you some insight on the life you just lived.”

“O-o-okay,” Harry stuttered.

“First, the lies. One, Dumbledore is not your friend. I know you’ve already begun to unravel the lies and manipulations he spun. Two, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, and Molly Weasley are not your friends. And Three, you never needed to go to the Dursleys, even with Sirius in prison. As soon as you can if you choose options one or two, go to the Goblins. They are your friends.”

Before Harry’s mind could catch up, Death continued. “Your choices are as follows: One, you can go back to when you were a baby. Two, you can go back to any time you were close to death. Three, you can be sent back to a different life altogether with no recollection of your previous life. Or four, you can join your family in the afterlife. They are waiting for you. But as you are seventeen aren’t as anxious to see you as you might be to see them.”

Harry didn’t know what to think. Or what to choose. He didn’t know how to choose. He’d never been given a choice in his life. Harry had no idea what to do or what to think or how to work through this-- but he knew a place to start. “What did Dumbledore want me to do?”

Death sighed. “He had contingencies, Harry. He was hoping you’d stay dead, for sure. But if you go back one of two things will happen, either Ronald will kill you or he will, with the help of others, stage a trial that will end with you being sent through the veil and so back here to me.”

Harry mulled this over, absentmindedly rubbing the baby’s back. He peered down at what he assumed was Voldemort’s soul. Knowing that Voldemort had ripped his soul into seven pieces, the state of the creature in his arms made more sense.

Harry’s thoughts flashed with memories of the previous seven years at Hogwarts, of his friends and his teachers and his frenemies in Slytherin. Memories of his childhood with the Dursleys, of the fights he’d fought and the utterly batshit situations he’d found himself in.

Do it all again?

Did he have it in him to do it all again? Despite being Death’s master, he didn’t trust the Russian Roulette of blindly agreeing to go to another life with none of his current memories. And he wanted to meet his parents when they were impatient to see him, when he’d lived a full life he couldn’t wait to tell them about. But live the last seven years all over again made him feel an all-encompassing exhaustion that seeped through to his very bones.

“If I may,” Death interrupted. “I would suggest—especially if you’re reticent to live your life from the beginning which I get—going back to the graveyard in Year 4.” Death started and stopped his next sentence over and over and over again, as if unsure how to say what he wanted to say next, or maybe working through if he was allowed to say what he wanted to say next. “I obviously can’t give you a play by play of everything, but I can give you guidance. And I can give you a boon or two. Fate, Time, Lady Magic, and myself all have a vested interest in restoring the balance Dumbledore destroyed. So I will say this. I will send you back to the very beginning of that situation. With enough time to save Cedric. And with this knowledge: One, you didn’t destroy the horcrux in the diary, the locket, the cup, or the diadem, they attached themselves to you. You will go back with more of Voldemort’s soul than he currently has in his wraith form or his new body. And two, if you can heal Voldemort’s soul and sanity, he actually has a better vision than Dumbledore for the future of the wizarding world.”

Harry nodded. That made sense. “Okay, let’s go save Cedric and Tom.”

He walked with Death to a doorway, carrying Voldemort’s soul with him.

Death opened the door and gestured for him to walk through, but stopped him just before he did so.

Death held out his arms, “I’ll take care of him until you can heal Tom’s soul.”

Harry took a step back, his arms tightening as much as they could without hurting the creature. “No. I need to take him with me.”

Death sighed. It was unnerving talking to a creature as powerful as death with no facial cues as to how they were feeling. But Death didn’t seem angry. Just sad. “You are kind, Harry. Never lose that. I will keep him with me, and he will no longer hurt. As long as you repair his soul in a timely fashion. Okay?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Okay.” He reluctantly handed Voldemort’s soul over. “Just…”

“I know, Harry. I will,” Death promised. “Remember, go to the Goblins as soon as you can.”

Harry nodded, gave Death a lame thumbs up, before walking through the portal.

Chapter Text

The next thing Harry knew, he was in his fourteen-year-old body and was staring at Cedric. They were in the maze of the third task, they’d both come into the clearing and were circling the Tri-wizard trophy.

“You should take it,” Cedric said, ever the selfless, annoying Hufflepuff.

Harry was practically vibrating out of his skin. He had trained for what was about to happen for almost his whole life, knowingly or not. His reflexes were lightning fast and in the span of a fraction of a breath he could now throw three separate curses in three different directions. In the war, too, he’d found he had a unique ability that would prove useful being outnumbered as they were about to be.

He couldn’t not let Cedric take the trophy with him; it couldn’t look like he knew what was going to happen. But with his memories from his prior life, he was ready and more than capable of dodging the curses and blasting Cedric out of the way.

So his face split into a grin. “No, you take it. You’re the real champion anyway.”

Cedric rolled his eyes. “You’ve more than held your own. And you got here first.”

Harry rolled his eyes so hard he saw stars for a split second. But then he broke into an even wider grin. “We both take it. Either way it’s a win for Hogwarts which is all that matters, right?”

Cedric laughed. “You’re crazy, Potter. Alright you’re on. On go?”

Harry nodded, laughing. “One…two…three.”

And at the same time, as they both reached in unison for the cup, they shouted, “Go.”

Even knowing it was coming did not prepare Harry for the insanity that was Portkey travel. He would never be a fan of them. No matter how convenient they are.

They hit the ground, and Harry blasted Cedric out of the way of the killing curse already flying through the air. Harry heard a thump as Cedric hit a large gravestone.

“Sectumsempra,” he shouted, letting the curse fly at the biggest group of Death Eaters and watching satisfied as it dispersed and landed on all six of them. A group of four Death Eaters rushed over to their fallen comrades when the cuts kept appearing on their bodies and blood soaked the ground. That should keep a good majority of them busy for a while at least.

Satisfied, Harry ran behind to Cedric’s slumped body behind a grave stone, expertly dodging the curses the remaining Death Eaters were flinging at him. He jumped behind the grave stone and grabbed Cedric’s wrist.

Thank, Merlin, Harry thought. He could feel Cedric’s pulse. It was faint but it was there.

Harry sat back on his knees, crouched as he was behind a gravestone. Like the Gryffindor he was, he hadn’t planned further than saving Cedric, not that he’d been given much planning time. Between dying and having revelation after revelation about his previous life and then coming back to the Tournament, he was running on fumes and seconds away from collapse. Or y’know a complete and utter breakdown. But he knew more than Voldemort. Hell, he knew the prophesy.

Well, now. That sparked an idea.

Harry straightened his spine, locked eyes with Peter Pettigrew and walked liesurely out from behind the gravestone.

“Hey, you rat bastard. Bring me your master. I have a proposition for him.”

“You dare,” Lucius’s soft, dangerous voice drifted over to Harry, “demand an audience of the Dark Lord?”

“I have what he wants.”

“And what do you think I want?” Voldemort asked. Harry turned to see Voldemort, the great Dark Lord in his wraith form in Pettigrew’s arms, held like a baby. He was a pathetic shadow of the man he had been, could still be. He was small, pale, and his voice rasped like he’d chain smoked for the last century despite being the size of a newborn.

“A nose,” Harry murmured too low for anyone else to hear, more to calm himself than anything. He cleared his throat. “The prophecy for starters.”

He let that bit of news settle over everyone, taking particular pleasure in the obvious shock on the Wraith’s face.

“Maybe your horcruxes safe from the manipulative old goat?” Harry smirked. The shock only deepened, and he was relishing it. He never quite got powerplays when he saw Draco and other Slytherins making them. But feeling this depth of smugness, he finally understood. “And probably my blood for whatever ritual you came up with to get your body back. But I ask you this, would willing blood work better than blood forcibly taken?”

“My lord!” Lucius all but shouted as he ran forward. “That would make a tremendous difference. It would be the difference between a caterpillar and butterfly.”

“And I would be the caterpillar in this scenario? Or maybe the larva?” Voldemort asked dryly.

Lucius dropped to his knees, head bowed. “My Lord, I meant no such thing. I just…I mean….the ritual….your new body.” Lucius blew out a breath and tensed his body, readying himself as much as possible for whatever punishment Voldemort would decide on. “I just think we should hear the boy out.”

Another Death Eater stepped forward and knelt beside Lucius. “My Lord, he clearly doesn’t fully trust Dumbledore, you heard him. Maybe it’ll be worth it. We can always forcibly take the blood if it’s not.”

The Wraith inclined its head, “Very Well, Theodorus. Lucius.” He gestured for Harry to continue.

“Okay first, I will only answer questions I’m comfortable with which I warn you won’t be many, but the information I have is freely given. One, I destroyed the diary, the locket, the cup, and the diadem. And I absorbed your soul pieces. I have most of your soul right now and will freely give it back to you IF it is to reunite them with your new body and however much soul you still have left. Two the prophecy, which, y’know I just have to add my two pence in, is just utter rubbish especially given fucking Trelawney made this prophecy, but it’s this: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." Harry snorted. “Just so you know, the old bat thinks the power I have that you don’t is love.”

Voldemort rasped out, “What do you want?”

“What I want is simple, especially considering what I can do for you is great.”

“You’ve already given all your information,” Voldemort retorted.

“But I haven’t done anything,” Harry responded, rolling his eyes. He ignored the muttering of the Death Eaters. “You were brilliant, Tom.” The Wraith hissed. “No,” Harry hissed back. “I will not call you Voldemort. I will most definitely not call you, My Lord. I will call you by your name, by the name by which you proposed an infinitely brighter and safer future for the wizarding world than Dumbles could ever dream up. You are still, Tom. The horcruxes compromised your sanity because the Tom I saw in Dumbledore’s memories, even skewed by the Old Goat’s prejudice, would never spill magical blood for shits and giggles. I want our culture back. I want balance back. I want traditions and values brought back—with of course an updated take on class and corruption.”

The Wraith looked thoughtful. “So you will support me.”

“With a few conditions. No magical blood, half-blood pureblood or otherwise, spilled for no reason. No muggle murdering for no reason. No pureblood bullshit. You will put together your soul. And I will live with you or one of your followers after tonight. I refuse to go back to my family.” At Voldemort’s raised eyebrow, Harry added in Parsletongue, “Our childhoods are quite similar, Tom. My uncle favored the belt and my aunt favored taking away meals.”

The Wraith nodded his head, though something in his eyes and countenance darkened at that information. “We will proceed with the ritual for my body tonight. It’s already ready. We will do the ritual for my soul at a later time after the school year is done and we have the summer to sort everything out. Is this agreeable with you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry laughed, almost hysterically. “Harry, please, Tom. And yes.”

He held out his arm for the blood and watched the ritual proceed just as it had before. Not tied to a headstone and being a willing participant, it wasn’t quite so ominous this time around. And knowing he was rectifying past mistakes-- ones made by generations before him, not just his own— made him less unsure about how he proceeded, which was a new and welcome feeling.

Tom emerged from the cauldron looking more like an older version of his self from the diary. Pale skin. Long hair that fell in short, soft curls around his face. Laugh lines, interestingly, around his eyes and mouth. Maybe this time he’ll be able to see the Dark Lord Voldemort laugh. Hell, maybe he’d make the Dark Lord Voldemort laugh. Wouldn’t that be something.

His robes still gathered around him, seemingly made from pure darkness, like the night suddenly became material and draped itself around Tom. But he wore loafers, trousers, and a black button up shirt beneath the robes looking like he strolled out of the forties. And his eyes. They were a shocking green. Avada Kedavra green. Almost like Harry’s but brighter, more iridescent. Dare he say it, more snakelike.

Tom walked over to Harry and held out a hand. Harry took it and grinned when Tom didn’t snatch his hand away. “You can touch me without hurting.”

Tom barked a laugh. “I should hope so. Your blood runs in my veins. We are kin.”

Harry nodded. “Good, now save me from my relatives.”

Tom inclined his head. “The Dark Lord keeps his promises, Harry. Now we must decide how to proceed.”

“Whatever happens, I go back with Cedric. Alive,” Harry said, eyeing Tom pointedly.

Tom laughed. “As I said, Harry. The Dark Lord keeps his promises. No, I mean what you’ll tell the old goat. Or what did you call him?”

Harry laughed. “Dumbles.”

“Ah, yes. Dumbles. Here’s what you’ll tell him. Tell him I attempted to steal your blood, but you fought and hid until you could sneak to Cedric’s body and then summoned the cup to you.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, and what do I tell Barty to let him know I’m on his side? Also, you need to let poor Alistair go. He’s paranoid enough, he’ll be insufferable now.”

Tom paused, almost hesitant which piqued Harry’s curiousity. “Tell Barty that you’ll take him to meet Amir, that Tom told you Amir needs to feed. And then tell him to sneak you away from Platform 9 ¾ to meet me at Malfoy Mansion on the first day of summer break.”

“Amir?”

“The Basilisk.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. “Tom...”

“Amir is fine, Harry. You maimed him, yes. And you took his fang yes. But it’s already grown back, and he’s been adamant about meeting his ‘new little master.’” There was an edge of annoyance in Tom’s tone, but it was mostly indulgent. Harry reeled from this newfound fact. Even if Tom didn’t call it so, Tom loved Amir.

“And what do Basalisks eat?”

Tom shrugged. “Bring some rats or rabbits or something. I’m sure Hagrid can help you.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, sounds like a plan.”

And for better or worse, that’s all Harry had at the moment. He nodded at Tom and walked to Cedric’s still passed out form near a gravestone.

“Accio.”

Harry snatched his hand back and missed catching the cup at the last second. He looked up suddenly, “Tom! Punch me.”

There was no fight this time around. He didn’t even have a cut from where the blood had been taken, Nott performing some healing incantation after cutting, rather gently, the line in his forearm.

Tom looked taken aback, like he’d actually been stricken. “Absolutely not. I will not harm my new ally.”

Harry snorted, “Trust me, I know how to take a beating.” Tom looked positively murderous. A warmth bloomed in Harry’s chest. Now that they were allies, did the Dark Lord…care? It was almost sweet. But Harry shook those thoughts out of his head and tried to reason with Tom. “Do you really think Dumbles will believe I walked out of a fight with you with no bruises or cuts or anything? I need to look like I just fought for my life!”

Tom mulled Harry’s words over. After a few minutes he shouted, “Pettigrew. Come fight, Harry.”

“M-m-m-my lord?” Pettigrew stammered out.

Harry’s lips slowly lifted into an insane grin. Oh, yes. This was even better than taking a necessary beating. He’d get to punch the man responsible for his shit show of a life. The fact he blamed Pettigrew more than Tom was something he’d process later.

Harry obviously won the fight, but Pettigrew, after being promised by Tom hours of the Cruciatus Curse if he didn’t land at least some of his punches and hexes, did get a few good ones in. And Harry worked out an anger he hadn’t even realized he’d carried in the tensions of his body. When it was all said and done, he felt loose, light. Like he might float away. His grin remained locked in place as he watched Pettigrew bleeding from various cuts on his body and cradling his magical hand that had been made useless and broken with a single flick of Harry’s wand.

He was so busy fighting Pettigrew and relishing in the pain he got to inflict on the rat, that he missed the murmurs of shock from the Death Eaters when he’d rendered their Lord’s magic dormant. Not to mention the proud ghost of a smile on Tom’s face and the glimmer of excitement at the prospect of nurturing Harry’s obvious power.

Harry walked away from the rat and towards Tom. “Well?” he twirled around in front of Tom. “How do I look?”

“Like you’ve been a fight,” Tom replied dryly. “Now go, before there’s no audience for you to get back to.”

“The theatrics, I swear,” Harry muttered. “See you in a few weeks?” he asked Tom, unable to keep the note of uncertainty in his tone. Tom smiled and nodded. So Harry quickly gabbed Cedric and yelled, “Accio.”

The lively music of the Hogwarts band started upon his and Cedric’s return. They hit the ground, and Harry for all his teasing of Tom, brought out the theatre kid he’d always known was there and frantically tried to wake Cedric up, exuding a desperation to see his friend open his eyes. It wasn’t hard to do, though, he really did need to see that Cedric was indeed alive, that this had been the right thing, that he brought Amos his son, his pride and joy, back. That he hadn’t allied himself to his parents’ murderer for nothing.

“Cedric,” he screamed. He brought tears to the surface, remembering his mother’s screams before she was murdered and then suddenly realizing he hadn’t been in the position to see her face or hear her voice in the graveyard this time. Tears fell one by one until he was sobbing, the music dying down. “CEDRIC!”

Cedric shot up, arms coming around Harry in a protective gesture and his wand out in front of him. Amos had scrambled down from the bleachers almost immediately after their arrival, and by the time he made it to the two, found himself on the other end of Cedric’s wand. “Ced, love, come on. It’s me,” Amos pleaded.

Harry moved out of the way, and the last thing he saw was Cedric collapsing against his father, sobbing, saying Harry had saved him from You-Know-Who. Before a hand unceremoniously pushed his shoulders to turn him away from the scene. And Harry found himself being hauled roughly by the collar of his shirt, being marched towards the castle by none other than Barty Crouch Jr.

Chapter Text

All in all, it wasn’t as hard as Harry had thought it would be to get Barty not only to stop whatever attack he’d undoubtedly plan to listen to him but also believe Harry when he explained that he willingly gave blood and was on Tom’s side now, though Barty’s surprise was amplified by Mad-Eye’s eye going haywire which was honestly hilarious.  Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Mad-Eye had the eye made like that on purpose to throw people off their game because it was deeply unsettling to see his eye roll around the way it did.  And just because the eye rolled around doesn’t mean his vision did, and Harry knew for a fact that most magical eyes (if you had the galleons for it of course) had better vision than what people were born with.  Sometimes they even came with night mode.

When he’d been on the run with Ron and Hermione, there had been plenty of nights he’d contemplated plucking out his own eyes so he could get two magical replacements for the night vision alone. But then he’d realized how morbid and horrifying that was and tried to scourgify that thought from his mind…until the next time he was trying to read something or tie something or cook something in the dark while in hiding.

Barty had been ecstatic that they were on the same side, and he started rambling about stories of his lord and the adventures they’d had in Romania and China and Mexico, even telling him some quick stories about how brave and wonderful and beautiful Regulus was when Harry mentioned Sirius Black was his blood-adopted godfather, which Harry decided to put a pin in and come back to because he suddenly remembered that any second now Dumbledore would be interrupting their nice little chat. 

At the exuberant excitement Barty exuded at being able to talk to Harry as himself, Harry recognized the deep loneliness in Barty, and Harry had no experience in the matter but he suspected having to wear someone else’s appearance and being stuck with only your enemies or children for company was taxing.  Despite the age different, Harry thought he and Barty might be good friends in the future.

He let Barty finish his last story about Remus’s eyes under the northern lights in Siberia, and then he convinced Barty into playing a little trick on good old Dumbles.  After quickly explaining the gist, Harry summoned all of the tears he had suppressed over the years, the number of which was substantial, and started crying into the tea Barty had handed him. 

Barty, for his part, was impressed with the ease at which Harry lied and the unbelievably believable performance he was putting on.  He would enjoy giving Dumbledore a fright after all the light propaganda he’d had to grin and bear the last academic year.  

Harry kept his head down, looking at the floor, but made sure to project, and started rambling about the trauma of seeing Voldemort and the horrors the Death Eaters had wreaked on him and Cedric, how they’d wanted his blood for some stupid ritual.  Harry sincerely hoped he timed this well because he couldn’t keep up the act indefinitely.  But after a minute or two, when he’d worked himself up to hiccupping sobs, Dumbledore barged into the room, wand drawn with three aurors at his back.

Harry leaped up and pulled out his wand, making crazy eyes at the headmaster.  “No!” he screamed, frantically looking around.

Barty, in his poly-juiced disguise with Mad-Eye’s eye going haywire, stalked over to put himself between Harry and Dumbledore.  He leaned over and whispered gruffly, “It’s alright, Harry.  You’re safe.”  He turned to Dumbledore, “Honestly, Albus.  He’s been traumatized enough.  What were you thinking barging in here like that?”

Dumbledore slowly lowered his wand and blinked.  He seemed, for the first time in his too-long life, at a loss for words.  He kept glancing between Harry and Mad-Eye. 

The aurors took in Harry’s tears, shifting uncomfortably. One of them cleared his throat and said, obviously out of his depth, “Apologies, Moody. Albus thought Mr. Potter was in danger.” 

Barty snorted.  “He’s in Hogwarts, he’s perfectly safe.  But the tale this kid has to tell is amazing.  Grown men couldn’t have handled themselves better.”

Dumble’s eyes sparked with interest.  He stepped forward, “Would you tell us what happened, Harry?”  He tried for gentle and grandfatherly, but he just sounded eager.  Disgusting.

Harry took a step back, making himself flinch.  He relished in the shocked sadness that settled over Dumbledore’s face.  He looked at the floor and mumbled, “I already told, Professor Moody.  Can he tell you?”  Harry sniffed.  “Or can it wait?”

He looked at Dumbledore and the aurors in turn, fresh tears in his eyes.  He knew he was laying it on thick, but he had just faced a man—for the fourth time in his life—whose name three quarters of the group couldn’t even say. 

And it worked.

“Of course,” said the only auror who had spoken so far.  He grabbed Dumbledore’s arm and they left.

Harry and Barty counted together silently with their fingers until 10 before bursting into silent laughter. 

Harry felt his chest constrict.  He hadn’t laughed in months. 

Yes, he thought, he and Barty would make a good team.  Harry found himself excited at that prospect.  He’d worried about making new friendships so late in his time at Hogwarts.  To suddenly drop Ron and maybe Hermione in favor of anyone else would raise questions, especially by Dumbles. 

But laughing with a potential friend, having a good time.  Playing a prank, even.  It made Harry feel younger than he had in years.  It made Harry not care who questioned it.  Harry was determined to find real friends.  Wherever they may be.

-

Barty was a thoroughly engaging companion.  He was wicked smart and had a sense of humor that mirrored Harry’s.  The assumed trauma of the graveyard got Harry out of classes for the rest of the semester and his final exams, so he used a lot of his newfound free time to talk with Barty or just hang in his office while he taught.  Barty had even started teaching him simple wards and notice-me-not and silencing charms, and he seemed pleased by how fast Harry was picking them up.

A few days after the graveyard incident, Harry snuck to the girl’s lavatory on the second floor at midnight to meet Barty.  They chatted about magical theory on their way down to the Chamber of Secrets to feed Amir.  To Harry’s immense relief and astonishment, without the influence of a killer specter, Amir was the cuddle monster of his dreams.

Before either of them could even pull the food out of the bags they’d hauled down there, Amir was slithering his way to Harry, careful to keep his eyelids down and greeted Harry with an enthusiastic, “Massssster.  You’ve come at last!”

Harry grinned and petted Amir’s head.  “Yes, we’ve brought food, too.”

Amir didn’t want to be too far from Harry, so Harry fought the urge to vomit as the giant snake happily made his way through the pile of dead rabbits, foxes, and birds.  It helped that Amir kept up a running commentary about how Harry was the “besssst little massster in the world” and how Amir would be a good snake and protect Harry and show him all of the Chamber’s secrets. Harry even caught Amir throwing him a fond look, and dare he say smiling at him? 

Another friend found, Harry thought, satisfied.  It didn’t matter Amir was an animal.  He was loyal and funny and his.

Barty had no idea what Harry and Amir were saying to each other and was not overly fond of snakes so he stayed in the corner, covered in shadows.  Harry even detected a notice-me-not charm on him. 

Towards the end of the meal between bites, Amir told Harry that he wanted to bite him (A sssmall nipsssy, Masssster) to bond with him so Amir didn’t have to keep his eyes closed. 

“Willl it be dangeroussss?” Harry asked.  “With your poissson?”

“Of coursssse not, Masssster,” Amir replied, sounding affronted.  “I know how to control my poissssson,” Amir hissed.

Harry laughed, but shook his head when Barty asked what had happened.  Harry decided not to warn Barty beforehand.  When Amir was done eating, Harry cast a wandless, wordless cleansing charm on the Snake’s mouth.  Amir slithered over, lowered his big head and covered Harry’s whole arm from shoulder to fingertip with his mouth.

To Harry’s unending amusement, Barty shouted, “What the actual fuck!” and ran to Harry; his eyes were wild with worry and the blood had drained from his face.  When Harry burst out laughing, Barty glared and said, “What the bloody hell are you playing at, Potter.”

Harry shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Amir just said he needed to bite me.”

Barty muttered something under his breath that sounded like “fucking suicidal” which made Harry laugh more.

When Harry’s arm was free, he saw two neat punctures in his arm that drew the tiniest bit of blood.  Amir looked incredibly satisfied with his work. 

Harry patted the snake and said, “Thank you, Amir.  I am glad I can look in your beautiful eyessss.”

Amir looked very pleased with himself.  He laid his big head in Harry’s lap who had sat cross legged on the floor, taking care to choose a spot far away from the puddle of animal blood Amir had created.  He invited Barty to come closer, but Barty stayed resolutely in his corner.  Harry stroked the basilisk’s head in soothing strokes, praising him for being so clever and good.  Amir ate it up, and almost reluctantly shifted away from Harry, saying he had to get something.

Not five minutes later, Amir was rushing back towards them, excited anticipation sounding in his soft hisses.

Masssster, I have a gift for you” Amir said.  Harry cocked his head to one side and looked around Amir.  And then he saw it.  A small white snake slithering next to the great basilisk.  “Her name issss Ssssselenee.  She issss a baby basssilissskk.  She isssss my many greatsssss granddaughter.  We are connected.  She can be my eyesss and earsss for me when I’m not with you.”

Selene slithered over.  She was a beautiful albino basilisk.  Her scales were so pale they bordered on iridescent, shimmering the lightest shades of pink and orange and purple in the dim light. 

Harry held out his arm.  “Well, aren’t you beautiful,” he cooed.  She was still too young to be able to kill with her eyes, so she was safe.  Her little voice squeaked out a hello, and Harry just about melted.  He was going to spoil the shit out of her.

He shot a grin over at Barty expecting to see him roll his eyes or shake his head or mutter something about how insane he was.  But instead, he was met with an intense stare.  The Polyjuice had worn off, and he was looking at Barty Crouch Jr. in the flesh.  His dark eyes glittered in the light of the chamber, and he was still and quiet, like a creature sizing up a predator.

“You’re more like him than I thought,” he said quietly.  “You’ll be good for him.  For us.”

Barty didn’t elaborate, and Harry didn’t ask him to.  All would reveal itself soon enough, and for once Harry wasn’t in any rush to be in the know and in the middle of everything.  He figured he deserved a rest.

-

Thankfully, it seemed the universe, or who did Death say was on his side….Death, Fate, Time, and Lady Magic—it seemed they were all in agreement that he deserved a rest because everything was cooperating with his plan to relax.  Hell, even Ron was cooperating.

With all of the attention that came with fighting Voldemort and all of the gifts and attention and special treatment, Ron had given him the silent treatment since the morning after the graveyard incident.  It started passive enough, but by the time Harry had been excused from exams and had been given free reign of the castle, Ron had been thunderous in his fury.

He’d catch Ron whispering angrily to whoever was with him whenever Harry would walk into the same room as him, and every time Hermione would try to drag them both into a conversation, he’d just spit out something along the lines of, “Not like Harry has to worry about it” or “I’m sure Dumbledore or the Prophet would be glad to make concessions for the Chosen One.”

Harry, who was reserving judgement on his and Hermione’s friendship until he could go to Gringott’s, had finally had enough, and told her, he would talk to her and study with her and do anything else she wanted to do.  But he would not be near Ron until he apologized for being so dense and stupid and self-absorbed that he was starting to sound like Malfoy.

Ron didn’t apologize.  Though, it was no surprise or love lost for Harry.

Harry continued to live his slow-living life, hanging out with Barty and Amir, getting to know Selene, exploring the Chamber and the Castle, and reading books that were vastly more interesting than anything he’d ever read for school that Barty had given him. He even broadened his interests to ancient runes, magical theory, and spell crafting. It was some of his favorite days at Hogwarts.  He got to explore his own magic; never had he felt so connected and attuned to it.  He also got to know all of Hogwarts’ secrets, read about the magic she contained, sometimes he swore he could even feel it. 

Too soon and not soon enough, June 1^st came.

And Harry he found himself back on the train, heading to London.  He found a seat in an empty compartment and put up every ward and charm for privacy, stealth, and silence that Barty had taught him and settled in for the ride.

Just four more hours.  And then he’d be with Tom.

Harry wasn’t ready to unravel the knots of feelings and thoughts that came up when he consciously thought things that equated Tom to safety.  So, he pulled out one of the books that Barty had given him, The Secrets of Basilisks, and read.

His peace and quiet was interrupted when he heard two familiar voices. 

“Honestly, Ron,” Ginny scolded her brother.  “Of course, he doesn’t want to talk to you.  You’ve been awful to him.”

Ron scoffed.  “Don’t get soft on me, Ginny, or have you forgotten our plan?”

Harry couldn’t see their faces or even their silhouettes, but he could imagine Ginny rolling her eyes. “Of course not.  But I’m not carrying more than my fair share of the weight.  You have to get him talking to you again and being friends with him if we have any shot of him marrying me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up.  What the actual hell was she talking about?

“Relax, Ginny.  I’m not just his best friend.  I’m the loser’s only friend.  He’ll come crawling back to me after he spends some time with his family and gets knocked back down a few pegs.  Hell, he might even apologize to me.”

And just like that Harry’s peace was shattered.

Harry suddenly felt like he was going to vomit.  He needed air.  He needed to get out.  He needed to get to Tom.  He needed to go to Gringotts. He needed a fucking break.

Harry forced himself to take deep breaths.  In through his nose.  Out through his mouth.  In.  Out.

It helped but only marginally.  He couldn’t settle enough to read, so he stared out the window for the rest of the ride, making a mental list of everything that had to be done.

By the time Harry stumbled out of the train, he had his agenda.

1. See Tom and get an update on the soul pieces.
2. Drag the Dark Lord to Gringotts. Get an inheritance test and take out some money. 
3. Get clothes that fit.
4. Buy some books, both for leisure reading and to catch up on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. (He was switching courses next year.  No way in hell he’d sit through another year of divination with the Weasel and Trelawney’s stupid premonitions of his death.)
5. Get the largest habitat for Selene he could find. He needed to make good on his primise to spoil the shit out of his little basilisk. 
6. Buy a journal (his feeble solution for unraveling some of his jumbled thoughts.)

From there he could take it a day at a time.

When he got to the apparition point to meet Barty, Barty’s eyes narrowed in concern, “What happened?”

Harry shook his head.  “Just take me to Tom. I need to see Tom.”

Harry winced at the desperation in his voice, but it wasn’t a lie.  He needed to talk to Tom, needed to make sure the graveyard wasn’t a figment of his imagination and that he was doing the right thing.  Not just for the Wizarding World.

But also for himself.

Chapter Text

Tom paced his office, the heavy green curtains drawn back to show the breathtaking view of the gardens at Malfoy Manor.  Dark ebony wood panels and dark green wallpaper covered the walls.  In one corner there was a heavy wooden coffee table with matching armchairs upholstered in a rich black velvet situated around the fireplace and on the other end of the office was Tom’s large wooden desk with snakes carved along the edges and in the panels along the sides and front of the it. Even the gold handles were carved snakes.  And a regal leather chair behind it.

It was cozy, at least to Tom’s standards.  And it was impressive, both in size and luxury, which was important when any guests floo’d directly in to meet with him.  And he’d been very busy since the graveyard, laying the ground work for his new identity, for taking the Gaunt lordship, and for placing key people in important positions within the ministry.  Contrary to popular belief, Tom never wanted to be the minister of magic.  He wanted to own the minister of magic.  He wanted to run the ministry from behind the scenes and make the changes their world so desperately needed.  All the preparation so far was to have Lucius in the minister position within the next couple of election cycles.

All of this maneuvering had seen quite a bit of traffic in and out of his office.  He had countless meetings with his followers, with potential recruits, with DMLE and Unspeakable staff.  He’d discreetly invited world leaders, both magical and muggle, to strengthen alliances and increase support for his agenda.  Today, though, he’d cleared his schedule.  Because today was the day Harry would return to him.  And Tom couldn’t decide how he felt about it. 

Tom wasn’t sure what was going on with Harry, he knew too much for a fourteen-year-old boy.  And he was…haunted, in a way no child should be.  Tom admitted he’d done his fair share to traumatize the boy, but it was all such a bloody misunderstanding, that he hardly knew where to begin with Harry.  Should he even plan to tell the boy the truth of his family and the truth about the Dark and the Light?  Again, Tom didn’t know Harry’s full story, but he imagined much if not all of it was horrifying.  He didn’t want to add to the boy’s burdens.  But he also didn’t want to be the villain in Harry’s story.  He had always been on Harry’s side. 

He still remembered Lily’s beaming face when she told him that she was pregnant, and he remembered the joy he’d felt that their line would continue, that the family magic would become alive in not only Lily but Harry as well.

And Severus Snape had been right there in his rightful place, right beside Tom, beside himself with excitement.  It was that night that he’d made the Prince locket into a horcrux, trying once again to commune with the dead, desperate to face his father and apologize.  The more his family grew, the more he and Severus discussed children themselves, the more people he found to love, the more desperate he was to make amends with his father.  Like the others, it had failed.  And like every time, Severus had held him as he mourned all over again.

The first thing he’d done after the graveyard was absorb the soul pieces in both the Gaunt Lord Ring and the Prince locket back into himself.  He was happy to hear that the Prince locket was unknown to the boy.  That means whoever told Harry to go horcrux hunting didn’t know about his darling and the true nature of their relationship. Severus was still safe.  And once he absorbed his soul back from the boy, he’d call his love back to him.  Until then, his sanity was just a little too fragile for his liking, and Severus had always been his greatest love and so his greatest weakness.  Any perceived threat to him could plummet Tom back into the darkness of his insanity, and he’d come too far to risk everything he’d built.  Severus was a patient man.  By this time tomorrow, his love would back in his arms.

The ritual to return the soul pieces itself was painless, just as Lily had hypothesized, a stark contrast to the ritual to rip his soul and contain it.  It was simple, too. The Gaunt ring had been exactly where he’d left it.  The locket, though, had brought the surprise of a lifetime.

When he went to retrieve it from the cave, he was met with Regulus Black in an enchanted sleep, in a heap on the cave floor.  A quick diagnostic spell showed he was as healthy as one could be after being in a magical sleep for over a decade if a little more malnourished than Tom would have liked.  His Inferi army kept to themselves, and he had a feeling the reason the magic in the cave and his army of the undead had left Regulus unharmed was due to Tom’s magical signature in Regulus’s Mark.

He did another diagnostic to figure out what was keeping Regulus asleep and found it to be a dark spell.  Reggie wasn’t sleeping he was in a magical coma.  Tom muttered the counter and woke Regulus up as gently as was possible, conjured a glass of water, and let Regulus explain.

Regulus greedily drunk the water, eyes cast down in shame. “Thank you, my lord.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed.  There had been rumors of a traitor in their midst.  Pettigrew aside—they’d known right away the man was a coward, and they’d used that splendidly against the Light.  But what was Regulus ashamed for?

“What happened, Black?”

Regulus took in a shaky breath and told his lord what happened. Two low-ranking Order of the Phoenix members had been sent to the cave on a throwaway mission, to simply check a box when a rumor that Tom’s secret weapon was hidden in a cave in Romania.  Tom seethed, someone had betrayed him.  But he kept silent and let Regulus continue.  Regulus had come to do his regular check on the magic of the cave and reinforce the wards if necessary; Regulus even checked on the army, having a strange soft spot for the Inferi. 

But then all hell had broken loose when the Order members tripped the first line of the cave’s defense.  After that it had been chaos, and Regulus had been hopelessly outnumbered.  But Regulus had been able to call Kreacher to take the locket to a safe location.  The cave had housed both the Slytherin locket and the Prince locket, and Kreacher only had enough time to save one, so Regulus chose to save the Prince locket.

Regulus, voice still raspy despite the water Voldemort had given him, kneeled, “I apologize for failing you, My Lord.  I submit myself to punishment.”

Relieved one of his favorite followers was not a traitor, Tom hauled the man up and grasped his shoulders, “None of that, now.  You did well, Regulus.  Thank you.”  He took in Regulus’s gaunt face and pale skin.  “I will reward you later and catch you up with everything.  For now, let’s go see, Kreacher.”

Regulus sagged with relief, clutching unashamedly to the Dark Lord for support as he apparated them to Grimmauld Place. 

Kreacher had been all too happy to give Tom back the necklace, tearfully welcoming his most beloved master back home.  He was running around happily putting everything into place, calling other Black elves to fetch this or that for Regulus.

“Kreacher will make all of Master’s favorites,” Kreacher said, leading Regulus into bed with Tom’s help.  “In the morning, Kreacher will draw Master a bath with his favorite lavender salts.  But first, Master must rest.  Master will relax while Kreacher takes care of everything.”  He stopped only to pat Regulus’s hand before popping away.

Regulus lowered eyes.  “My lord…”. He took in a shuddering breath before raising his gaze.  “Thank you.”

Tom inclined his head.  “Rest, Regulus.  You’ve more than earned it.  When Kreacher deems you well enough, come see me in Malfoy Manor.  We have much to discuss.  Your brother being the priority.”

Regulus made a quick recovery and, upon hearing the horrors of what had been done to Sirius, threw himself into clearing Sirius’s name.  Though he befriended more neutral members of the Light, Sirius had never truly turned his back on his roots, and he’d been an excellent informant on the old goats plans.  Neither Tom nor Sirius had like Dumbledore’s growing interest in the Potters, especially when Lily became pregnant with Harry.  It had also been common knowledge who the secret keeper was when the Potters had gone into hiding during Grindewald’s second uprising.  Regulus had been making good headway, and had been granted a hearing. They had more than enough evidence, but Tom suspected the Potters’ wills which had been illegally sealed had the clincher, them naming Peter as the secret keeper and calling out his betrayal in the event of their death.  Once he had Harry release the wills, Sirius would be released within the hour, the hearing date be damned.

Regulus had been so busy with his task that he’d gone into one of his intense research modes where the only reason he ate and slept was because of Kreacher.  He was blind to all else but the task at hand.  Which is what Tom was hoping for.  So he’d keep busy until Barty came with Harry.  Tom found himself very much looking forward to witnessing the reunion between Barty and Regulus.  It appears his soul pieces were making him soft.

The boy, too.  Tom was…looking forward to seeing him again.  But more than that, he was apprehensive that perhaps being away from him and more or less alone with his thoughts for six weeks had somehow made the boy rethink his decisions.  He half expected Harry to greet him with a killing curse.  For fuck’s sake, he thought he was Voldemort and that he’d murdered his parents.  In cold blood.

How had everything gotten so twisted?  And what would drive a teenage boy to seek an alliance with his parents’ supposed murderer?

Barty had been faithfully giving his reports on Harry’s recovery and well-being.  Even taking some of the books Tom had purchased for him when Barty told him about Selene and Harry’s growing interest in certain subjects.  He knew deep down Harry had not changed his mind.  But he was still worried.

And Tom had still not made up his mind.  What to tell Harry and when.  If he should tell Harry anything.

It was very unlike him but perhaps Harry’s Gryffindor tendencies were seeping through the horcrux.  Because Tom decided he’d just wing it. When he saw Harry, he hoped he’d just know the right thing to do for their future together. 

Because no matter what, he and Harry’s futures were very much entwined.

-

Harry walked through to Tom’s office.  It was nice enough.  The furniture was luxurious and expensive, the color scheme was obviously blacks and greens in velvets and heavy wood.  But what caught Harry’s eye were the bookshelves, messily stuffed over capacity with books ranging from magical theory to muggle science.  And the little perch of honor where Nagini, a beautiful green and yellow snake, lazily hung.

Harry turned until he saw Tom, waiting for him by the fireplace.  Something was different.  He’d always felt a connection to Tom.  But today there was an unmistakable pull.  Something deep inside him needed to be close.

Before Tom could say anything, Harry ran to the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard in the world, his parents’ murderer, something in his head screamed, and hugged him.  A single tear escaped, and Harry pulled back sniffing, hurriedly wiping away any evidence of the tear.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.  “It’s been stressful.  And I…”. Harry didn’t want to admit he’d missed Tom.  But he had.  He’d missed the safety and rightness he felt with Tom.  “I just…it’s a lot.”

Tom pulled back to meet Harry’s gaze.  He hesitated just a tad too long, as if he wanted to say something.  Something important.  But he sucked in a breath instead and settled on squeezing Harry’s shoulder.  “It’s alright, Harry.  Barty said you need to go to Gringotts?”

Harry nodded.

“Great, I have some business I need to attend to there, too.  I’ll give you 30 minutes to freshen up and see your new room.  Then, I’ll come to collect you, and we’ll go to Gringotts.  Just so you’re caught up, I’ve absorbed the soul pieces from the ring and the locket.”

Harry’s brow furrowed.  “I thought I’d already absorbed the locket.”

Tom’s lips lifted into a small smile.  “You took what I am assuming was Slytherin’s locket, yes?”  Harry nodded.  “I made two lockets into horcruxes.  The one you knew about was the obvious one since I did have an obsession with Hogwarts’ founders.  The other one, the one hidden even more deeply in the cave, was the Prince locket.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.  “Snape’s family?”

Tom nodded, smile widening ever so slightly.  “I’m glad to know that was never figured out.  Anyhow, all that’s left is to take back what pieces you have in you.  It’s a simple procedure that is painless for us both.  We can do it after breakfast tomorrow if that is alright with you.”  Harry nodded.  “And now, Barty, before we go, I believe I have a surprise for you.”

Barty who’d stayed near the door, cocked his head to the side.  “Thank you, my lord.”

Harry did a double take.  In response, Tom grinned.  He fucking grinned.  Tom called out, “Come on in.”

From a side door in the furthest, most shadowy corner of the office, emerged none other than Regulus Black.

Harry inhaled sharply.  Sirius’s little brother was alive. Barty’s love was alive. Harry’s mind flashed with all of the stories Barty had told him over the last six weeks of Regulus and their love.  Of Regulus’s kindness and wit and light.  Harry’s chest tightened when he looked over to where Barty was frozen against the door, face pale, eyes wide. 

“Reggie,” Barty whispered, stumbling back and sagging against the door.  Regulus moved forward quickly to catch him and pull him in his arms.

Tom leaned over to whisper to Harry, “Let’s give these two some privacy.  But I thought you’d like to see true love reunited.”

Tears welled in Harry’s eyes as he took in the scene before him.  Regulus was murmuring “I’m sorry” over and over again, and Barty was sobbing out “I missed you” and “Don’t ever do that again” in response to each apology.  They had no mind of anything around them, only each other.  Their world, the air, the universe was all made up of only each other and their love. 

It was heartbreaking.  Soul shattering.  But beautiful.  So beautiful that Harry’s heart ached. They’d have a life together now. 

And Sirius would get his brother back.  Fuck, Harry though, he’d have two blood family members.  And Barty was his family, now, too.

Harry felt something settle in his chest.  A tick appearing on a list that had been stressfully empty since he’d traveled in time. 

A reason to fight for.

Chapter Text

Harry put on the clothes that were laid out for him, Tom seemingly always one step ahead of him, not that he was surprised.  Harry wore black slacks, black dress shoes, a white silk button up, and a deep burgundy sweater vest.  When he’d slipped the clothes on, they’d automatically adjusted to his measurements.

Harry loved magic.

Having only worn hand-me-downs or uniform robes, Harry didn’t know much about clothing or fashion, but he could feel the difference in the fabrics.  His sweater was made with a soft knit that kept him warm and let him move comfortably.  The black shoes were shined to within an inch of their life and made of dragon skin.  He took a look in the mirror inside his wardrobe .  He was skinny, pale, haunted-looking even to himself.  But the clothes screamed wealth and power.  They marked him as a member of the wizarding elite, as a young Heir who would grow to be powerful and influential.  Harry couldn’t say he hated it, but he definitely hadn’t settled into it yet.  He didn’t wear them as comfortably or as regally as Draco and his friends did.  But he’d get there.  He’d have to.  Tom would make sure of it.

He splashed his face with cool water, poured himself a big glass of water, and walked around his suite.  His new room was easily bigger than the first floor of the Dursley’s home, maybe even their whole house.  He had his own office with a desk, work bench, and bookshelves, a sitting room, bedroom, and walk-in closet.  He let out an amused huff at the closet, he couldn’t imagine ever owning enough clothing to fill it up, but Tom had given him a nice start.  He ran his hands over the other sweaters and trousers.  They, too, were soft and warm.  And his.

He had bookshelves in his room as well, all, like the ones in his office, empty, of course, but Harry looked forward to filling them.  The house elves had already unpacked his belongings and placed them around his room, giving his firebolt a place of honor above his bed.

Mipsy popped in with a small bowl of dried fruits and nuts for him to nibble on while he waited for Tom.  He thanked her and thanked her for showing his firebolt as much love as he had for it.  She’d even used some wood polish to shine it up and cared for the bristles.  Mipsy blushed at the thanks and compliments.  “Master Dragon likes his firebolt there, too.  Mipsy just thought Master Harry would, too.  You’re a seeker like Master Dragon, yes?”

Harry laughed and nodded, wondering how she knew that.  Mipsy looked at him for a second and nodded, “Mipsy be making Master Harry the same nutrient drinks she makes for Master Dragon.”  And with that she popped away.

Right on time, Tom came to collect him, dressed smartly in black slacks a black v-neck sweater and some robes.  He had some robes for Harry as well which he held out to him.  “Are you happy with your quarters? We can make any adjustments you want.” 

Between the lump forming in Harry’s throat and the ball ballooning in his chest, Harry found himself close to tears.  Again.  Tom waited patiently for Harry to regain control of himself.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded.  “It’s wonderful, Tom.  Thank you.”  He laughed.  “Very empty since I don’t own much, but…”. He sighed.  “This is more than anyone has ever done for me.  Thank you.”

Tom mulled over Harry’s response. Again, Harry had this nagging feeling he wanted to say something important, but Tom settled for, “Well, we have time.  You’ll fill it soon enough.”  Tom led him to the floo in the Kitchen.  Harry grinned and greeted all of the house elves, trying to remember their names which made some of the house elves shed happy tears.  Harry was glad for companions in his cry fest. 

Tom took the bucket of floo powder and held it out to Harry, “You’ve used the floo before, right?”

Harry nodded. “Just say Gringotts?”

Tom nodded.  “You go first. I’ll follow.” 

The floo entrance in Gringotts was packed with families and individuals trying to get their accounts squared away before summer vacation.  The line for portkeys twisted through and around several hallways.  Harry shuddered.  No portkey was worth that effort.  

Tom led him to a private entrance to a wing of offices.  He told the receptionist he was Thomas Gaunt, and he had a private meeting with Griphook. After only a few minutes, Griphook appeared and greeted them.  “Lord Gaunt, may your enemies fall swiftly at your feet.”

Tom inclined his head.  “And may your gold be overflowing, Master Goblin.”

Griphook’s eyes widened slightly.  “And young Heir Potter.”  Griphook bent slightly at the waist and greeted Harry.  “May your steps be right and true.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at the greeting, as if he was surprised.  It seemed on par with the other greetings they had both exchanged beforehand, so Harry decided to ask him if it was odd later.  Harry bowed slightly and greeted Griphook, “Master Goblin, may the blood of your enemies run steady.”

Griphook’s smile widened.  “Come in Lord Gaunt.  Heir Potter.” 

When they’d all taken their seats, Griphook turned to Tom.  “Lord Gaunt, everything is in order.  You have taken over the Gaunt Lordship.  Unfortunately, you did lose the Slytherin lordship through conquest to Heir Potter.”

Gaunt inclined his head.  “Sounds about right.  Couldn’t go to a better wizard.”

Harry couldn’t help but gape at the grace with which Tom accepted his defeat.  But before Harry could say anything, Griphook continued, “Your identity is in place.  Here are your identifying documents.”  Griphook handed over a sealed envelope that looked stuffed with parchment.

“Thank you, Master Goblin.”

“Now in regards to the Potter wills.  Only their heir can unseal them, just as only their heir can seal them.  We are still looking into how an infant made such a request.  Rest assured, we will find any culpable parties who took advantage of the young Heir.”

Tom inclined his head again, “You have my gratitude.”

Harry’s head was swimming.  “My parents’ wills were…sealed?”  His parents had wills?

Tom turned to Harry.  “Yes, and it is my belief that your parents named their secret keeper in their wills.  With that proof, your godfather will be freed by the end of the day.”

“We can’t prove that he didn’t kill Wormtail,” Harry said, keeping his hopes in check.

Tom’s grin turned viscous.  “Of course, we can.  He’s ready for delivery as soon as the Ministry realizes their very grave mistake.”

Harry looked up with fresh tears in his eyes. He’d lost count how many times he’d cried today.  Something broke in him when he first saw Tom, and the war waging inside his mind was constant and intense.  He knew Tom was safe.  He knew he and Tom were supposed to be each other’s….something.  But there was a very loud voice in his head screaming that Tom was evil.  He was fucking Voldemort who’d murdered his parents in cold blood.  

But here he was, working on getting Sirius free.

“Sirius…will be free?” Harry asked quietly.  

Tom smiled.  “Yes, your godfather will be free and able to take up the mantle of your guardianship.”

Harry’s heart soared.  That’s all he’d ever wanted.  A home.  With Sirius.  Filled with laughter and love and joy.  They could have it.  Today.  They could have it today.

But then Sirius’s face floated through his memory– his hollow cheeks and haunted eyes.  The way his flesh hung off his bones, showing how emaciated he’d gotten in Azkaban, something being on the run definitely made worse.  He remembered Sirius waking up screaming, much like Harry did, except Harry woke first, would go to the kitchen, and wait for Sirius to join him after waking from his own nightmare. They’d eat muggle cereal and talk about anything other than what had woken them up until they were ready to try to sleep again.  Both knowing it would not be peaceful.

“No,” Harry forced himself to croak.  “No, he needs to heal.”

Pride shone in Tom’s eyes.  “He will.  He can do that with you.”

Harry shook his head.  “Yes, he can live with me and whoever is my guardian.  But he can’t have any responsibility for me until  he gets the okay from the healers.  His priority is his health.  Mental and physical.”

Griphook showed his teeth.  Harry thought that might be the Goblin grinning.  “Very wise, Heir Potter.  Let’s do an inheritance test to see who your guardian should be.  Then, once we confirm who you are, you can decide whether or not to open your parents’ wills.”

Griphook opened a drawer and brought out a parchment and a quill.  “This is a blood quill, Mr. Potter, have you used one before?”

Harry’s face drained of all color, and he he suddenly wanted to vomit.  He swallowed and frantically tried to get his body under control.  He hadn’t realized he’d started hyperventilating until feeling Tom’s hand on his shoulder shocked his breathing pattern enough to start calming down.  “Harry,” Tom murmured.  When Harry looked up, Tom was leaning down, concern etched in every line on his face.

Harry shut his eyes for a moment.  “I don’t have good memories of blood quills.  But I can use it.”

Griphook hesitated before suggesting, “It is a low-tech approach.  But an alternative would be to prick your finger, Heir Potter, and use a regular quill with your blood.”

Harry swallowed.  “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Griphook said briskly.  “Just a moment.”

Tom looked absolutely livid.  Once Griphook was out of the room, Tom asked, “What’s going on, Harry?”

Harry shook his head.  

“Harry, tell me who made you this scared of blood quills,” Tom demanded, red seeping into his eyes.

“Not yet.”  He shrunk into himself a little at Tom’s darkening mood  but remained steadfast. “Please, Tom.”

Tom seethed for a second more before getting his response under control.  He nodded once, sharply.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you!” Harry said quickly.  “It’s just.  A lot is going on, Tom.  There’s like….a lot I need to tell you.  Want to, even.  But I’m hoping the inheritance test will explain the more complicated parts before I fill you in on the rest.”

Tom forced his expression to neutral.  He nodded, accepting Harry’s answer. For now. He still needed to know who to hurt for hurting his grandson.

Griphook came back and handed the quill and a ceremonial knife to Harry.  Harry pricked his finger and filled the quill with his blood.

He wrote Harry James Potter on the parchment and watched it fill in with his information.

Name: Hadrian James Potter-Black

Birthday: July 31, 1980

Dead: May 2, 1998

Rebirth: April 12, 1995

Titles: Master of Death

Mother: Lilith Evans Potter

Father: James Fleamont Potter

Godfather: Sirius Black (blood adopted)

Godfather: Lucius Malfoy

Godmother: Narcissa Malfoy

Godmother: Alice Longbottom

Magical Guardian: Albus Dumbledore (forced illegal guardianship)

Lordships: Not of Age

Heirships through Father: Potter

Heirships through Godfather: Black

Heirships through mother: Peverell

                                         Gaunt

Heirships through right of conquest: Slytherin

Blocks and Compulsions:

Magical Core Block: 75% keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Intelligence Block: 75% keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Animagus block: 100%

Animorphmagus block: 100%

Compulsion for brashness: 50% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to hate Slytherins: 85% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to distrust Slytherins: 85% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to hate Tom Riddle: 100% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to distrust Tom Riddle: 100% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to distrust Death Eaters: 100% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to not like learning: 75% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to accept abuse: 75% increase keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to trust Ron Weasley: Increase 50% keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to trust Ginny Weasley: Increase 50% keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to trust Molly Weasley: Increase 50% keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Compulsion to trust Albus Dumbledore: Increase 50% keyed to Albus Dumbledore

Unauthorized charges:

1000 Galleons a month to Albus Dumbledore.  Beginning November 1, 1981

500 Galleons a month to Ron Weasley.  Beginning September 1, 1991

500 Galleons a month to Ginevra Weasley. Beginning September 1, 1992

1000 Galleons a month to Molly Weasley.  Beginning September 1, 1991.

Health Overview:

Chronic Malnourishment

Brittle Bones.

PTSD

Anxiety and Depression

Harry stared at the parchment and then felt the parchment in his hands multiply.  He counted six extra sheets, and when he flipped through, he saw they detailed every injury anyone had ever inflicted on him.

His grip on the parchment tightened, and he drew them to hide them against his chest. But Tom was having none of it. Tom reached over silently and carefully took them from Harry’s death grip.  He layed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, but he read the parchment.  Harry saw his eyebrow raise, probably at the rebirth and Master of Death thing.  But then he turned to the second page, and Harry looked down.  Tom took his time and read through every single page. As Tom read through Harry’s list of injuries, the air around Tom crackled with magic.  Tom was seething. 

Harry stared at his shoes.  They were so shiny; he could see his distorted reflection in them.  He’d never had shoes this shiny before.  He kicked his right foot out a little, to see if his reflection would become clearer.  It made his face distort more; his glasses lost in the distortion now.

“What now?” Tom asked.

Harry looked up. Tom was staring at Griphook who was leafing through the parchment.  “Now, we fix this.”  Griphook looked over the parchment pages again and said, “It’ll be easy enough to recall the money back to Heir Potter’s vaults and order a cleansing once he goes to his new guardian.  I believe Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are the only godparents capable of taking him in right now.”

Harry shook his head.  “No! I only want Tom or Sirius.”  And Sirius needed to heal.  So that left Tom.  Harry pulled at a loose thread in his vest.  “I mean if Tom even w—"

“Of course, I will, Harry,” Tom replied quickly.  “I’d be honored.”

Harry looked up, eyes filled with tears.  Aga in ? For Merlin knows how many times that day, he was crying again.   He needed to figure out a pureblood mask and fast.  “Really?”  He hated how small and vulnerable his voice sounded.

“Really. Master Goblin, please ready the ritual and any paperwork necessary for me to take over guardianship.  Lucius and Narcissa will sign over guardianship, I’m sure.  I’ll prepare Harry.”

Once Griphook shut the door behind him, Harry whispered.  “It was Dolores Umbridge.  During my first life, the ministry ran a smear campaign, in complete denial about you coming back.  I’m a lot of things but I’m not a liar.  But they called me a liar publicly.  It was all over the Prophet for months. And the ministry took over Hogwarts and placed Umbridge as the DADA professor.  She gave me a detention every night for months.  For hours I had to write, I must not tell lies.”

Harry rubbed over the spot on his left wrist.  It was clear, of course.  It hadn’t happened yet.   But Harry could still feel the cutting pain of the first line, and the stinging pain of every line after. 

“Harry,” Tom whispered. “I will make sure nothing like this ever happens again.  I promise.  You will be safe and cared for and cherished.  As all children should be.  Magical or otherwise.”

Harry looked up in surprise.  Tom smiled ruefully.  “I’m not sure what you were told, Harry.  But our past is more complex than you’ve been told.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow.  “So you didn’t make seven horcruxes in an effort to become immortal?”

“No,  I made eight horcruxes, but I was experimenting with soul magic in an effort to commune with the dead.”

Harry’s eyes shot up.  “Commune with the dead?  Why not just use the resurrection stone?”

Tom smiled sadly.  “Those are shadows of our loved ones, like muggle animations.  Meant to give us comfort.  We are not talking to our actual loved ones.”

“Who did you want to talk to?”

“My father.”

“Why?”

“So I ask for his forgiveness.  For killing him.”

Harry soaked in this new information.  “Why do you regret it?”

“I learned he was raped by my mother while under an intense love potion.  It was not his fault he denied my existence.  When I found him, I didn’t let him speak.  I just killed him.”  Tom looked down.  “I regret not letting him speak.   I was angry, and my morals are not…normal.  They’re not Light, Harry.  I thought I was righting a wrong done to me and my mother.  But I was wrong.  I wanted to make amends before Severus and I started the process to adopt children.”

“And I became a horcrux on accident?” 

Tom’s arm came around him tentatively. “Your mother found out that she was born from a Gaunt squib line.  She found me, excited to have Magical family.  I was not as I once was.  My humanity was slipping, but I was not insane.  When your mother figured out her lineage, she demanded to meet me and decided much like you did that she’d save me.  When she found that Severus is my partner, she was even more determined.  She’d do this for her, for me, and for her friend.  She wanted to gather my soul pieces and reunite my soul. I liked the idea of having blood family.  I liked the idea of having an heir.  So I indulged her.”

Tom smiled at Harry.  “Your mother was brilliant.  She devised the ritual I used to reunite my soul pieces.  She was kind, too.  A trait, I think, you got from her.  I was excited when she told me that she was pregnant.  But I got a tip from Lucius that Peter was playing triple agent and there was another traitor in our midst.  Dumbledore had been spreading this insane story of a new Dark Lord named Voldemort.  I was the leader of the Dark, even though I hadn’t claimed mt Wizengamot seats yet.  My followers were loyal to me.  So he told the ministry I was Voldemort.

“Who was it, then?”

“Grindelwald.  He’d escaped, and Dumbledore still loved him.  dumbledore  had a hard time defeating him the first time, barely having the strength to lock the man he loved away.”  Tom paused.  He could sympathize.  He couldn’t lock Severus away.  But Severus would never waste magical blood.  And he would never start an unnecessary war and take away Magical customs in his quest for power.  So his sympathy had a very hard limit.  “Dumbledore didn’t have it in him to do it a second time.  So he let Grindelwald run free, while he convinced everyone I was the new Dark Lord.”  Tom hesitated.  “Your mother, father, and Sirius were recruited into the Order, and they went to see what Dumbledore was planning.   They were the perfect spies.  Too perfect.  Dumbeldore started concocting this insane plan about a battle between good and evil.  Between the Order and the Death Eaters.  Using me and you.  Effectively tearing a family apart for power.  Sirius found this out and immediately told me.  When I went to check in on your parents that night and tell them what Sirius had told me, Dumbledore was there waiting for me.  He’d already killed your parents for not handing you over to him.  You were screaming in his arms, and he kept saying you’d be a warrior of the Light now, destined to defeat the Dark Lord.  I tried to set up a protection circle around you quickly, but I wasn’t…myself.  If I had been, I never would have tried to attack Dumbledore with you in his arms.  But I did, and when I fired the killing curse at Albus, I missed and hit you.  That last horcrux is what made my sanity slip.”

Harry took a second to take it all in.  “So….we’re….family?”

Tom nodded.

Harry’s brows furrowed.  Then his expression cleared within the next second.  “Good,” he said.  He scooted closer to Tom’s side and leaned a little into him, as much as he could in these chairs at least.  His mind was whirling at the rate at which information was being thrown at him.  But at least he understood why he felt so connected to Tom.  “I’ve always wanted a family.  Now, I have you.”

 “You never have to be alone again, Harry.”

A single tear escaped, sliding down Harry’s cheek and onto Tom’s arm.  To Harry’s gratitude, Tom ignored it.

More tears spilled though, and Harry let them.  “I could have gone with Lucius and  Narcissa.  They’re my godparents.”

“Yes,” Tom said sadly.

“My entire first life was a lie.  Fourteen years of this one is a lie, too.”  Harry looked up at Tom.  He looked so young.  So lost and heartbroken.  It shattered Tom’s heart. Harry may mentally be 17, but even that, magical majority or not, is still young.  “Why would he do that?  Why would he knowingly send me to an abusive childhood?  Why would he work so hard to make my life hard and separate me from all of you.”

Tom sighed.  “I don’t know all of his motivations, Harry.  But Dumbledore thinks he can read people well.  He met me and upon that first meeting decided I was evil.  I was not.  I was eleven.  He decided your mother would give birth to the Savior of the Wizarding World.  And he decided your parents would die.”

Harry cried in earnest now.  It was all so pointless.  And that was so much more heartbreaking than his parents dying for a cause.  His abuse.  His pain.  Their deaths.  Pointless.

He was denied a family when he had so many family members the whole time.  He and Draco could have grown up together.  He could have known Regulus his whole life.  He could have brought his grandfather back his first year.

Griphook came in and interrupted Harry’s ruminations.  Harry raised his head from Tom’s arm and waiting for Griphook to speak.  “Heir Potter, Lord Gaunt is now your guardian.  Would you like him to be your proxy?”

“In the Wizengamot?” Harry questioned.  At Griphook’s confirmation, Harry said, “Yes, but give him the Slytherin Lordship back.”

Tom jerked forward.  “Harry, you don’t need–”

“Yes, I do, Tom.  That wasn’t a conquest.  You were protecting me.  Take it back.  Leave it to me if you want.  But Slytherin is yours.”

Tom’s lips quirked, “Spoken like a true Gryffindor.”

Harry snorted, two unbidden tears escaping.  “Don’t be too sure.  I was almost sorted into Slytherin.”

Tom’s eyebrow twitched, but otherwise, he gave nothing else away.  Griphook brought out the Slytherin Lordship ring and handed it to Tom.  He slid it on his left index finger and watched it combine with the Gaunt ring.  The ring ended up keeping the matte black metal of the Gaunt ring but took the shape of a snake with the snake’s mouth open.  In the center of the snake’s mouth was the resurrection stone.  It was perfect.

“Thank you, Harry,” Tom said softly.

Harry nodded in acknowledgment and slipped on the Peverell, Potter, and Gaunt, Slytherin, and Black heirship rings on.  They morphed into a simple black band, the same material as Tom’s lordship ring.  It, too, took on the shape of a snake with a brilliant green stone in the snake’s mouth.  Upon closer inspection, Harry saw the deathly hallows, a glowing black, at the center of the stone.

“Well done, Heir Potter-Black, may it serve you well,” Griphook said.  “Now, would you and your guardian like your parents’ wills read?”

Harry looked at Tom before they both nodded at Griphook.  

Griphook took out two Goblin-mined crystals from a box and activated them.

Harry’s heart stopped when after the crystals combined, he could hear both of his parents laughing.

Check 1.  Check 1 2 3.  Lily giggled.

James laughed.  Can take the Girl out of the Muggle world but can’t take the Muggle out of the girl.

And don’t you forget it.  They both took in a shaky breath before Lily began, voice wet.  My sweet sweet Harry.  Before we begin the official wording.  I just want you to know, you were so loved and so wanted.  The day you were born I was terrified, but it was because of how much I immediately loved you.

Knocked me down to second place in her life, Buddy, his dad joked, but Harry could hear the tears in his voice, too.

You’re going to be so special, Harry, James’ deep voice said.  You’re going to be powerful, too.  Hopefully you get your mother’s kindness.  Trust in your family.

Not Petunia, Lily said harshly.  Never the Dursleys.  But Tom, he’s your grandfather.  If we’re gone, he’s going to need you about as much as you’re going to need him.  He’s safe, no matter what anybody else says.  And Severus will love you and raise you to be our little Potions Master.

Potions Master Quidditch Star, James cut in. They shared a laugh together.  Harry could imagine them imagining the life they’d never live together. We’re only joking, Harry.  We just want you to be happy.  Do whatever you want.  But Tom and Severus can be trusted.  Just as Sirius Black, your godfather can.  And his brother, Reggie.  

And Alice and Frank Longbottom.  As well as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.  They are all  your family, Harry.  And they will love you and take care of you, Lily said softly.

Beware of Dumbledore, Son.  And the Order of the Phoenix.  Dumbledore is orchestrating the lie of the century, don’t get caught up in it.  Fight it if you want, but don’t let him use you.  James choked out a sob.  I’m so sorry we’re not with you, Harry.  We wanted more than anything to be a family.  But you still have one.  You are loved by us from the afterlife.  I promise you.  Death can never make us stop loving you and rooting for you.  And you are loved right now by several people.  Never lose hope, son.

Lily sniffed.  “ I think we should get on with the will, James.  Otherwise, I’ll use the rest of our time just telling Harry how much I love him.

Harry choked out a sob and clutched Tom’s hand.  Tom’s face was unmoving, but his eyes glistened.  

I, James Fleamont Potter, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.

I bequeath all my assets, including but not limited to any real estate, finances, and personal belongings, to my beautiful wife, Lily James Potter.  If we are both gone, I leave it all to my cherished son, Hadrian James Potter.

In the event of my wife, Lily Evans Potter's, untimely demise or inability to fulfill the role of guardian, I appoint Sirius Black as the primary guardian of my son, Harry James Potter.

If Sirius Black is unwilling or unable to take on the responsibilities of guardianship, I designate Alice Longbottom as the secondary guardian for my son, Harry James Potter.

Should both Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom be unable or unwilling to assume the responsibility of guardianship, I appoint Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as tertiary guardians for my son, Hadrian James Potter.  Lastly on the condition his sole is whole, Thomas Marvolo Riddle also has claim to guardianship of my son.

I explicitly state that, under no circumstances, should Albus Dumbledore or Petunia Dursley be granted guardianship of my son, Hadrian James Potter.

If we are dead, our Secret Keeper, Peter Philip Pettigrew betrayed us.  He was a triple agent for Tom Riddle, who was wrongly accused of being Lord Voldemort, and Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Order of the Phoenix.  Peter is a traitor and broke a Fidelius Charm.  Please seek out justice for us and our family.

There was a pause before Lily began.

I, Lily Evans Potter, of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.

I bequeath all my worldly possessions, including but not limited to any real estate, valuables, and personal items, to my beloved son, Hadrian James Potter.

In the event of my Husband, James Fleamont Potter, untimely demise or inability to fulfill the role of guardian, I appoint Sirius Black as the primary guardian of my son, Harry James Potter.

If Sirius Black is unwilling or unable to take on the responsibilities of guardianship, I designate Alice Longbottom as the secondary guardian for my son, Harry James Potter.

Should both Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom be unable or unwilling to assume the responsibility of guardianship, I appoint Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as tertiary guardians for my son, Hadrian James Potter.  Lastly on the condition his sole is whole, Thomas Marvolo Riddle also has claim to guardianship of my son.

If we are dead, our Secret Keeper, Peter Philip Pettigrew betrayed us.  He was a triple agent for Tom Riddle, who was wrongly accused of being Lord Voldemort, and Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Order of the Phoenix.  Peter is a traitor and broke a Fidelius Charm.  Please seek out justice for us and our family.

Another pause before their soft voices said together, So mote it be.

Harry’s body wracked with sobs.  So much lost.  So much wasted.  But he was loved.  He was somebody., And he had a family at his back.  

Tom moved so he could hold Harry, hands smoothing over his back in comforting, warm strokes.  “I got you, Harry,” Tom whispered.  “And we’ll get them justice.”

Harry looked up, his green eyes clashing with Tom’s, his magic crackling, lashing out like a whip but careful not to hurt Tom or Griphook.  It felt like invisible chains were falling away.  “I want Dumbledore to suffer,” he seethed.  “I want him gone.”

Tom’s eyes turned red, his lips curling up into a smile.  “I can help with that.  But first, your cleansing.”

Griphook said quietly, “I think some of the compulsions were broken by Heir Potter just now.  But yes, let’s move to the ritual room.”

Harry thought about asking if he could keep the crystals, so he could hear his parents’ voices whenever he wanted.  But he decided against it.  He would not dwell in the past.  He would live his life, and live it well for them.

Tom noticed the hesitation and the longing glance at the crystals.   Pride swelled in his chest when Harry walked away resolutely, unprompted. His grandson would be a force to be reckoned with.  And though he most definitely didn’t get it from Tom, he was relieved that Harry would be a force for good.  Not Light.  But Good.

Chapter Text

Harry was led into the ritual room, which was through a door in Healer SharpClaw’s office.  The room itself looked like a void– plain black walls, floors, and ceilings– so dark that it took Harry a minute or two to be able to distinguish between any of it.  SharpClaw asked Harry to get in the middle of the circle that was drawn in the center of the floor in what looked like gold leaf.

When she saw Harry’s interested glance at the etchings, she said, “Heir Potter, this is a Goblin Runic Circle drawn in molten Goblin gold.  The gold conducts magic and the black absorbs light and heat so that nothing can bounce off the surfaces of the room and interfere with the ritual taking place.”  She clapped her claws together and gestured for him to stand at the center.  Once Harry had obeyed, she said, “Now, this ritual involves seven other healers channeling their energy into me and three channeling their energy into you.  This will give me the power to snap your compulsions and blocks with a flick of my claw and you the strength to get through and survive the ritual and being close to that much raw power.  You will be in a magical sleep the whole time.  Please lay down on your back at the center of the circle.  It’s quite a long ritual, so I’ve made the ground softer for you.”

Harry kind of wished Healer SharpClaw was the Hogwarts healer.  He’d never had any human healer explain anything so thoroughly before and taken extra steps to make sure he was comfortable.  He doubted any Goblin though would ever work at Hogwarts, and he couldn’t really blame them.

Harry laid down, closed his eyes, and within seconds of the chanting beginning, he could feel himself slipping into a deep sleep.

-

After Tom handled the mess that was Harry’s many, many accounts, he met with Lucius and Narcissa in a private meeting room the Goblins had offered.  Once the door closed behind him and they were alone, Narcissa’s usual pureblood mask dropped immediately as she rushed from her husband’s side and straight to Tom, seemingly not knowing what to do.  At first she  grasped his shoulders, her  hand moving to flutter around him for a second, before pulling him into a brief hug.  “Tom,” she exhaled.  “I can’t believe it.  Do we really get him back?”

“Yes, we do.  I can hardly believe it myself.” Tom gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek and turned to give Lucius a handshake. It was common knowledge even amongst his followers that he was cold and could sometimes be harsh.  He had no tolerance for idiocy, mediocrity, or failure.  And when his followers showed any combination of that, his punishments were swift and brutal.   But Tom was not cruel.  He didn’t take pleasure in the pain of others.  He simply did what needed to be done.  He was not unfeeling.  

Lucius and Narcissa were not only part of his inner circle, they were family.  And with his family, Tom was more akin to what normal standards of humanity were.  He let himself show just a bit more emotion, let himself be a little bit vulnerable.  He laughed more, smiled easier.  He enjoyed himself behind  closed doors with those he loved and trusted. But those who were privy to this version of Tom still knew that this didn’t mean that Tom suddenly stopped being the most powerful, deadliest wizard in the world and the leader of the Dark.

“Thank you for giving me guardianship,” Tom said.  “I know that must have been difficult after not getting to see him for fourteen years.  Harry only trusts two people right now, though, and given his history with Draco and with Harry still being under compulsions at the time, the thought of you having guardianship over him seemed to frighten him.”

Tears glistened in Narcissa’s eyes.  She hated that.  Hadrian had never had anything to fear from her or her family.  Tom had sent word to them via patronus that they needed to come to Gringotts on an urgent matter.  Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought they’d get her beloved godson back.  She was ashamed to admit it, but she’d given up hope long ago; carrying around false hope had been too painful, and so she’d abandoned it.  But she never stopped dreaming of one day having a life that included her godson.  And though she knew the depths that Albus Dumbledore could sink to, she’d never have even suspected something as atrocious and violating  as compulsions and blocking Hadrian’s core.

Narcissa’s lips twisted in disgust. “I can’t believe their ‘Champion of the Light’ of all people would do something so horrible.”  She shook her head.  But at least Harry didn’t hate her or her family.  She’d worried, when Draco first wrote to them about Harry and his interactions with him, that he’d held a grudge against them for not helping him or seeing him sooner.  By Merlin, they’d tried. But nobody would give them any information as to her missing godson.  “I couldn’t believe it when Draco told me how he had acted four years ago.  Like Harry didn’t know who he was.  Like he hated Draco.  It was too impossible to think that was true.  Draco never got over that.” 

“And as heartbreaking as that news was, compulsions were the furthest thing from our minds,” Lucius added.  Even their grief-addled minds that were desperately trying to find any strand of hope to cling to didn’t come up with this excuse for Hadrian. Compulsions on anybody was not only heavily disapproved of by polite society but was incredibly illegal without going through the proper proceedings.  Rarely was permission granted for adults, Azkaban or the veil or even the Kiss (which sucked life force out not one’s soul as was commonly believed) being seen as more humane approaches to punishment or containment.  For children to have binds placed on their magic or compulsions on their person, three healers must sign off on it giving detailed reasoning for the actions and have it approved not only by the Department of Children’s Welfare but also notarized and filed with the Magical Social Welfare Office AND the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  

“What exactly was done to Hadrian?” Lucius wanted to know who to punish for the harm done to Hadrian.

In answer, Tom pulled out the inheritance test, all seven pages of it, and handed them over.  Normally, he’d have asked Harry’s permission first, but he needed Lucius and Narcissa fully informed.  They were, after all, going to be heavily involved in his healing process.  Lucius’s eyes darkened, and Narcissa’s magic lashed out as they leaned in and read each page.  

“If I ever get my hands on Albus and those Weasleys,” Narcissa muttered.

“And those filthy fucking muggles,” Lucius spat. Tom raised an eyebrow.  The last time he’d heard Lucius swear was the day they’d realized they wouldn’t be able to find Harry until he came to Hogwarts. 

Tears pooled in Narcissa’s eyes as she read every blow, every kick, every cut, every curse Harry had endured in his fourteen short years of life.  He’d endured so much pain and loss and fear.  Guilt clawed at her stomach; she hadn’t protected him.  He would have been so loved with her and Lucius, rounding out their family, being the brother Draco had always wanted.

“They will pay, my lord,” Narcissa vowed, voice hoarse from unshed tears. “Whatever you’ve planned, whatever you need, we will help give our godson justice.”

Tom inclined his head in thanks. “He’ll need your love Narcissa and yours, too, Lucius.  He’s going to need true allies and friends now more than ever.  But more than that he’s going to need your patience.”  Tom shook his head,  “He hasn’t had a moment to take it all in, but once he does….”  Tom blew out a breath.  It was a miracle Harry hadn’t had a mental breakdown yet; he certainly had the right to one.  But hopefully with Tom, Lucius, and Narcissa there, they could help Harry deal with the transition in a way that didn’t cause him further harm.  “He’ll need us all to support him. I hope Draco can find it in him to give Hadrian another chance.”  Tom knew how much hurt Harry had unknowingly caused to the young heir, and once a Malfoy’s pride was hurt, a grudge was held for a long time.  

“Draco will be so happy, my lord,” Narcissa said softly, eyes shining with happy tears. “All he’s ever wanted was to be friends with Hadrian.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Tom said.  “Perhaps we can reintroduce the boys before dinner tonight?”

Narcissa and Lucius nodded, but Lucius spoke up.  “Do we have your permission to tell Draco of the compulsions and blocks?  Just the compulsions and blocks, of course, so he knows this is a different Harry he is meeting.”  From what Draco had told Lucius, Hadrian had been brash, judgemental, and ignorant of the wizarding world as well as magical and pureblood customs. 

They’d learned once Hadrian had started at Hogwarts that he’d grown up with muggles.  So it had come as no shock to them that Harry had been unlearned in the ways of magic and in the customs and traditions of magical culture.  But the utter disdain with which he’d treated the information? His willing ignorance and innate distrust of Slytherin and the Malfoys and Draco in particular.  That had broken their hearts.  Their grief, they knew, was the reason Draco had lashed out at Harry, not understanding why Harry wouldn’t want to meet his godparents. Thankfully, though, it wasn’t anything they’d done or not done.  It was the compulsions, and they could start new.  Harry could learn who he was and what his place in their world was.  He could claim his birthright, and the Malfoys would have a chance at a relationship with their godson, to help raise him as his parents would have.  This honor was all they’d ever wanted with Harry, and now they had it.  They couldn’t wait.

After a few more minutes of discussing the plans for dinner, a goblin came to take Tom to the healer’s office, and they said their goodbyes.  Narcissa hurried Lucius along, excitedly telling him that they were going to have the welcome feast of the century for Hadrian.  He would feel welcome in their home and would find peace and love and belonging at Malfoy Manor if it was the last thing Narcissa Malfoy did.  She swore it on her magic.

-

The ritual took over four hours, but the Goblins were able to use a Goblin-made time turner so that between the ritual and his recovery period, he left the runic circle only 60 minutes after he went in.

The first thing Harry noticed was that he wasn’t in pain. He’d carried a dull aching pain in almost every part of his body since he could remember, and it was gone.  The second thing he noticed was that his eyesight was blurry.  Confused, he took off his glasses, and the world sharpened and came into focus.  Harry looked to SharpClaw and she was so clear, his new eyesight was better than any of the help his glasses had been giving him.

Harry tested his compulsion free mind and thought about Ron and grimaced.  How had he put up with Ron’s whining for so long? God, Ronald Weasley was such an asshole and a bully, and all Ron did was belittle Harry and guilt him into becoming smaller than he was.  Then, Harry thought about Hermione, and his face softened.  How had Hermione taken Ron’s disregard and borderline emotional abuse for so long?  Maybe he should have her tested for compulsions.  She wasn’t stealing from him, after all.  So she must not be in on the headmaster’s scheme.

Harry decided to leave those thoughts for another time and did a check in with his body and mind.  A grin threatened to split Harry’s face right in two.  He felt amazing, freer than he had in years, and with all of that residual pain gone, there was a welcome lightness to his movements and thoughts, and if he jumped up right now, Harry thought he just might fly.

He ran out of the circle and straight to Tom who had just walked into SharpClaw’s office.  Tom caught him in a hug before pulling back . “How do you feel?”

“I haven’t felt this good in my entire life,” Harry exclaimed in a rush.  “I want to learn everything, Tom; I want to read every book in your office and in Malfoy Manor.  I want to travel and see everything and try everything the world has.”  Now that the compulsions were gone, he was so disappointed he’d wasted so long in a world literally full of magic without exploring any of it.  He was going to see it all, learn everything he could, be the best he could be.  And he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Tom chuckled.  “Slow down, Harry.  You have time.  I think we can arrange a trip this summer, but first let’s go finish up in the Alley.”  Tom turned to SharpClaw, the healer who’d done the ritual, “Is he free to go?”

SharpClaw shook her head, “Apologies, Young Heir, but not yet” she said to Harry, she gestured for them to take a seat on the other side of her desk.  When they’d all settled in, she said,“We need to go over your treatment plan.”

Tom saw Harry deflate and said, “I know you’re tired, Harry, but just one last thing before we can leave.  Then after we finish a bit of shopping, we can go home.”

Harry smirked, “I like that.”

“What?” Tom questioned.

“Going home,” Harry said softly.  “It sounds nice.”  He turned to SharpClaw, “Thank you for your help with the cleansing.  What potions do I need to take?”

In answer, she handed Harry and Tom a piece of parchment.  Harry read it over.

• Nutrition potion: 3x a day with meals
• Bone strengthening potion: 1x at night
• Antidepressant potion: 1x in the morning
• Anti Anxiety potion: 1x in the morning
• Sleep potion: 1x at night
• Shadowroot potion: 3x a day with meals
• Shadowshade potion: 3x a day with meals
• Chaos potion: 3x a day with meals
• Time potion: 3x a day with meals
• Energy potion: 3x a day with meals

Tom’s brows furrowed, “I don’t recognize anything after the bone strengthening potion.”  He could guess what anti-anxiety and antidepressant potions were for, but as far as he knew, there were no such approved potions available to the masses.  He’d hoped he could have Severus make any necessary potions for Harry, trusting not only his skill but that he wouldn’t harm Harry.  

SharpClaw grinned, “Those are all Goblin-made potions with Goblin-sourced ingredients.  Lord Gaunt, as Heir Potter’s guardian, you can, of course, refuse these.  However, the Goblin Nation is offering our healers to work in conjunction with whomever you choose as Heir Potter’s wizarding healer.  Those potions will help Heir Potter after his trip through time and space as well as help settle his magic after being blocked for so long.   They’ll also help him ease into his status as Master of Death.”

Tom schooled his expression expertly.  But he was shocked.  This went beyond being a Friend of the Goblin Nation.  They were offering Harry loyalty , which was almost unheard of.  The last wizard they’d offered allyship to was Merlin himself.  Tom looked at Harry, “What do you think?”

Tom was worried that Harry wouldn’t understand what exactly was being offered to him, but this was Harry’s decision as it was his health they were discussing and it was Harry the Goblins had offered this to.  The decision had to come from him. Tom needn't have worried, though.  Harry respected all humans and creatures.  He was kind.  And despite being ignorant of the ways of the Wizarding World, Harry handled himself beautifully.

“It is an honor the Goblin Nation is willing to help me,” Harry started inclining his head.

SharpClaw grinned, her pointed teeth showing.  “You are a Friend of the Goblin Nation, young heir.  But more than that, you are our ally and you have our loyalty.  You are always welcome to our knowledge and our services.”

Harry sat stunned.  “You do me a great honor, Healer SharpClaw.  You have my gratitude.  Can you explain what these potions will do exactly?  Well, actually some of them are pretty self explanatory but what are the Shadowroot, Shadowshade, Chaos, and Time Potions?”

SharpClaw explained as best she could to two wizards unfamiliar with Goblin concepts and ingredients, but Harry and Tom could comprehend the basic uses of the potions.  They seemed to be strength and crutch potions to help Harry settle into his new stronger magical core, the magical abilities that came with having access to his entire core (which according to Tom would just manifest, there was no way to truly know everything he was capable of now), and his title as Master of Death.  SharpClaw couldn’t say anything about what that specifically Master of Death meant, just that as Master of Death his already strong core would get a boost and he’d be able to tap into ancient magics that hadn’t been accessed in a long time.  This combined with the fact that Harry hadn’t ever had full access to his core not to mention that most of what he did have access to was preoccupied with healing him and keeping his body functioning, Harry was in for a massive power boost.  The type that could make someone die.  So the potions were to help prevent that from happening, for which Harry was very grateful. 

“Who is Heir Potter’s wizarding healer?” SharpClaw asked?

“Narcissa Malfoy,” Tom answered.  Harry kept his surprise in check, happy that his pureblood mask was already better.  

SharpClaw made a note in her file and said, “We will owl Healer Malfoy tonight, and in the morning, you will have the first month of potions.”  She reached into her drawer and took out a diary.  “Here is a diary, it is keyed to you, Griphook, and myself.  If you want to write to either of us, start with our name and the message will appear in the corresponding journal.  I would like weekly updates on how you’re faring with the potions and to know immediately of any adverse effects.”

Harry took the diary with a quiet thank you.  He looked up again, a fierce look in his eyes, and he spoke clearer, “Many thanks, Healer SharpClaw.  You have done more for me than all previous healers in my life combined. I’m not sure what I can do for you that the Goblin Nation can’t do for themselves, but should you ever need me, you only need to call.”

Healer SharpClaw grinned fiercely, and to anyone other than Tom and Harry her grin could have been interpreted as a threat.  She looked wild and dangerous and strong.  But she was truly delighted that she and her people had chosen well.  That Fate, and Death, and Magic had chosen well. This young heir would do great things for the Magical World, Creatures and Wizards alike.

Tom and Harry rose to say their goodbyes. Harry copied Tom and bowed slightly from his waist before saying, “May your enemies fall swiftly and your gold overflow.”

SharpClaw put her right claw on her left shoulder and bowed to Harry, “May your steps be right and true, may your heart beat strong and shrewd.”

Tom and Harry nodded their heads and made their way out of the healer’s office and towards the exit.  Sensing Harry was bursting with questions, Tom cast a wandless, wordless Muffliato around him and Harry, and he was thankful he did because once they were outside of Gringotts, Harry asked, “Why are their greetings and farewells different for me?”

Tom chuckled, leading Harry to Flourish and Blotts.  “You are the Master of Death.  They respect you.  That phrase is reserved for other Goblins, and even then only Goblins who are precious to the one saying it.”

This shocked Harry into another bout of silence that remained during the rest of their trip through Diagon Alley.  They made their way to the bookstore, and Harry bought a stack of books that threatened to snap the featherlight charm on their book baskets, and he ordered even more.  Tom had handled Harry’s finances, making sure the artifacts, heirlooms, and money that had been stolen were all returned, and he had set up a number of investments that should make Harry and the Goblins a nice pile of gold.  All he told Harry was that if he went on a shopping spree three times a day for the rest of his life, he’d still have enough money to leave for any children he had. 

And Harry had gleefully taken those words to heart.  He had said he wanted to learn everything and he’d meant it.  He bought books on ancient runes, history of magic (he steered clear from the Goblin wars), warding, magical creatures, healing arts, Goblin culture, occlumency, legilimecy, and spellcraft.  He talked Tom into taking him to Borgin and Burkes where he bought books on death magic, blood magic, and soul magic. After that, they stopped by a stationary store where Harry bought some parchment, an array of colored inks with some black ink thrown in too of course, and quills.  He also snuck some charcoal and art parchment into his pile. He picked up some broom polish, and while Tom went to Madame Malkins to check on the rest of his clothes order for Harry, Harry went to get the largest, most luxurious terrarium he could find and some snacks and food for Selene.  He’d left her in his bed at Malfoy manor, not knowing how the Goblins would react to a baby basilisk. Their last stop was Fortescue’s for some ice cream where Harry ordered a chocolate and strawberry scoop with sprinkles and Tom ordered Vanilla ice cream with chocolate drizzle.  

It wasn’t until about two hours after they’d gone home that Harry broke his silence.  Tom and Harry used the Public Floo and floo’d directly into Tom’s office.  Harry went to his room to freshen up and put away his purchases.  He introduced Selene to her new terrarium, which she’d loved, though she’d said, “ Massssster’s new nesssst is sssssoo pretty.  But Ssssselene likesss bed nesssst better. ”  Harry grinned, he could live with that.  Filling the very empty space was extremely satisfying, and the simple acts of putting books on his shelves, clothes in his closet and drawers, and putting parchment and quills away in drawers calmed him.

So after Tom gave him a short tour of their shared quarters, namely a sitting room, study, and unbelievably a separate library, Harry was ready to ask the two questions that had been gnawing at him.  “The goblin greetings…should I be saying those back to them?”  Harry bit his lip.  He didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t want to presume he had a right to say those to the goblins, too.

Tom smiled.  “You should ask them. The books you bought will be very helpful for you, but I can guarantee you, they won’t answer that question.  Only the goblins can.”

Harry nodded. “Okay.”  A beat of silence. “Tom?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Can we get Hermione an inheritance test?”

Tom thought about it for a second before asking, “Why do you think she needs one?”

“Well, without the compulsions, Ronald Weasley is the most insufferable, selfish, lackluster bully I’ve ever met.  And sure, Hermione can be bossy, but she means well, and she is smart so she’s usually right anyway.  But she’s always been kind and thoughtful and considerate.  And she wasn’t stealing from me, so she’s not a part of Dumble’s plans.  But the thought of Ron’s voice now makes me want to cut my ears off, so I’m guessing that the only reason Hermione can put up with Ron’s near emotional abuse when it comes to her especially is–”

“Compulsions,” Tom finished for him darkly. Tom blew out a breath.  “Okay.”

Harry jerked.  Nothing was ever that simple for him.  “Okay?”

Tom’s brow furrowed.  “Yes. Okay.”  Tom cocked his head to the side.  “Is it not okay?”

A hysterical laugh spilled out of Harry’s mouth.  He clamped his hands over his mouth.  “Sorry.  Just…that was so easy.  Thank you.”

Tom’s gaze softened. “Of course, Harry.  A friend of yours is a friend of mine.”  

Harry smiled.  He hoped Hermione felt the same.  He did not look forward to explaining how Tom Marvolo Riddle became his guardian.

-

Harry couldn't shake the nervous energy that coursed through him like an electric current. He fussed over the collar of his white silk shirt for the 100th time before moving on to fuss over his black silk tie.  Dress shoes, black tweed trousers, and a dark gray cashmere sweater rounded out the outfit Mipsy had laid out for him.  Nothing though was enough to distract him for his impending meeting with the Malfoys, a “get to know you” attempt.

With the compulsions  gone, Harry, of course, no longer felt any animosity towards the Malfoys, but he didn’t really feel anything towards them to be honest.  He didn’t know them.  Well, he knew Draco, though all he knew about him was that they’d antagonized each other for four years of this life, all seven in his previous life– though less towards the end.  Harry understood now why Draco had taken his rejection of their friendship so hard.  They were basically family, and Harry had rejected not only Draco but the world and culture he had come from, and he’d been a dick about it.  Harry grimaced, he deserved Draco’s animosity.  

Harry splashed some cool water on his face and stared at his reflection. The mirror reflected a still unfamiliar face, a convergence of bloodlines that had transformed him into someone unrecognizable. His eyes were the same green they’d always been but they were bigger and his lashes were fuller, thanks to the Black family blood, which apparently had been blocked in his core because his hair more resembled Sirius’s now, too.  His hair was still jet black and curly, but it was softer and finer, falling haphazardly to frame and accentuate his face.  And his skin.  His skin had been a blank pale canvas, and now his skin showed James’s Indian heritage.  His skin was now the color of desert sands with dark freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose onto his cheeks, the freckles making him look even more like his mother.  The specter of Sirius in his hair, James in his skin, and Lily in his freckles made for a haunting incapsulation of his heritage.  Harry rather liked it, though.  That he had traces of his parents and Sirius on his body, had physical proof he was their kin.

A knock on his door told him it was time to go.  So with one last look at his reflection, he picked up his robe and met Tom outside.  The closer they got to the den, the harder Harry’s heart raced.  When they were outside the door, he grabbed Tom’s sleeve in a panic and said, “What if they hate me?”

Tom looked shocked.  “Why would they hate you?”

“I was awful to them,” Harry said miserably.

Tom grasped Harry by the shoulders and said, “That wasn’t you.  You get to decide now who you are and who you want in your life.  The Malfoys are my family,”  His lips kicked up a bit.  It was endlessly entertaining to him how continually shocked Harry became by each instance that showed his apparent humanity.  He hoped Harry never had to witness why others outside of his circle rightfully feared him.  “I think they want to be yours, too.”  Tom squeezed his shoulders. “Be yourself.   Be open.  And relax. ”

Harry rolled his eyes at the last part but conceded.  Tom's reassurances were a lifeline, a reminder that he now had agency over his destiny.  He nodded at Tom, signaling he was ready.  Tom opened the door and gestured for Harry to go first.

Before he could get his bearings, a woman with black hair and a single gray strip on her left side rushed forward and grabbed him into a hug, “Hadrian!”

“Narcissa, let the boy breathe,” came Lucius Malfoy’s teasing voice.  

Narcissa pulled back and looked Harry up and down, “Sorry, Hadrian, I’ve just been dreaming of this day for a long time.  Lucius,” she called, gesturing behind her.  “Come greet your godson.”

Lucius came over and Harry held out his hand but Lucius gently pushed his hand down and pulled him into a hug. “I’ve wanted this so much,” he whispered, “I was too scared to even dream about it.  Your parents would have been the best parents, but we will help raise you as they would have wanted.  I promise.”  

Harry blinked back tears.  “I’m so sorry–”

“None of that,” Narcissa interrupted briskly.  “As far as I’m concerned, we are meeting you for the first time.”

Lucius who still had his arms wrapped around Harry nodded, eyes moving over Harry as if drinking him in. “The slate is wiped clean, Hadrian,” he added.  “You are most welcome, godson of mine.”

Before Harry could formulate a response or convey his thanks or fucking cry again , he allowed Narcissa to lead him by his arm further into the room, “Come in, come in.  Let’s reintroduce you to Draco.”

Harry saw Draco standing by the fireplace, all long limbs and elegant lines.  He was the picture of aristocratic elegance, dressed in black trousers, a black silk button up shirt, a black tie, and a dark green cashmere sweater.  His shock of white blonde hair was parted deeply to one side, the hair in front falling around his face.  One foot was crossed over the other as he leaned an arm against the mantle of the fireplace.

God, he was beautiful.

Harry’s heart stuttered and his brain ground to a halt.  And where had that thought come from?

“Nice face, Potter,” Draco drawled lazily.

Harry blushed and looked down.  He knew he didn’t mean it was a compliment to his appearance but as a comment on his changed appearance, but he couldn’t stop the blush rising from his neck to his ears.

“Draco,” Narcissa scolded. “Be nice to Hadrian.”

Draco arched a perfect eyebrow and looked down at Harry who was easily three or four inches shorter than him.  “Hadrian, is it?”

Harry gulped and nodded, eyes wide.  He held out his hand, “Yes, nice to meet you as myself.”

The hearkening back to their first meeting at Hogwarts was apparently not lost on Draco.  He smirked down at Harry’s hand and for a second Harry thought he’d reject it.  Maybe he deserved it.  

But then Draco stepped closer to him so they stood toe-to-toe and said quietly, “Nice to meet you, Hadrian.”  He grasped Harry’s outstretched hand.

And then the world shattered into a million pieces of light and darkness. They both fell to their knees, all air knocked out of them like a punch to the gut.  Draco’s body tensed, the world blurring before him, the only thing in sight that was clear to him–abnormally clear in fact– was Harry.  Something snapped in his chest, a warmth blooming and overtaking his senses.  All Draco knew was warmth and light and Hadrian. 

Hadrian, meanwhile, clutched and clawed at his chest, desperate to expel the invisible force racing through his body causing pain that felt like icicles piercing his heart.  Harry didn’t know what this was or what was happening.  But he didn’t care.  Whatever it was, he wanted it out and wanted this over .  Adrenaline coursed through his veins at an overwhelming intensity. His eyes, clouded and unseeing, frantically looked around the room trying to find something to hold onto, something to anchor him to this plane. 

In that moment, he felt like a wild creature, driven solely by instinct, every nerve alight with raw, untamed energy. Gasping for air, he called out for help, but the world around him continued to blur in and out in an indistinct haze. Tears welled in his eyes.  Why is it always him?  Why can’t he ever have one normal fucking day?

But then he feels warm arms wrap around him, pulling him back from the edge, calming down those wild instincts.  A voice that sounds like Draco’s saying urgently, “You need to calm down, Harry.  Just let this happen, stop fighting it.”

Tom’s voice sounded from far away, “You are so strong, Hadrian, but you don’t need to fight this.”

He barely registered Narcissa’s and Lucius’s voices, adding to the encouragement.  But they were there: distinct and pulling him back, anchoring him with Draco and Tom back to himself.  The voices blended into an indistinct hum, mere echoes in the tumult of Harry's overwhelmed senses but filling his mind and letting him know that he wasn’t alone. The air rippled around him, a manifestation of unseen forces at play perhaps, or maybe the house elves being summoned in response to the unfolding chaos. 

Harry continued to have a hard time pulling air into his lungs.  In a desperate bid at air and freedom,  Harry strained against Draco's embrace, but Draco’s grip on his body was unwavering.  He jerked again, and Draco’s arms tightened.  An unexpected realization manifested in his mind, an unrealized yet always present desire to stay entwined in Draco’s embrace.  Harry relaxed into Draco’s arms, focusing on the feel of  Draco's chest pressed against his back, the comforting warmth of Draco's forearm against his cheek.

With every inhale, he absorbed the enticing scent of Bergamot and Cedar, a sensory refuge amidst the disarray. In that chaotic moment, Draco's presence became a healing balm against the chaos Harry’s life had become. 

Draco rested his chin on the top of Harry’s head, his hand moving to stroke comfortingly against his back. And then he leaned down so his lips were by Harry’s ears. Draco's breath sent shivers down Harry’s spine,  “I’ve got you,” he whispered. Harry shivered.  Draco chuckled, voice low.  “Breathe with me.”

Harry obeyed.  In for three.  Out for three.  In. Out. In. Out.  Harry’s body moved with Draco, inhaling and exhaling, their bodies rising and falling together.

And slowly, Harry was able to pull more and more air into his starving lungs.  As his body started cooperating with him, Harry came back to himself. He looked up at Draco, eyes wide and full of tears.  He was still in Draco’s arms, his back to Draco’s chest.  Draco gave him a soft smile, still rubbing his back.  It felt nice, but he wanted to look at Draco properly.  Harry turned so he was on his knees, facing Draco, who’d been leaning with his back against an armchair.  “What happened?” Harry asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.  Pureblood decorum be damned.  “It felt like an earthquake in my chest.”

Draco laughed.  “We are Marked," he disclosed, the revelation hanging in the charged atmosphere. When Harry remained silent, Draco elaborated, "Magic has marked us as each other’s balance. We are destined to be partners."

Harry groaned, leaning his forehead against Draco’s chest, why is it always him?

Draco’s arms immediately encircled him again, making Harry’s heart race.  Never a dull moment.

-

Harry was now seated on a loveseat, drinking some tea.  Mipsy had popped in, telling him, “Master Dragon’s Harry be needing some calming tea.  This be Mipsy’s specialty.  Drink up Master Dragon’s Harry.”

Draco, who had not moved from Harry’s side and had not stopped touching him, had smirked at the house elf’s wording.  Pompous bastard.

Tom was sitting in an armchair to his right.  It was both infuriating and impressive how Tom could manage to make any chair he sat in feel like his throne.  He was like a vacuum, pulling air and magic and power towards him unconsciously.  But Harry was a tad bit proud he’d managed to make the scariest most powerful wizard alive look like he desperately needed a stiff drink.  Tom’s hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times– because he probably did when Harry was having….whatever that experience was and his clothes were disheveled.  And his hands, if looked at closely enough, were shaking.  He gratefully accepted the drink Karut offered him.

After gulping down half of his drink, Tom said, “Never a dull moment, huh, Hadrian,” unknowingly echoing Harry’s thoughts from earlier.

“I don’t try to attract trouble,” Harry grumbled.  Draco scooted closer, and pulled Harry against him, and Harry hated how readily he went.  It felt so good to be held by Draco.  He felt…safe.  It was nice.

“This isn’t trouble, Hadrian,” Draco said.  Butterflies flitted through Harry’s stomach, hearing Draco use his full name.  “It’s an honor not commonly bestowed on Wizarding Kind.” 

“But what does this mean?” Harry asked, all but whining.  He hated not knowing.  “We’re Marked?”

Lucius stepped forward.  “Yes, and that earthquake you felt in your chest was the formation of the Marked Bond.  Muggles might call it a soulmate bond, but it doesn’t have to be romantic.  It just means Magic has marked you both to be partners in life and to–”

“Balance each other out,” Harry finished.  He leaned his head back on the couch and glanced at Draco.  “Are you mad it’s me?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow looking between the two of them and how little space was left between their bodies, “Does it look like I’m upset?”

“No,” Harry said in a small voice.  He shifted, looking down at their joined hands. “Last week, we hated each other,” Harry started.  He shook his head.  Merlin’s sake! THIS MORNING he was still at Hogwarts.  And now a mere 10 hours later, here he was: compulsion and block free, an ally of the Goblins, under the guardianship of Tom Riddle, godson of the Malfoys, and Bonded to Draco Malfoy.  They hated each other this morning.  Before panic could take root, Draco moved him to his lap.

“I have never hated you, Hadrian.  I have only ever wanted to be your friend.”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “I’m so sorry–”

Draco stopped his words with a finger to his lips.  “Don’t apologize, Hadrian, for something that is not your fault.  We can be anything we want to be now, and it seems Magic has designed us as Marked for each other.” He glanced over his shoulder at his parents and Tom, “Could we have a few minutes of privacy, please?  Nothing untoward will happen, I swear on my magic.”

Harry didn’t have enough energy to blush at Draco’s words.  Instead he rested his head on Draco’s shoulder.  “I’m so tired,” he whispered.

Draco rubbed circles on his back, “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I am here if you ever want to talk about it.”

“What did your parents tell you?” Harry asked.

“That you had blocks and compulsions on you,” Draco responded, voice hardening.  “I can’t believe those Weasley bastards and the fucking headmaster did that to you.”

“Yeah, it was really disorienting,” Harry said, drawing random little patterns on the back of Draco’s hand.  “But not as disorienting as this.  This morning, I was worried about just showing up to your house and having to cohabitate in your house which is admittedly humongous.  We probably could live here for a century and never have to interact.”  Draco’s arms tightened reflexively.  “Like I had no idea what was going on, I was trying to picture myself strolling into your living room with Tom trying to explain I struck a deal with the Dark Lord.  And now…he’s what amounts to my grandfather and is my guardian, and your parents and Tom have been the nicest anybody has ever been in my life.”  Harry sucked in a breath.  Now that he started it was all spilling out.  He searched Draco’s face and only found patient understanding.  “Did you know Tom asked me on behalf of your mother what my favorite foods were?  I don’t have favorite foods, Draco.  I just like it when I’m allowed to eat.  I’ve never been given the luxury of having a favorite anything or a choice about anything.  And suddenly the very people I’ve been groomed to fear and despise have treated me with more dignity and humanity in less than 24 hours than I’ve ever been given in my entire life.  And now you.  My Hogwarts enemy.  We’re destined to be each other’s Marked Bond?  We’re…”

Draco stopped Harry’s rant with a quick peck to his forehead.  “I know today has been a lot, Hadrian.  We have time to figure this out; it doesn’t have to be tonight.  We can explore our Bond however, whenever, at whatever pace we want to.  So let’s start with dinner, yeah?”

Harry nodded.  He could do dinner.  Actually he’d love dinner.  He was starting. 

“Great,” Draco said, smiling.  “Why don’t we freshen up first, there’s a washroom through that door to the right, and then we can join our parents for dinner.”

Harry perked up.  Their parents.  It fit.  The Malfoys were his godparents, and Tom was both his grandfather and Draco’s godfather alongside Snape.  He liked it.  He liked it alot.

He smiled, making sunshine bloom in Draco’s chest.  Draco thrust a hand in Harry’s curls, running his fingers through them.  He leaned his forward against Hadrian’s, “We don’t have to figure everything out today,” he repeated.  “But I need you to know, you will always be safe with me.”

Harry sighed, moving to kiss Draco’s forehead like Draco had done to him.  “As are you.”

Harry went to the washroom to splash cool water on his face and straighten his attire.  He smiled at his reflection, oddly happy.  Sure he  still had so many questions and so much to come to terms with.  And if this had been any other day, Harry would question why he felt so safe and connected to Draco, how he found such comfort in the other boy’s touch.  But today, it seemed like the fitting end to the day that had started with him confirming Ron and Ginny were not his friends in the most heart wrenching way possible and moving on to finding out not only was his godfather’s brother alive but that his supposed enemy was his doting (still scary as shit) grandfather.  

Of course the day would end with him becoming soulmates with Slytherin’s Ice Prince.  

But Harry would take it.  He would take a thousand days like today if it meant he kept this life, he kept his autonomy and his family.  Draco was right.  They had a lifetime to figure out what they were to each other and explore their Bond. And he couldn’t wait.

As for Dumbles, he had a growing list of allies and a growing list of reasons to fight for.  For the first time in his life, Harry felt…safe.  There were dangers at every turn and he still had unknown powers– power that could kill him evidently– to figure out. Whatever the old bat was planning, he could take it because he was no longer alone.

Harry came out of the washroom and took Draco’s hand, “Lead the way,” he said. 

Draco smiled, and just to see Hadrian blush again, he brought Harry's hands to his lips and kissed the back of it.  As predicted, a beautiful blush spread across Hadrian's tanned, freckled skin. His Bondmate was absolutely precious.  Draco tucked Harry's hand into the crook of his arm and led Harry to the dining room, picking up his pace.  After all, t heir parents were waiting.

Chapter Text

There was a ringing in Dumbledore’s ears.  High-pitched.  Intense.  Annoying.

What in the BLAST ENDED SKREWT had his life become??

He crumpled up the Prophet, but the stupid piece of paper just sprung back to life, and the wrinkled face of Harry Potter as a child stared back at him. He was about eight years old in that photo; he was so still it was hardly noticeable it was a wizarding picture. There were dark circles around his sunken, pain-filled eyes. There was only one way to describe his pictured form: emaciated. And his cousin’s clothes didn’t help the matter.  The picture had been retrieved from a memory of a caseworker in the Child Welfare Office of the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, the caseworker had needed to take a mental health leave after delving into the minds of all three Dursleys, that’s how bad the memories were.

Memories of Harry broken, bleeding, starving, and neglected.  

It had all started the week after the triwizard tournament.  Albus had anticipated renewed interest in The Boy who Lived after he won a dangerous tournament as a minor.  However, he had not been prepared for the amount of scrutiny from the Ministry.  And it was all sparked by one journalist.

‘Why was he even competing?’ The prophet had asked in an article written by a real journalist by the name of Cristela Willow Grace– definitely not Rita Skeeter.  Grace was a new voice in the conversation, not penning anything about the matter until after the third task. Grace had pointed out that though the rules say all names the Goblet of Fire spits out have to compete, there was a reason all participants had to be of age; Harry could have easily been saved as a minor with one word from his magical guardian.

‘Who is his magical guardian?’ Grace asked before answering for her readers ‘None other than Albus Dumbledore.’

As the headmaster, observing Harry’s dire situation in real time, the backlash to his inaction had been extraordinary, and the firestorm, at that point, had only just begun. 

Albus tore the latest article up into little pieces and set them on fire for good measure.  Since then, Grace had written an article that sparked the trial of Sirius Black to be put on the DMLE’s court calendar, had written a followup on the release of Sirius Black upon the release of the Potter wills and Peter being delivered by owl to the Ministry, had written an article just on the Potter wills and how it said explicitly Albus should not have guardianship nor should the Dursleys, not to mention the seven articles since then detailing the investigation and the realization that the hero of the wizarding world had been abused since his parents’ deaths.

And that was all only in the first four weeks after the third task.  

Thankfully, Harry had been kept from all of this.  It was a stroke of genius if he did say so himself, excusing Harry from classes and exams.  His self-exile the last few weeks of term had kept him away from his classmates and so had kept him in the dark. 

However, Albus was now facing a trial himself.  Not just because of his illegal guardianship (which he was confident he could chalk up to not knowing the wills were so explicit and being at a loss at what to do after the Lily and James’s deaths) but also because the brat was now missing.

He had disappeared from the platform, people were guessing; however, nobody could confirm that Harry had even been on the train.  

This was not how it was supposed to go.  Albus felt like stomping his foot like a First Year.  Instead, he popped a lemon drop into his mouth and ruminated.

His plan was falling to pieces. 

He needed Harry in the Dursleys' home, and so he needed Sirius on the run. But now that Harry being with the Durlseys was bad optics, even the rather genus lie about blood wards he’d concocted not being enough (though he doubted anybody would listen to him long enough right now to know the full extent of the lore he’d made up about the wards), his only shot of keeping Harry under his thumb was getting Sirius to see reason. However, Dumbledore hadn’t heard from Sirius.

Nobody had.

Once Sirius had been freed, he was whisked away to a some healing institute by an unnamed family member and hadn’t been heard from since. 

Everyone was so up in arms about Harry’s childhood and the horrifying results of the investigation that nobody was talking about Voldemort returning. Dumbledore would have thrown Harry out to the press for an interview by now, but he’d have to find the boy first.

Even owls were not able to reach him.  All of his letters came back to him, unopened.  

Perhaps he should send his elf, Kreatun.  Kreatun had had a resounding success in Harry’s second year.  In fact, Albus still had some of Dobby’s magical signature left for the glamour, maybe he could use Harry’s affection for the elf to lure him out of hiding.  At the very least, maybe Kreatun could figure out where Harry was hiding.

After the glamour had been done and Kreatun’s orders given, Albus sat back and popped another lemon drop into his mouth, feeling substantially better. Perhaps he could turn this around. All was not lost, yet, to be sure.  Harry still had his blocks and compulsions wherever he was hiding, it’d take Goblin magic to undo them, and his in at Gringotts hadn’t reported anything to him.  Yes, all was as good as can be and he’d figure out a plan soon.

Phineas Nigellus Black, watched from his perch in his portrait, intrigued.  He didn’t know all of what was going on with this lunatic headmaster, but he had seen enough to know a visit to Kreacher was in order.  Hopefully, Kreacher knew where the current Lord and Heir Black were staying and could deliver a warning.

Chapter Text

Harry wasn't hiding.  He wasn’t.  Gryffindors don’t hide. He was just…sitting in this dark windowless alcove in the library in his and Tom’s shared quarters which had blood wards so that nobody except those with Gaunt blood could get in.

Most definitely. Not. Hiding.

Harry groaned, closing the book he’d been reading on Seelie runes.  Who was he kidding?  It was a lovely day outside, and his absolute favorite place on the manor grounds, a soft patch of dirt under a willow tree at the center of a small field of wildflowers, would be absolutely beautiful on a clear sunny day like today.  

Yet, here he was.

Hiding.

Tom, Lucius, and Narcissa were abroad for a week on a mission they’d been really vague about.  At least Tom had been, he hadn’t actually been able to ask Draco if his parents had said anything.  Because for the last day and a half they’d been gone, he’d been hiding behind blood wards.  And no, the irony was not lost on him.

Harry just hadn’t found the courage to face Draco.  He was too worried he’d disappointed Draco or that maybe now that Draco had seen how messed up he was, maybe he was doubting this whole Bond For Life thing.

The first two weeks after the Bond had been amazing.  He and Draco had been inseparable. They just fit together, and after four years in this life and seven years in his previous one, he had thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the real Draco as himself. Harry found out Draco had a wicked sense of humor and was devastatingly intelligent.  He wanted to be a lawyer and go into politics like his father, which came as no surprise to Harry, but he also really liked cooking and baking with the house elves, with Mipsy in particular.  Mipsy had told Harry that Draco even helped tend the gardens because he liked to know which fresh ingredients he could cook or bake with at any given time. Draco wasn’t a morning person and needed coffee almost immediately.  And to Harry’s utter delight, he’d learned that those four delicious inches that Draco had on Harry meant he was particularly good at holding Harry and making him feel safe.  It was especially enjoyable when after Dinner he and Draco would leave the adults to their scheming and they’d curl up on a window seat, their legs tangled together or Harry’s back to Draco’s chest, and they’d talk all night long or take turns reading to each other.

Harry had fallen into the groove of his new life rather seamlessly.  Every day, his day was bookended with his family, everyone gathering for breakfast and dinner.

Every morning he and Tom would join the Malfoys for breakfast. After breakfast, Harry had heir training with Lucius and Tom for an hour before having private tutoring sessions with Tom.  They’d studied languages and ancient runes from around the world and various magical cultures together.  Tom was teaching Harry how to sharpen his dueling skills and how to use runes to boost his spells and potions.  The magical world was opening up to Harry, and it was just as wondrous and beautiful and powerful as he’d hoped it’d be.  Usually, it was just Draco and Harry for lunch.  Draco cooked for Harry whenever he could talk the house elves into it; the house elves had become very protective of Harry and ensured he always had enough to eat and wouldn’t pop into a room he was in without a snack for him.  Sometimes, Draco and Harry ate in the kitchens with the elves, but mostly they ate outside; Harry’s favorite spot was underneath an ancient willow tree. Karut, the head house elf gardener, had told him it was a normal willow tree, but sometimes, it seemed like the branches reached just that little bit further down to stroke his cheek or back.

 After lunch, he and Draco were able to spend the time as they pleased, either flying, reading, or playing board games together.  Some evenings if Tom was home, he’d give an impromptu hand-to-hand combat lesson for the boys.  After dinner, Harry and Tom spent some time with the Malfoys in the Drawing Room before retiring to their bedrooms.  Harry either read or sketched to wind down before getting into bed.  

Harry had loved his new life.  Tom wasn’t sure how much Dumbledore knew or how much he was willing to put out into the world yet, so Harry hadn’t been able to have friends over– Neville, Cedric, and Luna– but Tom said he’d know more after his mission with Lucius and Narcissa.  But Harry wrote to his friends constantly and without naming names and asking them for secrecy, he let them know he had a new family and was loving life.  He had hobbies and friends and free time and three meals a day.  This was the life he had dreamed of.  And he got to live it for almost two whole weeks.

Everything had been going so well. But then, Harry woke up one morning feeling different.  Not necessarily about Draco or the still new situation he was in.  Just different.

He’d felt like his limbs had turned to lead.  His eyes felt puffy and itchy, and he just didn’t want to do or think anything.  Movement was too hard, words were too hard.  For a solid ten minutes, he just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, but today was the day Tom said he’d start teaching Harry how to use parselmagic and all of the runes he was learning in a duel.  Not only that, Draco had said he’d bake treacle tart for lunch. So he forced himself out of bed.

But by the time he’d sat down to breakfast, it was clear to everyone except maybe Harry that Harry wasn’t up for doing anything except going  back to bed.  Everything and everyone felt far away, even their voices were oddly echoey and incoherent, muddled and confusing.  And he felt like he was moving through molasses.  

Harry felt hands firmly grasp his upper arms and haul him up.  He remembered looking up to meet Tom’s gaze, red was slowly bleeding into his pupils.  Tom’s mouth moved but he couldn’t figure out what he was saying, so Tom held him up, and a wave of bright, feminine magic washed over Harry, most likely Narcissa spelling his potions into his stomach.  

Harry hated how floaty and unanchored he felt, like all of his cells would spontaneously burst apart.  And yet, he also felt like he was watching himself go through this. Like his disembodied consciousness was floating somewhere near the crystal chandelier above them. He couldn’t understand words, not even what his mind was trying to tell him.  

Tom and Draco were helping Harry back up the stairs to his quarters, Draco’s thumb rubbing gently over Harry’s arm.  His thumb left only warmth behind, a comfort on his skin, clammy with goosebumps.  But then his feet got confused about what they were doing, and he stumbled forward.  Draco, in a panic, launched forward to catch him, one hand wrapping around Harry’s waist and the other wrapped around his neck.

And suddenly Harry was eight years old and back in Number 4 Privet Drive.

When he came to, he was huddled against the wall, his arms thrown over his head.  Words were falling from his lips almost on instinct and when his brain caught up, he was apologizing and promising to be good.

This heartbreaking evidence of Harry’s abuse had struck a chord in everyone present.  Tom was vibrating with anger, and Harry could feel it in the waves of magic rolling off him.  Tom’s magic, as sharp as it was, usually felt refreshing to Harry.  It reminded Harry of lemons or lemonade on a hot summer’s day.  But that day, it had been cutting in Tom’s anger.  

Draco’s magic, too, was going haywire, and his instincts to protect Harry only made his magic more volatile.  Draco’s magic was Harry’s favorite magic he’d ever been able to feel.  It almost reminded Harry of the whispers of magic he’d felt at Hogwarts that had felt like home.  Draco’s magic invoked the feeling of flying, like when Draco’s magic rippled over him, it was like Harry was on his broom and the wind was blowing in his face. But at that moment, Draco’s magic felt dangerous, like a winter’s storm at sea; it carried the fury of nature, too, dark and terrifying.

Both Tom and Draco stepped forward in concern, but all Harry registered was two people standing over him, both of them paying attention to him and both of them furious.  He shrank back against the wall, arms tightening over his head, his pleas and apologies, which up to this point had been on repeat, stopping.  Harry fell silent and waited for the pain. 

After that, he had no more memories of the incident.  His mind must have blanked out or Narcissa had put him into a medical sleep, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up in his bed the next morning. Harry wasn’t allowed to leave his bed the following day, not that he had the energy to, and then once he’d rested enough to replenish his energy, he’d gone into frequent and intensive mind healing appointments.

It is nothing to be ashamed of, his healer had said after Harry mumbled a slightly unintelligible summary of what had happened.  It was to be expected apparently.  Now that he was safe and loved and happy, his body was releasing the trauma it’d stored when he was in survival mode.  That coupled with the added– maybe not trauma but– stressors of time travel and betrayal, Harry had been long overdue for the physical manifestations of his trauma.

Harry had nodded and then asked how long it would take for his body to work it out.  He had things he needed to do, plans he needed to develop.  He didn’t have time for his body to do this to him.

It will take as long as it needs to , Healer Singh had said gently.  And healing is a lifelong process.  For now, let’s focus on how you’re feeling and what you’re thinking.

And so they had.  For one week following the incident, he’d had sessions almost every day. Then three times the next two weeks.  Then, Healer Singh said he could move to once a week.  In those three weeks on Healer Singh’s recommendation, Harry and Tom kept to their quarters so Harry wouldn’t be overwhelmed and overstimulated during this process. Healer Singh said that normally he’d recommend Harry going into in-patient care, but for Harry specifically he recommended tightening up his circle to just Tom and making his world smaller and more manageable.  And Tom, to his credit, had instantly complied and had handed all work off to Lucius so he could focus on Harry.

It was three weeks before he got the healer’s okay to go back to his normal routine. His first meal with the Malfoys since the incident had gone well enough, though conversation was awkward and stilted, or maybe it was just Harry who felt awkward.  He’d kept his eyes on his plate and had only spoken quietly to politely answer questions or thank the house elves.  After breakfast Tom had asked him if he’d be okay if Tom left for a week with Lucius and Narcissa.  

Harry nodded and said, “Of course.”

Tom sighed. “You don’t need to be, Harry.  I can postpone this for as long as you need.”

Harry cocked his head to one side. “That’s a lie.”

A startled chuckle forced its way out of Tom.  “That’s annoying how you can do that so well.”  Harry’s lips lifted up in a small smile.  He’d always been able to tell when someone was lying, just like he’d always been able to tell what someone was feeling and when that changed. Even under compulsions, he’d known.  Even though with the compulsions he hadn’t been able to think that Dumbledore was lying to him necessarily, but he’d always known Dumbledore knew more than he told Harry and he always knew when that twinkle in his eye was fake.

“I’m sorry it so soon after you’re getting  back to normal, but this mission is important to know where we stand what are next steps with Dumbles are.”  Tom paused, grasping Harry by the shoulders, searching his face.  “I don’t want to leave you, if that makes a difference.”

Harry kept himself from snorting.  Feelings were still new to Tom, but it was adorable when he tried.  Not that Harry had been doing much better with feelings lately.  Harry blew out a breath. “I’m going to miss you.  But it’s just a week, Tom. I’ll be fine.”  Harry forced himself to laugh and nodded to the pile of books Harry had woken up to find on his nightstand. “You’ve given me plenty of work to do in the meantime.”

Tom was silent for a beat before saying, “I’m sure Draco would love to spend the time with you.  His parents will be helping me on this trip.”

Harry muttered, “Yep if I haven’t scared him off yet.”

Tom shook his head. “Just talk to him, Harry.”

That had been two days ago, and all Harry had been able to bring himself to do was hide.

Every time he thought about going to find Draco, Draco’s face from that first breakfast together swam into his vision.  He’d been his normal well-groomed handsome self, except his eyes were red and not like Tom’s.  His was a bright itchy red around his eyes and on his cheeks, a stark contrast to his pale skin.  Harry had done that.  He’d made his Bonded cry until his eyes were bright red and puffy.  And still, Draco had silently with zero expectations for anything in return, had fixed Harry’s second helping of breakfast.

Undeserved, that stupid insidious voice in his head whispered.  But he had to agree.  Draco was too good for him, too good to him.

Harry waved his hand to cast a quick tempus charm and saw that it was 11:30am.  That meant Draco was most likely making himself lunch, so Harry would sneak go to the gardens for a walk.

He was halfway down the stairs, the albino peacocks running around in front of him, when Harry heard a sudden pop, alerting  him to a house elf. “Master Dragon’s Harry Potter, sir,” a familiar voice said.

Harry stumbled and tripped backwards, one of the peacocks glancing down at him in judgment.  Eyes wide, he turned towards the voice and asked, “D-d-dobby?”

The house elf’s eyes widened.  He bowed low.  “Master Dragon’s Harry knows Dobby?  It’s an honor to meet Master Dragon’s Bonded.”  Harry’s heart rate quickened and the familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through his body.  But Dobby continued.  “Master Dragon is requesting his Harry Potter for lunch today.”

Harry just stared, his mouth open.  Dobby was dressed in a clean white pants and shirt set with the Malfoy crest embroidered in black on the right pocket on his upper chest.  “Dobby?” Harry said again.  “What are you doing here?”

Dobby paused, unsure why Harry was asking that.  Perhaps, the young master didn’t understand.  “Master Dragon has made lunch for himself and his Harry Potter.  He’s set up a picnic for his Bonded,” Dobby said brightly, almost like he was proud of Draco.  “He even made treacle tart.”

Panic had settled into his body, but his mind was clear.  Something was off.  Either with this elf or Harry’s past.  Harry didn’t know what it was, but he needed to figure out what was going on.  And he knew what he had to do to get to the bottom of this.

“Ummm okay, Dobby.  Can you lead me to Draco?”

Dobby smiled brightly and took Harry’s hand, babbling the whole way about how much work Draco had put into this lunch.  He’d even asked Sparky, Tom’s personal elf, what Harry’s favorite dishes were.

Harry was pleased to say he now had two favorite dishes: shepherd’s pie and roast lamb. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered which one Draco had decided on.  

“Master Dragon,” Dobby called cheerfully, waving his other skinny hand at Draco.  “Dobby has brought Master Dragon’s Harry Potter!”

Draco’s grin was small but no less possessive.  That beautiful boy beside Dobby was very much his Harry Potter.  

“Thank you, Dobby,” Draco said to the elf who blushed.  He turned so he could take in his Bonded.  Merlin, it’d been too long. “Harry,” he greeted softly. “It’s good to see you.”  Draco stepped forward, his arms raising as if to hug him, but instead he stepped back again and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.  “I’ve missed you,” he said simply.  “So I thought if you’re up for it we could have lunch.  I made all of your favorites.”

A little voice cleared her throat. 

“Okay,” Draco grumbled.  “I burned the roast lamb, so we’re having Mipsy’s shepherd’s pie.”

Mipsy giggled, “Master Dragon made treacle tart for dessert.”

Dobby nodded. “Two different kinds!”

Harry grinned even as his vision blurred with tears.  Sometimes he felt like he didn’t deserve Draco.  His openness.  His goodness.  “It looks lovely, Mipsy,” Harry said, smiling at her.  Harry turned to Draco and reached a tentative hand out, moving slowly so Draco could say no or back away if he wasn’t welcome anymore.  Instead, Draco met him halfway and pulled him into their first hug in almost a month.

A sigh escaped Harry.  “I missed you, too,” Harry said, laying his head on Draco’s chest.  But before he could get too comfortable he pulled away and rubbed his tears away.  “But first, I need to talk to you about Dobby.”

Dobby’s eyes widened and the poor little elf started shaking, “Did Dobby make Master Dragon’s Harry Potter upset?” He looked at Draco.  “Dobby asked politely and only tried to help, Master Dragon.”

Harry moved away from Draco so he could grasp Dobby’s hand.  He patted Dobby’s hand soothingly. “Oh, no, Dobby.  You were very helpful.  I’m just really confused.  You see….I thought we’d met when I was in my second year at Hogwarts.”

Draco’s brow furrowed.  He handed Dobby a handkerchief and said soothingly, “You did so well, Dobby.  Why don’t you and Mipsy go check on the treacle tart; it’s cooling on the kitchen island.  I made one for you both to enjoy.”

When they were gone, Draco turned to Harry and gestured for him to sit.  While he filled both of their plates with food, he said, “Dobby is a terribly nervous elf.  He’s very kind and does very good work, but my mother’s aunt, Walburga, scared him when he was a trainee elf.  She…well…she crucio’d him for not bringing her glass of wine fast enough.  Ever since then, we’ve kept him close to home and given him only assignments within the manor.  He cooks in the kitchen with Mipsy and does laundry and tends the gardens.  When I was younger, he watched over me whenever Mother had to be away from me.  Mother and even Father are careful to always tell him when he does good because if not he defaults to thinking he did bad.”  Draco set their plates down and handed Harry some utensils.  “We’ve never ever used physical punishment on him or any elf.  Frankly, punishment isn’t necessary.  House elves berate themselves if we so much as say the food is too hot to eat.  I’ve only ever heard my parents tell the elves how well they did.  The pride of a house is only as good as how we treat those subservient to us.”

Harry was silent. “Draco,” Harry’s voice trembled.  Draco scooted in closer, misunderstanding Harry’s shaking.  After what he witnessed with Harry, he figured out Harry had been abused before he became Tom’s ward.  His father had told Draco that before even the blocks and compulsions were off of him, one of his stipulations for helping Tom was getting new guardians.  It must have been a horrible upbringing to make his Bonded strike a deal with a man he believed murdered his parents.  But to think Harry thought he and his parents were capable of mistreating someone in the same way shredded his heart.

“Harry, I swear,” Draco said, putting his arm tentatively around Harry’s shoulders.  When Harry didn’t pull away, Draco pulled him more fully into his embrace.  “My family and I would never ever condone mistreating a creature, especially creatures who need us so absolutely and in turn provide us with so much good.”  After a pause, Draco said, “Aunt Walburga was never welcomed back at Malfoy Manor, and your godfather and my mother and her sisters had to pretend to hate each other until Sirius and Regulus were able to disown their mother.”

Harry took in a shaky breath.  “I believe you, Draco.  Of course, I do.  I couldn’t ever imagine you or your parents…”  Draco relaxed beside him. Harry blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  “But in my second year of Hogwarts, Dobby or an elf that looked and sounded exactly like him came to my aunt and uncle’s house to warn me not to go to Hogwarts.  That something bad was coming.  He wore this dirty pillowcase and punished himself in horrifying ways when he thought he’d even thought bad things about the family who owned him.”  He looked into Draco’s ice blue eyes. “And then at the end of the year, your father came to…I don’t know….threaten Dumbledore?  And me.  And he kicked Dobby out of the office, promising to punish him for meddling ... .I was so worried he was going to kill him, so I tricked him into giving Dobby a sock.”

Draco took all of this in silently.  He took a bit of roast and gestured for Harry to continue eating.  Once Harry had obeyed, he said, “My father was in Amsterdam for the last month of our school term that year and another month into the summer.  He was working on a huge international court case that took up all of his time.  I saw him once maybe twice over that period.  There’s no way he would have had time to make an impromptu visit to Hogwarts, and there’s no way that he’d leave once there without at least seeing me.”

Harry nodded, “But then, Draco, who did I meet?”

Draco cupped Harry’s face in his hand and couldn’t help the grin that lit up his face when Harry leaned into his hand.  For too long this precious person beside him had been alone, hadn’t had parents to fight battles too big for fourteen year old boys.  “I’ll write to Father and Mother.  You should write to Tom.  We’ll let our parents handle it.  And if we’re needed, they’ll let us know.  For now, let’s enjoy our meal, yes?”

Harry nodded and grinned. “Mipsy’s shepherd’s pie is amazing!”  At Draco’s teasing pout, Harry drew in all of his Gryffindor courage and leaned up to kiss his cheek.  “But your carrots and mashed potatoes are my favorite.”

Draco tapped his nose playfully.  “Just wait until you try my treacle tart.”  Draco looked down shyly.  “When we were apart, it’s what I did to feel close to you.  I’ve pretty much perfected it.”

Harry’s heart plummeted to his stomach, remembering why they hadn’t seen each other in so long.  “I’m so sorry, Draco,”  Harry said in a rush.  “I didn’t mean..I mean of course I trust…well it’s not just that….”  Harry blew out a breath.  “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Draco whispered.  “It scares me sometimes.  How much I need you after such a short amount of time.”  He’d carried around a Harry-sized hole in his heart for the last three weeks.  Of course he understood that being apart for a bit was best for Harry, and only ever wanted what was best for Harry.  But it had hurt.

“I’m not ready to tell you everything,” Harry whispered.  “But just know, when I’m in my right mind, I trust you. Completely.”  He laughed, remembering the moments after his nightmares.  “Sometimes when I’m not in my right mind, too”  At Draco’s questioning look, he said, “After my nightmares, apparently I ask for you and Tom.”  He bit his lip and almost didn’t say this next part but he needed Draco to know he wasn’t alone in what he was feeling.  “And ummm I also call for you when I’m still having the nightmare.”

Draco gently wiped a tear at the corner of Harry’s eye.  Instead of saying something, Draco took a piece of treacle tart and held it to Harry’s lips.  Harry bit into it, an obscene moan escaping his lips.  Draco tamped down his response to that and instead said, “So how is it?”

“Fucking delicious,” Harry moaned. “God I could eat this every day and never get sick of it.”

Draco chuckled, “Glad to hear it.”  He bumped his shoulder to Harry’s, and when Harry looked up at him, he leaned his forehead against the smaller boy’s.  “You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready.  I will wait as long as you need me to and do whatever you need.  But you don’t ever have anything to be sorry for, and  you never ever have to be embarrassed with me.  You are the most important person to me, Harry.”

Draco looked at him, such sincerity shining in his eyes, and kissed his forehead.  His hand thrust in Harry’s thick wavy hair, running through it.  Undeserved a voice whispered in Harry’s mind.  He didn’t deserve this.  

But Draco was looking at him like he was something precious, touching him so gently, treating him so good.  Being so patient with him.  Being…perfect.  And his.  He may be Draco’s Harry Potter, but Draco was just as much his.  Harry closed his eyes and let himself revel in being near his Bonded again.  He wanted to keep this so he decided to conduct an experiment: he tried talking back to that voice which sounded suspiciously like a blend of Aunt Petunia and Albus Dumbledore.  Yes, I do, he thought.  I do deserve this.  I deserve gentleness and love and patience.  He deserved all of the good Draco brought to his life.  And he’d work his ass off to be everything Draco deserved too.

To Draco, he turned his head to kiss the blonde’s palm.  Harry quirked a smile and said, “I’d like to make a formal request that the house elves start referring to you as Master Harry’s Dragon.”

The both dissolved into giggles, and spent the rest of their picnic, feeding each other treacle tart and basking in the other’s presence.

-

Tom’s grandson was a marvel of a human-being.  

This past month or so with his grandson, he’d watched Harry come into his own, and Tom was so in awe of Harry’s raw power and intelligence and resilience and how he had grown in such a short time, he was a bit frightened to think what two months or years could do.  Sweet Merlin, two decades?  

His power alone was increasing at an alarming, impressive rate. The morning following the presentation of Hadrian and Draconis’s Bond had only been the beginning.  And what an extraordinary beginning it was. The family was sitting down to breakfast.  Harry had shown problems with choosing food the night before, so the house elves had been instructed to fix him a plate for every meal.  Going for seconds was also something he’d had a hard time with– he’d kept glancing between his plate, the dishes at the center of the table, and everyone else for at least ten minutes–, and whether it was intuition or the Bond, Draco had figured out what was bothering Harry and had taken up the mantle of fixing Harry’s second helping and had assumed it again for breakfast the next day and every meal he’d had with Harry since.  

That first morning with his godson, Tom had been discussing potential mind healers for Harry with Narcissa, narrowing down the list for Harry to choose from, when the morning post arrived. It was so large, it had taken four Phoenixes at each corner to carry the thing in.  

Harry’s regimen of potions had been skillfully packed inside, carefully ordered and labeled.  Draco had reached over, curious to see what his Bonded would be taking.  He picked up a small vial that looked like it contained a galaxy.  

“What is this?” he asked, holding it up to the light and peering at the bottle, trying to see if he could recognize anything about the potion.

Tom checked the parchment, saw the drawing the Goblins had helpfully included with each potion description and dose and replied, “That’s the Chaos potion.”

“But what is it?” Draco asked.

Harry picked one up and looked at the label.  “It has nightshade, the dust from a star….” he paused a bit there. “Diamond shavings, Moonlit dewdrops, Fostfern leaves, and Lunar Bloom petals.”

“Where does it say that?” Narcissa asked, picking up an identical vial.  

Harry turned his vial around and showed everyone the label.  “It says so, right here.”

“Harry,” Tom said slowly.  “That’s written in Gobbledegook.”  He held up the parchment.  “That’s why they included these instructions.”

Harry shrugged, “Oh, I must have gotten one in English.”

Narcissa, eyes wide, said gently, “Hadrian, dear, that vial is in Gobbledegook.”

To everyone’s shock and Draco’s amusement Harry threw his hands up in the air and burst out, “For once, I’d like to know I know a different language.”

Draco burst out laughing.  Tom, though, wanted to explore this further.  He called Karut and requested three books from his private quarters.  He handed them to Harry.  “Can you read these?”

Harry nodded.  “Yep, it all looks like English to me,” Harry said.  He almost looked annoyed but the ghost of a smile on his lips told Tom he was at least enjoying the show.  “I’m assuming it’s not?”

Tom’s eyes lit up.  “It seems you have the gift of All-Speak.  One book is in the language of the Seelie, the one you’re holding is written entirely in Dragon Runes, and the final one is written in a language so old, nobody has been able to tell me its origin or name.”

Draco had spent the rest of the day taking Hadrian through the massive Malfoy library and asking him about books he’d always wondered about as a child.  Tom had followed, also curious.  Draco had looked at Hadrian like he hung the moon when he read the books out loud, telling of old folklore and folkmagic or the journals from generations of Malfoys and Blacks once lost to history.  To Tom’s amusement and Draco’s delight, Hadrian had blushed under Draco’s attentions.

That had only been the beginning.  They’d learned since then that Harry had a natural affinity for nature and animals.  Animals seemed to flock to him.  Especially hurt animals.  And his intuitiveness with the natural world made his natural affinity for potion making almost frightening in its power and accuracy.  Even Severus was impressed when he’d told him how Harry only had to feel a plant to understand how to use it.  Harry still hadn’t been reintroduced to Severus even after the blocks and compulsions were off the potions master.  Harry’s mind healer had asked Tom to keep Harry away from others for the time being while he regained his footing and confidence in himself, so Tom had complied.  He hadn’t even told Harry he was trying to get into contact with his husband.

A good thing, too, since Harry had been extra sensitive to negative emotions in Tom, and before Tom had known about the blocks and compulsions he’d thought Severus was icing him out out of anger. That had been a nightmare.  Tom had summoned his husband after he and Harry had completed the ritual.  With his entire soul intact, his ache for his husband had been almost unbearable.  He’d penned a letter and sent it almost immediately.  After no reply came, he’d sent another one the following evening.  No response. He sent a letter every morning and evening for two weeks all met with no response, his anger and worry mounting by the day.  After seeing Harry flinch away from him, seeing the after effects of his abusive childhood, Tom had admittedly been on edge, so when no response came again that night, he’d made an admittedly rash decision, sweeping into Spinner’s End and forcing Severus to meet with him.

He’d expected to find a pouting, angry Severus.  He’d thought his husband was angry with him for disappearing for almost fifteen years. Instead, he’d been met with a man who looked suspiciously and nervously at him before dropping into a kneel and saying, “My lord, I’m at your service.”

Tom had recoiled.  He’d never required such subservience from his followers let alone the love of his life.  But then he remembered how Lucius and Thaddeus Knott had spoken to his wraith form in the graveyard.  Maybe his insane self had expected such things.  But from Severus, too?  Surely not.  Even in insanity he’d recognized who Harry was to him, surely he’d recognize Severus.

Not knowing what was going on in Severus’s beautiful mind, Tom had tried to reply in a manner he hoped didn’t make his husband suspicious. “I need you, Severus, to follow me to Gringotts.”

Severus’s eyes had widened in shock. He looked like he wanted to protest, because in all fairness, traveling to Gringotts at 9pm, four hours after the Goblins closed up shop, was ludicrous and for anybody other than Tom perhaps even a threat to their health.  But Severus swallowed his reply and bowed his head, “As you wish, my lord.”

The results of the tests had been infuriating.  Not only had Severus been spelled to forget his marriage to and love for Tom, he’d had his core blocked by 50% and a compulsion to hate Harry on the premise James had bullied him.  James had been like a brother to Severus, offering Severus a home away from the abuse he suffered.  Sirius and Regulus, both, had welcomed Severus, and when James and Sirius had decided to become animagi for Remus, Severus had joined them.

Severus had a mail ward on him, diverting his mail to a mail vault in Gringotts, even keeping Severus from his birthright as Lord Prince.  He’d been given false memories, too.  Memories of being in love with Lily Potter, memories of Tom torturing Severus, memories of Tom being even more insane and evil than he’d ever been in his wraith form.  No wonder Severus had dropped to a kneel when they’d first met.  But the Goblins would help his love get back to himself.

Two hours later, his love was back where he belonged, free from blocks and compulsions, in his arms, and in his bed.

“I missed you, Tom,” Severus whispered, nuzzling kisses along his throat.  Tom turned his head to place a kiss on his darling’s forehead.  They’d enjoyed a wonderful night together, tangled in each other’s embrace.

But in the morning, Severus was starting to unravel exactly what the headmaster had done and what he’d deprived Severus of.  Now freed from the headmaster’s control, Severus was utterly horrified at his memories of the last four years with Harry.  He’d lept out of bed, out of Tom’s arms and had started dressing, saying he needed to see Harry and make things right and tell him what an amazing man his father had been, that James had been like his brother.  

When Tom had told him no, Tom had to put up a shield to protect himself from the hexes Severus sent at him.  After a few minutes, he let up his attack and switched tactics.

“I need him to understand–” Severus had started, pleading.

Normally Tom was powerless against Severus’s pleas, but Harry needed more time.  “He was under compulsions and blocks too, Severus.  He’ll understand better than anyone.”  And then Tom told Severus everything that had happened since Harry had been at Malfoy Manor.  It had taken some time, but Severus had eventually calmed down,  understanding how his sudden, different presence in Harry’s life could overwhelm him, especially after his panic attack and PTSD episode.

So he’d stayed at Spinner’s End until after dinner every night, then joining Tom in their bedroom at Malfoy Manor, enjoying his touch and company.  It’d been about a month since then, and Tom didn’t know how much longer he could keep Severus at bay.

Harry had come a long way since his panic attack, he’d diligently attended his sessions with the mind healer and done all of the work they’d requested of him on top of the work he did with Tom and Lucius.  When it became clear Harry had a love for animals and a knack and passion for healing, Narcissa had even started sending Harry some books to read and spells to practice, offering lessons once he was up for it.  He was sure Harry would be able to handle a reintroduction once Tom was back at Malfoy Manor.  Maybe a week or two after he returned from his current mission, after Tom was able to assess how Harry was doing.  He didn’t want to rush Harry into anything and set the boy back, not after all the hard work and progress he’d made.

For all his power and magic, Harry, after all, was still only fourteen years old, and there were times when that was painfully obvious.  His nightmares had been brutal the last few weeks.  His PTSD flareup exacerbating the anxiety, his anxiety exacerbating his nightmares.  Tom had wards around Harry’s bed to wake him when he had a nightmare, and several times a night, Tom had run into Harry’s room, holding him close, arms tight and secure, telling Harry he was safe.  Harry in the first few moments of lucidity had called for either Tom or Draco, and once he was more himself and could see he was in Tom’s embrace, he relaxed.  

Sometimes he would tell Tom what it was.  His uncle looming over him with a belt in his hand.  Harry sitting down to eat but the food always falling through his bowl into Dudley or Petunia’s mouth.  His friends glaring at him expecting him to save them when Harry was tied and gagged.  But most of the time, he would just sit quietly and lean his head on Tom’s shoulder, silent tears falling down his face.

It was becoming painfully clear to Tom, Narcissa, and Lucius that Harry’s childhood had been even worse than their Prophet plant, Cristela, had let on in her articles.  When Tom had visited her office to inquire what was left out of the articles, Cristela had told him that much of the violence had been taken out by the editors, not wanting to traumatize their readers and disclose any more personal information about Harry than necessary for the story.  Tom couldn’t say he disagreed; the last thing he wanted was for Harry’s pain to be made a spectacle.

But he needed to know everything Harry had endured and everything Harry was fighting against.

So Tom had asked to see what was cut, and then he’d visited the DMLE office and requested to see the caseworkers’ memories.

Chilling.  Bone chilling and horrifying.

Tom wouldn’t treat an animal like Harry had been treated.

That abuse is what led Lucius and Tom here.  To Number 4 Privet Drive.

Tom had started seeing a mind healer when it became clear he was out of his depth in how to help Harry.  He wanted to do right by his grandson, be as supportive and safe as he could be.

But that didn’t mean Tom wasn’t keeping a tally of every strike, every bruise and broken bone, every drop of spilt blood that he had to avenge. Tom had kept immaculate track of everything those disgusting muggles had to answer for.  

He had thought long and hard about the punishment the muggles deserved.  Death seemed obvious, but that was too easy.  It was a mercy even.  Death was welcomed by many. Nobody ever welcomed pain. 

These muggles were going to suffer.  They were going to feel every blow they’d ever dealt to Harry, every cut they’d put on his precious grandson’s skin.  They were going to lose blood and sleep the same way Harry had.  And they were going to feel fear.  Every waking second they’d feel fear and every second they slept they’d be trapped in a nightmare.  That log Tom had kept on what they’d done demanded nothing less.

It had taken longer than they’d liked because Tom, Narcissa, and Lucius had been working with some squibs in high places in the Muggle government to remove the Dursley son from his parents’ care.  He had been sent to live with his father’s brother, hopefully saving him from becoming like his parents. Tom knew the Dursley child had not helped Harry’s situation, but Tom didn’t condone hurting children.  He was removed from his parents and that was enough for Tom, even giving him a chance to become a better person than his parents. Now that their son was gone, Tom could enact his vengeance.

Lucius and Narcissa had been all too willing to help.  Sirius and Severus both had been chomping at the bit to join them but both understood why they couldn’t.  Tom didn’t like Severus seeing him like this, and Sirius needed to focus on healing.  He was very close to being allowed to go home. Tom had seen the Black madness seeping into Sirius’s eyes, so he’d asked Sirius how happy Harry would be after everything he’d done these past three weeks when he found out Sirius was less than a week from coming home to Malfoy Manor. Sirius had grudgingly agreed, but he and Severus both made all three of them promise to avenge Harry, thoroughly and without mercy.  Wanting them both to know he’d handle it, Tom had unquestioningly promised and disclosed his plan.  He had been met with grim satisfaction.

The spell Tom had chosen needed the Power of Three, which was why Narcissa and Lucius were needed.  They would return what those filthy muggles offered Harry back on them and multiply it tenfold.

Those muggles from tonight onward would never know peace, never know comfort, and never know love again.

-

Harry liked sunbathing.

The last few days with Draco, he’d forced his Bonded more often than not to be outside with him.  He liked the warmth of the sunshine contrasting with the coolness of the earth against his skin.  He liked the sounds of nature, the wind in the leaves and the fluttering of wings, the distant steps of the animals on the property.

Harry couldn’t get enough.  

He plucked a wildflower and wove them into a crown the way Mipsy had taught him.

He looked up as a now familiar voice called to him, a voice that filled Harry’s heart with warmth and affection..

“Harry!” the voice called.

Harry looked up, smiling at his Bonded, “Draco.”

The last five days had been absolute bliss.  They’d spent their days flying and playing games and cooking together.  They read together, and Draco had even sat for Harry and let him sketch him.  In the evenings, Draco would lay his head in Harry’s lap while he read old tomes from the Malfoy library that only Harry could.  Harry stuck to Draco’s favorites which were old folktales that spoke of long forgotten magic and journals from Malfoy and Black ancestors.  Though sometimes he’d mix it up with an old science manual and they’d have a good laugh at what mankind used to think caused madness and illness.

The last five days had been much like the first two weeks of Harry’s stay, full of laughter and fun and peace.

There’d been plenty of adventure, too.  Draco took Harry all over the vast Malfoy estate, showing him all of the hidden places he’d explored as a child like a cave system beneath a lake or the hidden fields of lavender.  They’d even talked Dobby into taking them to Constellation Alley.  Constellation Alley was located in Paris, Draco’s favorite city, and was an exclusive alley that could only be accessed by those with an invitation.  Draco’s family had had a standing invitation to the alley since before his grandparents had been born.  

It was calmer than Diagon Alley, which Draco thought Harry would do better with.  And the shops and restaurants were of higher quality.

Draco had loved every second of experiencing the Alley through Harry’s eyes.  The roads on the alley were made of clear bricks and the pavement below was spelled to look like they were walking across the stars and over galaxies.  They’d strolled through the streets, occasionally going into stores like the Celestial Apothecary and Cosmic Couture Creations.  For Nebulas’ Nebulous Books and Galactic Grimoires, which had always been his favorite, he’d owled ahead and paid for a private tour and shopping experience, knowing Harry would want to go and spend half the day in them,.

Harry had had stars in his eyes the entire time, excitedly taking it all in, buying several books and grimoires, and understanding that Draco had arranged this experience complete with tea service, he’d snagged the taller boy’s hand on their way out, the house elves taking their purchase to their rooms, and brought Draco’s hand to his mouth and placed a kiss to the back of it.  And, Harry hadn’t let go for the rest of their walk through the Alley.

After they stopped at Stardust Cafe for some dinner and Comet’s Creamery for some ice cream, they’d gone back to the manor with Dobby. Knowing Harry would be dying to dig into the books he’d bought, his Bonded always ready to devour information the way he did treacle tart, he’d settled his head into Harry’s lap that evening and listened to Harry read about Cosmic Runes.

Draco now flopped down next to him, asking, “What are you up to?”  Harry held up the flower crown, still weaving the flowers together.  Draco leaned his back against the tree, waiting patiently for Harry to finish.  Glancing at his Bonded, he saw that Draco’s eyes were soft as he watched Harry work.  His hair was a little mussed from the breeze, and he was in ripped black genes and a green hoodie the exact shades of Harry’s eyes.  Harry had ordered it for himself, but it was too big and wearing it reminded him of wearing Dudley’s cast offs.  So he’d given to it to Draco who had taken to muggle leisure clothes like a ghost to haunting.  

Past life Harry would be floored.  Posh perfect Draco Malfoy in Muggle clothes.  Draco had been different in Celestial Alley, less himself more rigid.  When he’d asked why Draco was more aloof out in public, Draco had explained the extent purebloods need their pureblood masks.  It hadn’t taken a while for Harry to understand  just how deep a pureblood mask ran, a mask that most of his pureblood classmates utilized, and even longer to understand why Draco needed to wear it almost all of the time he wasn’t at home. Past Harry had just thought they were aloof because they were rich and thought they were better than everybody else, but now Harry knew just how necessary of a defense mechanism it was when with mixed company– mixed meaning both people you trusted and people you didn’t.  Harry should have guessed.  Muggle politics and just plain muggle society could be deadly enough.  But then to add magic to the mix?  Especially mind magic and the Imperio?  Harry couldn’t imagine anything worse than having the trust and love of a continent and the power to direct their lives but being under the absolute influence of a bad actor. Trust, he realized, was the most important currency.

‘Well,’ Draco had drawled in his posh way, ‘Trust and secrets.’

It turned out Draco had so many beautiful, wondrous, interesting, annoying, hilarious layers underneath that mask.  Harry was enjoying discovering all of them.  The past few days Harry had discovered a few more, like how Draco preferred an obscene amount of cream in his coffee, loved muggle movies, and hated sitting on furniture.  Harry thought that last one fit well, considering he hadn’t been allowed on the furniture at the Dursleys and also still found the ground more comfortable, especially when he was outside.  Harry wondered what Draco was learning about Harry.

“Where’s Selene?” Draco said, pulling Harry back to the present.

Harry grinned and pointed to Selene who was sleeping on a rock near Harry, sporting a shrunken flower crown.  His baby snake had been a constant, valued companion over the last few weeks.  Her little hisses  and fierce little voice hissing out threats to whoever was hurting him whenever Harry had a nightmare had given Harry the gift of laughter even in his lowest, darkest moments.  Her warmth and adorable voice and child-like humor all grounded him and made her even more dear to him than she already was.  And the best part was that he knew the feelings were mutual. Draco, her second favorite human, petted her head gently with his forefinger.  

To make conversation while he put the last bloom into the crown, Harry said, “Selene is too young to be able to help, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to semi-permanently shrink the basilisk in the chamber so he can be nearer to me.”

That was no small feat, but if anybody could do it, it was Draco’s Bonded.  “Tom mentioned visiting Black Manor at some point this summer.  I bet the Black Library would have some books that would help.”

“That’d be great! I’m also going to try and find Slytherin’s Study at Hogwarts.  A book I’ve read said it was rumored to be in the Chamber.”  Harry smiled up at Draco holding up the crown, “It’s ready.”  He shifted so he was kneeling between Draco’s stretched out legs and reached up to place it on Draco’s head.

He settled back down, still kneeling in front of Draco, putting them at eye level.  “My ice prince.”

Harry watched the way Draco’s eyes crinkle as he laughed. “So dramatic, my love.”  

Draco’s hands went to Harry’s waist, Harry’s hands settling on Draco’s chest. Overcome with love for this man but still too shy to say it, Harry leaned his forehead against Draco’s and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Draco asked.

Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead “For being you.”  Harry pressed a kiss to his cheek.  “For being mine.”

Draco surged up and captured Harry’s lips in a kiss. It was, in a word, delicious.  Draco’s tongue licked at the seam of Harry’s lips but before Harry could open for him, he pulled back.  Harry chased Draco’s lips, leaning forward.  Draco allowed Harry to press another kiss to his lips before pulling back.  “I promised my father nothing,” he raised his hands to air quote, “‘inappropriate without a courtship contract in place’ would happen, don’t make me a liar, Potter.”

Harry let out a giggle and allowed Draco to arrange him so his back was to Draco’s front.  “Are you ready to get back to reality?” Harry asked.

“Are you?” Draco asked.  “My father wrote this morning saying, there’s much to discuss when they get back.”

Harry nodded, rubbing his hands over Draco’s where they were clasped against his chest. “Yes, Tom told me about a house elf trying to get through the wards here and a house elf named Kreacher coming to warn us about something.”

“Never a dull moment,” Draco said wryly.

Sighing, Harry said, “Some day.”

For now, they enjoyed their last evening alone at the manor, cuddling beneath the willow and watching the sun set.

Chapter Text

Lucius entered the meeting room at Hogwarts hiding a very smug grin beneath his pureblood mask.  His spine was straight, his chin high.  He walked with composed grace and ease.  His clothes, his posture, his very presence that demanded to be known and respected all screamed power. He was the epitome of pureblood elegance.   And Lucius did this effortlessly, as easy as breathing. Though, today he consciously had to keep the spring that very much wanted to be in his step at bay.  Usually, the Board of Governors meetings were dull and consisted of Wizards and Witches alike posturing while pretending it was all for the good of the students.  Mostly it was, but enough wasn’t that it eventually grated on everyone’s nerves in turn. Lucius, too, was guilty of doing that at times.  The Board was like a fast track to getting anything done in the Wizengamot, after all.  But since the Triwizard Tournament and the plant he and Tom had placed at the Prophet, the Board was slowly slipping away from Dumbledore’s influence.  And today, Lucius had the pleasure of knowing he was going to wreck that old fool’s day.

He took his seat, nodding his greetings to everyone present.  When Lady Longbottom called the meeting to order, she got the niceties and pomp and circumstance out of the way in an efficient manner, which was the very reason Lucius and everyone present had unanimously voted her Chair.

“Alright,” Lady Longbottom said, peering down at her agenda.  “The only matter of business today is brought forth by Lucius Malfoy.  Lord Malfoy, care to elaborate?  It’s quite an unusual motion.”

“Thank you, Lady Longbottom,” Lucius said, rising.  He waved his wand, and a stack of papers appeared in front of the other 12 members of the Board as well as Dumbledore who was always present at these meetings.  “As some of you know, Sirius Black, my wife’s cousin, has been discharged from Azkaban with a full pardon and apology from the ministry.  He’s been at an inpatient mind healer facility but has recently been given the okay to join our godson, Hadrian, at our manor.  Harry’s been with us these last few weeks, and he’s brought to light some distressing news.  If you’ll turn to the third piece of parchment, you’ll see a redacted inheritance test, showing Harry has had to remove numerous blocks, compulsions, and glamours.”

The uproar was instantaneous.  There were swears all around, cries for justice and well wishes for the young lad, too.  But mostly, there were gasped, horrified questions of who would do such an awful thing and who else could be in danger.

“It is now well known news that Harry was living with muggles against his parents’ wishes,” Lucius continued, when the overlapping comments subsided.  “So I’ve had to wonder if that was a particular vulnerability that we as the Board of Governors, tasked with keeping all students safe, should see to fixing.”

“What do you mean specifically, Lucius,” Lord Nott asked, leaning back in his chair.  His grip tightened where it was firmly placed on the smooth handle of his solid black walking stick.  Savage satisfaction glinted in his eyes, knowing what was about to come. He was one of the few in the inner circle brought up to speed on everything going on with Tom, Hadrian, and Draco.  Thaddeus had told Lucius that his son, Theo, was chomping at the bit, excited beyond measure to meet his lord’s grandson and his best friend’s Bonded. Thaddeus himself had proved time and time again he was loyal to a fault, reliable, and powerful with just enough kindness to let Tom allow his oldest friend to meet Hadrian with no qualms.

Lucius continued, “I propose we provide inheritance tests to screen for blocks and compulsions for all students living in the muggle world. Compulsions and blocks would have never made it past Malfoy wards if he had been living where he was meant to, and I have to wonder if other students who don’t have the protection of pureblood homes and wards have been preyed upon as well.”  Lucius was gratified to see his words startle the twinkle out of the old goat’s eyes.

“That is an excellent idea,” Lady Zabini said, nodding her head regally at Lucius.  “We can never be too careful with the wellbeing of our children.”  She scoffed.  “The monster who would place illegal blocks and compulsions!”

“Deserves the Kiss,” Madame Bones said darkly from her place at the table.  Nods and agreements sounded all around. “I think it’s a fine idea, Lucius; however, might I suggest we broaden the scope and provide these tests for all students? We can’t be seen to show discrimination and there are plenty of students who live in our world but don’t have the kind of wards most purebloods do.”

Lucius bowed his head at her in a regal move. “Excellent idea, Amelia.  I concur.”

“Might keep from another Dragon Pox epidemic like we had a few years ago,” Lord Lee said, already writing down lists of inoculations they should screen for.  Unfortunately, not every student had the same introduction to the wizarding world and many fell through the cracks and didn’t receive their magical vaccines. It was far overdue to rectify this problem.

Dumbledore, who had gotten over his shock, forced the twinkle back in his eye and put on his best grandfatherly tone.  “Now, we don’t want to cause mass hysteria, either.  I’m sure there are other ways–”

“Nonsense,” Healer Patel said, glaring at the headmaster over her star-shaped spectacles. “I’ve always said we should do health checks in the summer, especially since our students in the muggle world are at risk for both muggle and magical diseases and could spread magical diseases to muggle society.  We can just say it’s a new health protocol before the start of every school year. While we’re at it, we should provide comprehensive health and well-being lessons to all students beginning in year three.”

“Excellent idea,” Lady Longbottom said, smiling at her friend. “Two birds one stone as the muggles say. And it’s about time we get on the same level as other magical nationals regarding health and education.”

“But–” Dumbledore started.

“But nothing, Albus,” Madame Bones said grimly. “I believe we are in consensus.”

Taking the cue, Lady Longbottom said, “All those in favor say, aye.”

Everyone at the table raised their hands and said, “Aye.”

“The ayes have it,” Lady Longbottom said, smirking.

“Wonderful,” Lady Song said.  “This will help your image, Albus.  It’s been….lacking lately.”

The meeting adjourned ten minutes later, and everyone watched on amused as the headmaster swept out of the room in a huff, his garish purple robes swirling around him. It took all of Lucius’s pureblood upbringing to keep from snorting into his tea. He couldn’t wait to tell Hadrian about this success.  The Granger girl would be tested within the week, and they would be able to determine if she was safe enough for Hadrian to continue his friendship with her.  At the very least, Hadrian would be preoccupied with this new situation, making his wait for Severus and Sirius to come home go by faster. 

-

Albus tied a note to Fawkes’s leg who chirped worriedly.  “Not to worry, Fawkes. We’ll have Harry back in the fold soon enough.”

Albus was immensely relieved that the inheritance test hadn’t been able to trace the compulsions, glamorous, and blocks on Harry to him.  Which means thankfully when they found the others he’d put blocks and compulsions on, they wouldn’t lead back to him.  He was safe enough for now.  And perhaps he still had a few hands to play.  Harry’s concerned, traumatized godfather who switched over to the Light would surely welcome the advice and support of Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore.  Sirius had always been one of his best recruits, and stealing him away from his family at such a young age had ensured he’d have to stay loyal to the Light since he had no one else.  A little time in Azkaban wasn’t enough to change that, surely.  And with threats coming at Harry from all sides, Sirius would be overwhelmed, thankful– desperate even– for Albus’s interference and aid.

“Take this to Sirius Black.  You might need to drop it off outside of the Malfoy Wards.  Don’t wait for a reply if you have to do that,” he told the bird. He gave Fawkes's head one last stroke and sent the bird off.  Now all he had to do was be patient.  Harry would be back under his influence in no time.

-

The last couple of days had been a flurry of activity, from getting his affairs in order at Gringotts to sitting through various exit interviews, surveys, and procedures.  There was a time or two, Sirius had to admit, when he’d had enough of people poking and prodding him and his mind and asking questions that were far too invasive for his comfort, but he was able to make himself go through it all with one repeating though: jump this hurdle and he’d be one step closer to being with his godson, permanently.  In fact, that thought was on repeat in his head now, to keep himself from jumping across the desk and strangling the headmaster.

“Sirius, my boy,” Albus boomed, rising behind his desk and  his arms spread as he walked around to Sirius.  He clapped Sirius on the back in a gesture too familiar for Sirius’s liking and motioned for him to sit. “Lemon drop?”

“No, thank you,” Sirius said curtly. 

“So how have you been?” Albus asked, taking his seat again.

“As one can expect after having been falsely imprisoned for thirteen years and on the run for one,” Sirius bit out. “Forgive me, Headmaster, but enough with the niceties. I am only here because you said you had reason to believe that Harry is in danger.”

Shock flashed in the old goat’s eyes which he covered quickly. “Sirius…”

But Sirius didn’t want to hear any of it. “You knew Peter had been the secret keeper.  You knew and you sat on that information.  You are the Chief Warlock, and yet you never called for a trial or even a bloody investigation,” Sirius roared.  His magic lashed out, making the millions of trinkets around the office rattle dangerously.

Albus sighed and had the decency to look ashamed. “I knew Peter was the secret keeper, which is why when the Potters were betrayed, I knew you’d have been angry…angry enough to kill Peter in revenge.”  Albus sighed. “I regret not calling for an investigation–”

“-- as is protocol,” Sirius said, glaring.

“Yes, but you see the preliminary reports supported the idea that you had killed Peter and thirteen muggles. Breaking the Fidelius vow would have gotten you a month in Azkaban Sirius, and I knew you hadn’t.  But fourteen murders?  The part we thought you’d done. That’s a life sentence.  And it was such a turbulent time, what with the Dark Lord gone and the Death Eaters scattered to the corners of the earth. I am ashamed to admit, but your trial kept getting put at the bottom of the growing pile, and I was too overwhelmed with the work to recognize it.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow. “Whatever, Albus. We won’t resolve this today, and I actually don't know if I care enough to.  Why do you think Harry is in danger?”

Albus hesitated, clearly not liking Sirius’s animosity towards him, knowing that’ll make his plan harder.  Tough tits, old man, Sirius thought smugly.

The headmaster cleared his throat and leaned forward, “Voldemort is back,” he said, in a solemn tone.

Sirius, knowing the reaction he wanted, simply cocked his head to one side and asked, “Why do you think that?”

“Harry said—”

“No,” Sirius interrupted. “Harry said they were trying to resurrect him and those Death Eater bastards wanted his blood for whatever Dark ritual they’d concocted.  Harry was hiding behind a tombstone and was trying to keep himself and his friend alive.  He couldn’t see much, nor did they take his blood.”  He was riding a fine line between half truth and half lie with that last sentence, but despite the prodding he could feel at his shields, his Occlumnency shields were stronger than never.

“Well, Cedric Diggory, also said that Harry saved him from the Dark Lord.”

Sirius gave the old goat an incredulous look. “The boy who was blasted into a headstone and was passed out for most of the situation after having battled Sphynx and dangerous creatures and Merlin knows what else you all put in that maze you made my fourteen-year-old godson partake in.”

Albus leaned back in his chair.  “Harry seems to have told you a lot.”

Sirius raised an aristocratic eyebrow. “He visited me once a week while I was in treatment.”

“And he told you he doesn’t think the Dark Lord is back?”

Sirius shook his head. “He told me he didn’t see anything that would suggest that, but he left in the middle of the meeting and he’s not a stupid boy, Albus.  He knows anything could have happened after he left.  He said they wanted the ‘blood of the enemy.’  Voldemort’s got plenty of those.  Theatrical bastard just wanted a more symbolic enemy. After Harry left, they could have grabbed any wizard off the street of Diagon Alley and it could have worked.”

“So you’re not concerned with Harry’s safety?”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, I am.  Some crazy fucker put blocks and compulsions on my godson and kept him from his birthright and family.  We are taking every precaution to keep him safe.”

“And what about the Malfoys?”

Sirius cut off this train of thought, not in the mood to entertain the old goat’s prejudices.  “The family who took Harry in without question, treated him better than the Dursleys ever would, and worked tirelessly to clear my name?  That family?”  Sirius paused and asked in a dangerously soft voice, “What about them?”

“They are a Dark family, Sirius. Surely, you remember why you turned your back on your family.  Surely you’ll want to give Harry the same morals and ideals as you and his parents held.”

Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know, Albus.  After living with dementors for thirteen years and being abandoned by the Light, the Dark is looking friendlier and friendlier.”  Sirius uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, the Black madness lighting up his eyes. “And if I ever find out who put Harry in that abusive, magic-hating, disgusting muggle house, I will show the world why the name Black has been feared far longer than Voldemort.”  Sirius chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not feeling too Light these days, Albus.  But I will say this, the Malfoys and I are giving Harry the space to choose his path for himself; it’s the least we can do after he was forced to be someone he’s not and live a life that wasn’t supposed to be his.”  Sirius stood up and gathered his robes and walking stick.  He turned away, schooled his face, and then forced a vulnerable worried look on his face. “Was it just Voldemort you were worried about, Albus?”

Albus’s eyes twinkled even as his face softened. “There’s no ‘just’ about Voldemort, Sirius. But no, I’m worried about his safety in the school as well, with so many Death Eater children in his year.”  

Sirius nodded. “Draco is one of those Death Eater Children, and he’d rather die than see Harry harmed.  I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it.”  At the door, Sirius turned and said, “Not that we’re still friends Albus, but I appreciate your concern for Harry, please let me know if anything happens in school I should know about.”

Albus looked tired as he sighed but he nodded, grandfatherly concern overtaking his face. “Of course. Take care, Sirius.”

Sirius left the office and hurried to the infirmary to floo into Malfoy Manor.  He couldn’t wait to tell everyone how well he’d played the old fool.  Once a spy always a spy, he guessed.  But more importantly, he couldn’t wait to go live his life in freedom.  To go home.  To his family, to his godson.  And just stay there.  And be with them and talk to them and be free.  

All the hurdles were gone, and he was finally going home.

-

Harry threw the covers off him as soon as light from his window hit his face and practically jumped out of bed and skipped over to his closet. So much adrenaline was pumping through his veins, he was practically vibrating from the excitement.  The day he’d been longing for, maybe even unconsciously for his whole life, but certainly for the last couple of weeks at least, had finally come. Today was the day Sirius was coming home and Harry would be reintroduced to Severus.  Harry was over the moon his godfather was coming home, of course, he was.  They would live together just like all of the dreams Harry had secretly harbored in the darkest recesses of his mind, as if he was too afraid for even fate or god or whoever to see them lest they be used against him.  He’d have a home with Sirius.  He was beyond happy.

But Harry was so very unbelievably excited for Tom to get Severus back.  Tom had been extra moody the last two weeks since coming home from his secret mission with the Malfoys.  He grumbled more under his breath or minor inconveniences would suddenly make the air around him cold.  Harry knew it was because he was at his breaking point for being without the potions master.  Severus and Tom had waited longer to be reunited and able to be with each other than even Harry had waited to live with Sirius, even including his time spent waiting and yearning in his previous life.  However, no matter how many times Harry had told Tom that he was doing fine– fantastic even– Tom had still insisted on waiting to run it by Harry’s mind healer.  Harry decided Tom must be a masochist.  Why else would he choose to go without the man he loved for longer than necessary, dour though he may be.

Harry’s fingers stilled on the button he was currently doing on his black shirt.  Was Snape actually that dour?  Sometimes Harry got dizzy from all of the things he’d needed to recalibrate since traveling back in time. Who he was.  Who he was to other people and who they were to him.  His magic and power. His relationship to the world, too, was so very different.  He’d never realized the security he’d been missing without the safety and care of a family. Harry felt different.  A good different.  And now that the logical part of his brain had apparently woken up, he reasoned that if he and everyone else was so different now that the compulsions were gone, Severus himself had to be, too.  Maybe Severus would act differently, too, since he’d had compulsions as well.  Maybe he wouldn’t hate Harry now; Tom said Severus didn’t.  But it was one thing to hear his tormentor of seven years didn’t hate him and another thing entirely to see it.  Not that Tom would lie to Harry, but Harry wouldn’t quite believe it until Severus was in the same room smiling at him.  Wouldn’t that be something?  Harry slipped a dark gray vest over his head and tried to temper his hope.  Maybe he should shoot for more neutrality at first.  Even that would be a great improvement, especially since potions was shaping up to be Harry’s favorite subject.  Well, tied for first with Runes.

Harry slipped his favorite dragonhide shoes on, the shiny ones, and hurriedly pulled a comb through his hair.  He opened his door right on time to see Draco walk up to his door.  He’d requested for Draco to have access to their quarters, and Tom, though hesitating slightly,  complied.

“Hadrian,” Draco said, smiling.  His hand reached up to cup Harry’s cheek.  Harry leaned in a bit before turning his head to kiss Draco’s palm.  “You ready?”

Harry bounced on his toes nodding excitedly.  “I can’t wait to see Sirius.  He looked great last week, and we planned our first day together.  We’re going to go flying, and he’s going to show me and you Black Manor. And he said that he’d show us this cave thing that he and my father used to go to every day in the summer and hang out.  Oh and he said Tom said that we could go to Diagon.  Something about a photo op.  I don’t really care, but Sirius doesn’t have a broom anymore so we need to get him one.  And then we’re going to have dinner with our parents here, and by the time we get back, Sirius will have had a room added to mine and Tom’s quarters.  Isn’t that amazing, Draco?  I love magical homes.  They’re so cool.”

Draco, who had taken Hadrian by the hand to lead him down to breakfast, smiled down at his Bonded.  He was adorable when he was excited, and his excitement at everything Draco had come to regard as mundane brought a newness, a freshness to his life.  Even the house was pleased by Harry’s gushed, overjoyous compliments.  As the Malfoy Heir, Draco had been able to feel the wards and the magic of the manor since he’d officially been named heir at twelve.  And while the house dearly loved his family, it was soft for Harry.

Harry had continued rambling about all of the things that he and Sirius would do.  Harry counted six animals in particular on the Malfoy property Sirius would be introduced to, not including Selene, who would undoubtedly get an introduction.  Harry continued chatting all the way down to the sitting room, only stopping when they walked in and there waiting by the fireplace, dusting off ashes from his floo in, was Sirius Black.

“Sirius!” Harry cried as he ran to his godfather.  

“Pup!” Sirius exclaimed with equal enthusiasm.  He caught Harry in a hug and swung him around.  “It’s so good to see you,” he said softly.  He set Harry down and took a look at him.  “You look good.”

Harry grinned up at him.  “So do you!”  It was the understatement of the century.  Sirius looked amazing.  He was dressed in black trousers and a cream colored sweater with light, black day robes thrown over.  His curly hair fell recklessly around his face, covering some of the scars on his face he’d gotten while in Azkaban.  But his eyes had the fierce joy Harry had seen in old pictures of Sirius, and it made Harry so happy his heart hurt a little.  His godfather was safe and healthy and here.  “It’s no wonder Witch Weekly has named you the most eligible bachelor in Wizarding Europe.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and ruffled Harry’s already messy hair. “I’m taken, pup.  I just need to remind your Uncle Moony.”

Harry’s smile turned sad, and he reached out to pat Sirius’s hand. “He’ll come, don't worry.” 

Draco came up beside Harry and offered his hand to Sirius.  “Good to see you, Lord Black.”

Sirius laughed, taking Draco’s hand and pulling him into a boisterous hug. “Call me Sirius, Draco.  Or Siri or Padfoot.”  Harry had turned to greet Lucius and Narcissa and wish them a good morning, so he took the opportunity to lean down and whisper. “No need for formalities, when you’ll be wedding my godson in a few years, yes?”

Draco looked down and could feel the blush overtaking his face.  But he didn’t deny it.  That very much was in his plans.

The floo roared to life again and everyone turned to see Tom and Severus step out.  Tom shook Sirius’s hand and walked quickly to give Harry a hug before leading him over to Severus.  Harry leaned into Tom and looked up shyly at the professor.

But before Harry could retreat into his shyness more, Severus rushed forward and fell to his knees, gathering Harry into his arms.  “Oh, Hadrian,” Severus said.  “I’m so sorry.  I’m–”  Severus cut himself off, a hiccuping sob overtaking whatever else he was going to say.

Harry held the professor for a minute or two, gently rubbing his back before pulling back  to look the man over.  He looked younger, like the age lines around his face had just shrunken up and disappeared from his face.  His complexion had a healthy rosy hue, and his hair looked thick and glossy and healthy and fell to just above his shoulders.  He was dressed smartly in shades of black and gray, and Harry could feel the cool touch of metal on his cheek where Severus’s left hand was currently cupping his face. He was wearing his wedding band again. He looked vibrant.  Before he had been fading away in the potions classroom, dulled around the edges and lifeless on the inside and out.  But now he looked beautiful.  There was no other word for it.  He was beautiful in that way that people have that lights them up just from the knowledge that the world is beautiful and filled with beautiful people they get to love.  Severus had that now. 

“You’re different,” Harry said softly.  “Good different.  I’m glad to meet the real you as the real me.”

Severus’s gaze softened. “Your father was the best man I’ve ever known. I remember everything from when I had compulsions, and you remind me so much of him.  You got your mother’s gentleness, though, her kindness.  I’m so sorry, Dumbledore tried to taint the memories we have saved for you.”

Harry leaned forward to give his professor another hug. “Don’t apologize for what isn’t your fault,” he said, smiling, using the words the Malfoys and Tom had said to him over and over again. “We have time for you to tell me your memories. Can I call you Severus?”

“May I,” Lucius corrected.

“Father,” Draco scolded with a scowl at the same time everyone else said, “Lucius!”

That lightened the mood as everyone made their way laughing into the dining room for breakfast. Severus ruffled Harry’s hair which caused the teen to scowl and granted permission, except for in class.

Sirius spent the first part of breakfast animatedly telling the story of earlier in the morning with him in the headmaster’s office.

“You went alone?” Harry asked, worried, his big doe eyes stabbing at Sirius’s heart a little.

“I was safe, Hadrian,” Sirius smiled.  “Our Black rings give us a great many protections, plus I survived Azkaban.  A centuries old wizard is nothing,” he joked, gratified to see Harry start laughing.  He finished the story with a flourish and Harry adorably started clapping. Sirius rose and bowed to his godson, grinning.

“Excellent,” said Tom. “We have the old fool right where we want him.  He definitely still thinks you might turn to him for Harry.”

“This was all calculated?” Harry asked.  He turned to Draco who had set his second helping in front of him and whispered a quiet, love-filled “Thank you.”

They were so caught up in each other’s eyes that they missed the knowing glances the adults were sending all around the table, and the happy tears Narcissa was in danger of shedding. Tom cleared his throat and the teens snapped their heads to him, blushing.

Tom quirked a smile. “Yes, Hadrian.  This was all calculated.  You can never be too careful with the headmaster.  Actually, Sirius and Severus are going to be teaching you two Occlumency and Legilimency this summer to prepare you for the new school year.”

Severus laughed at Draco’s paling face. “Don’t worry, Draconis,” he drawled. “The horror stories I told you about my training were in times of war.  We will both go gentle on you.”

Sirius’s mouth dropped open. “You told your teenaged godson about how Captain Blood and Guts trained us?”

The rest of breakfast was spent with Sirius and Severus telling the boys about their training, cleaning it up a bit for their young minds, but mostly sticking to the pranks they pulled to lighten the mood during war.  They had the boys in stitches by the end of breakfast and even Narcissa had chuckled softly behind her hand, her eyes softened with fondness for her favorite cousin and her favorite friend.

After breakfast, Dobby popped Draco, Sirius, and Harry to Diagon Alley.  The first stop was to get Sirius a wand, and Sirius actually suggested Harry get one too, considering he’d bonded with his wand when he’d been up to his eyeballs in blocks and compulsions.  Harry was startled at first, but it made sense, and it explained why he had been having trouble with his wand.  It was like he was fighting with it to work.  So much so, Harry had taken to doing everything wandless and wordless.  Something the adults at the manor had taken note of but hadn’t made a big deal about.  Even though it took considerable power to do even simple spells wandless and wordless and Harry was doing Master Level work wandless and wordless, they wanted Harry’s magic to develop without the hindrance of Harry suddenly becoming self conscious.  Regarding his wand, Harry had just thought he was the problem, that maybe his time travel or the potions or his new magic and power were causing the wand and him to have a bit of a beef.  But he thought it’d resolve eventually; he had never considered getting a new wand.

“You can get a custom made wand, Harry,” Draco said. “Actually, you both should.  All things considering.”

Sirius nodded grimly.  It was hard to say who was on the old fool’s side and doing his bidding.  The one thing the stuffy pureblood places that Sirius’s mother had shopped at exclusively is that they were discreet and exclusive.  

They entered a shop that had a sign overhead reading simply, Aetheria’s.  The trio were greeted by a beautiful old woman.  She was short, dressed in long flowing black robes.  Her long gray hair fell in loose waves and gems and flowers were woven into her braids and locks, giving her presence an ethereal quality.  She floated down from where she’d been hovering, restocking a display case, and when her feet touched back down, she gave a short curtsy.

“Welcome, welcome, young Heirs and Lord Black.” Her voice was like silver bells, bright and beautiful and happy.

Harry’s eyes widened.  Who was this woman? And how did she know who they were?  He was about to panic that maybe she was in with the headmaster, but then he remembered his face and Sirius’s had been all over the Daily Prophet for weeks.  And as a Malfoy, Draco was well-known amongst the wizarding elite.  

They all bent slightly at the waist in greeting.  “Good morning, Lady Aetheria,” Sirius said, moving to give her a light kiss on the cheek.  “My godson, Hadrian, and I are in need of new wands.  Fully customized.  We’ll also take two harnesses each, one brown and one black, all charmed with anti-theft spells.”

“Very good, very good,” she said in her musical voice.  “It is quite the intimate process to create a custom wand, as you know Lord Black.  So the young heirs can have a look around the shop while I take you back first.”

Harry and Draco spent the next fifteen minutes looking around the wand store.  There were premade wands, of course.  But there were also little displays from other artisans such as wand holsters, dueling robes, wizard and witch hats, and several cases of jewelry.

“Hadrian,” Draco called, waving him over.  Harry left the rack of dueling robes he’d been sifting through and went to see what Draco was looking at.  He walked up to see the case Draco was looking into, their sides touching.  Draco’s arm snaked around his waist. “Do you like jewelry?” Draco asked.

Harry thought about that for a minute, leaning his head against Draco’s arm.  “I don’t know,” he finally admitted.  He looked up to see Draco’s soft gaze focused on him.  “I’ve never really considered it. Do you? I think I’ve only ever seen you wear your heir ring.”

Draco nodded. “I only wear a necklace or some earrings for a ball, but look at this necklace.  It’d look stunning on you.”

Harry blushed when he saw the pendant.  The necklace was shaped like a dragon and, when worn, would look like the dragon was draped around the wearer’s neck.  The dragon was stunning, the delicate, intricate detail standing out in the silver of the metal.  And there was a chain attached to the dragon’s mouth, dropping down into a gem carved into a smooth sphere, the exact color of Draco's eyes.  If Draco really did intend for Harry to wear this necklace it would practically scream Draco’s claim on him.  Not just because of the dragon either.  Silver and blue were Malfoy house colors. It was a significant step if Harry wore it.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry replied, feeling his cheeks heat, and because he was feeling brave, he added.  “Reminds me of you.”

Draco grinned, planting a kiss on his head. “If I buy it, will you wear it?” 

Harry nodded, his face rubbing against Draco’s arm where he was hiding his face.  Draco chuckled, the sound low and sinful.  He turned Harry slightly so he could crowd Harry against the glass case.  “Words, love.  I need words.  If I bought my house colors on a necklace for you, would you wear it?”  Draco pushed his hips against Harry and captured his lips in a quick but no less passionate kiss. “Would you be okay telling the world you’re mine?”

Harry blushed furiously but still met Draco kiss for kiss, touch for touch.  He stood now on his tiptoes to kiss Draco again, he was getting addicted to these quick furtive kisses they sneaked around the manor and desperately wanted more.  “Yes,” he breathed against Draco’s lips.  “Yes, I want to be yours.”  Harry took a small step back at least as much as the glass case let him, and crossed his arms.  His lips quirked in a smug smile, confident that he’d get what he was about to ask for.  “As long as you’re mine, too.”

Draco’s grin turned wicked.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”  A wave of subtle magic washed over them, Lady Magic apparently pleased and accepting of the promise they’d just made.  Draco’s eyes heated but before they could do something that would surely get them kicked out and maybe even disowned,  they were interrupted by Sirius coming back with Aetheria, both laughing and Sirius holding a wand.  

“You always did know exactly who you are, Lord Black,” Aetheria said. “I’m not surprised your magic gave me a no fuss process.  Quickest custom wand of the year, I’d say.”

Sirius bowed with a flourish, “I aim to please.”

Still blushing, Harry rushed over to Sirius to get a look at his new wand. “Twelve inches, oak wood, with a Wolf Fang and ThunderBird core,” Sirius told his godson proudly.  “There is also a piece of onyx and quartz in there with some runes that I don’t understand.”

“Should have paid more attention in school, Lord Black,” Draco drawled, teasing.  In response, Sirius just stuck his tongue out.

Ignoring the juvenile display, Aetheria motioned for Harry to follow her.  “Come, Heir Potter-Black. I have a feeling yours might take longer.”

She brought Harry down into her workroom.  It was dimly lit except for a single lantern, magicked to be far stronger than normal candlelight, over her desk.  Around the room on all walls were floor-to-ceiling shelves with black boxes neatly arranged along them.  In the center of the room was a single table with black boxes, reminiscent of the ones on the shelves just larger and shallower, stacked on top of each other.

Aetheria picked up the box on top and opened it to reveal various samples of wood.  “Run your hand over the samples,” she instructed.  

Harry did and cried out in alarm, when two pieces of wood jumped from the box straight into his hand.  Harry looked at her, eyes wide.

Aetheria chuckled, “It’s always startling when it’s your first time.  Is this your first custom wand?”  At Harry’s nod, she said, “Well it’s an honor, Heir Potter-Black.  Alright let’s see what you have.  Ebony and Balsa wood, very interesting.”  She picked up the next box which was wand cores.  She sent him an encouraging wink and said, “Go ahead.  Put your hand palm up over the box.”

Harry obeyed and three vials jumped into his hand. He handed them to Aetheria who took them and the woods over to her desk.  “This is shaping up to be a difficult wand, Heir Potter-Black.”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. “And you can call me Harry if you want,” he offered.  Titles got so tedious after a while.

Aetheria chuckled, waving his apology away.  “No need to apologize, dear. I do love a good challenge.  And if I call you Harry, you must call me Thea.”  

Harry smiled at her.  He liked this woman.  He felt a compulsion to know her, the same compulsion he felt when he was alone in nature and the trees reached down to touch him and they needed him to just come an inch closer, so he did.  And she was beautiful, her old age doing nothing to dim that; she seemed to glow with a soft, warm light, and when they were upstairs, if she shifted just right with the sunlight hitting her, Harry could have sworn he saw glitter in her wrinkled skin and gray hair.  “Deal,” he told her.

Aetheria opened up the third box for him and he hovered his hand palm-up over it.  Two crystals jumped into his hand.  By the looks of it, black tourmaline and obsidian.  Aetheria laughed.  “Well at least you’ll be protected.  Those cores of yours will certainly need it.”

“What were the cores?” Harry asked.

“Phoenix ashes, a shaving of a Necromancer’s bone, and a Thestral hair.”  She paused before saying. “They’re cores befitting you, given who you command.”  Harry’s whole body jerked in surprise, but Aetheria just shook her head.  “Say nothing, young master.  Your secrets remain yours. My people have sensed and befriended Death for millennia. And he is a good friend to have.  I am glad you found him, and I am glad you found your way here for your wand. I’m also relieved, though, that your magic recognizes the need for protection as well as power.”  She clapped her hands, and the movement in the dim light shimmered for a second and Harry thought he could see black scales on her hands instead of fingernails.  But between one breath and the next, the image was gone. “Now all that’s left is the runes.  For that, can you please unleash your magic.  I will take a sample from your magic to collect your magical signature and then I’ll get to work.”

Admittedly, that should have made Harry uncomfortable. But he couldn’t bring himself to not trust her.  So he unleashed his magic and watched her wave her wand, making a wisp appear before settling into her vial.  “That’s my magic?” Harry asked.

“No, it’s your magical signature.  Nobody has created a vessel that can contain pure unfiltered magic.”  She gestured for Harry to take a seat and got to work.  Thankfully, Harry had books shrunken in his pocket, so he took one out, drew a rune with his Holly wand to resize it since runic magic did not violate underage magic laws, and began reading.

At least an hour if not ninety minutes later, Harry looked up from his book at Aetheria’s huge sigh. “It’s done.  A powerful, beautiful wand you have, Harry.  Use it well.”  Softer, she added, “Save us all.”

Harry nodded, taking the wand from her and reveling in the rush of power that washed over him. “I will,” he promised.  In the time he waited, he’d had time to think about all of the clues he’d been given to Aetheria’s identity.  The black scales, the glitter in her skin.  And then he recalled reading a book on Seelie Runes which led to him deep diving into Seelie culture and history.  Aetheria was their queen.  She’d stepped down in favor of her daughter, intent on leading a quiet life away from politics in her last days.  “It was an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” Harry said, bowing at the waist. “I will cherish your work well.”

Aetheria grinned. She did so love it when everything was going as it should. And she’d bet her shop that Death was most please and proud. She should reach out to him, it’d been awhile since they’d chatted. 

-

The rest of the trip went by quickly.  Sirius bought a Firebolt and some clothing from Diagon.  Draco, of course, bought Harry the necklace with Sirius sporting a shit-eating grin the whole time.  And Harry bought a new sketchbook and journal.  And then, after Dobby popped away with their purchases, Kreacher came to take them to Black Manor.  

They went flying over dense woods on the estate and Sirius led them to a system of caves near a lake.  He was pleased to see his old haunt he shared with James was still outfitted with a green persian rug and four huge armchairs they’d rescued from his mother’s garbage pile while redecorating one summer.  Kreacher came in with refreshments and with a snap of his finger removed the layers of dust that had settled over everything. They sat in the arm chairs while Sirius told Harry and Draco about what he, James, Severus, and Remus would get up to in the caves and on the grounds, he told Harry how his father had always dreamed of playing professional quidditch but his father didn’t think it befitting a future lord so he went into law enforcement, and he told the boys the story of how Lily and James fell in love.

“It was all because of a quill,” he said laughing, popping one of the cookies that Kreacher had brought for them into his mouth. “He’d been crushing on Lily since Year One, but he was really shy.  He was a confident wanker, don’t get me wrong, kid.  But when it came to women? All that confidence drained away.  So we were talking about the Malfoy Yule Ball, Lucius was boasting about how he’d gotten your mom to say yes, Draco.  And it wasn’t because of that charm of his, mostly because he was still figuring it out.  He promised Narcissa he’d accidentally spill wine on my mother’s robes so she’d leave earlier.”

“He didn’t!” Draco said, shocked.  He was literally on the edge of his seat, mouth agape.  His father? Lucius Orion Malfoy? Break decorum?

Sirius laughed.  “Oh, yes.  He did and it was glorious.  Remus, James, and I even cast a subtle notice-me-not charm but in three layers so nobody saw him do it while Severus distracted Orion with a question about astronomy.  So James wanted to ask Lily and he worked out transportation with his father who was over the moon James was just going to ask a girl out.  We were only fourteen at the time, not like the biological clock was ticking but you know pureblood families,” Sirius said, rolling her eyes.  Draco rolled his eyes, too, but Harry just shook his head in a silent question. “Most pureblood families,” Sirius explained, “have their children locked in marriage contracts before their OWLS.”

“You’re not right?” Harry practically yelled, rounding on Draco.  

Draco chuckled which made Harry glare at him.  Draco reached over to grab Harry’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I am not, love.  And even if I was, I would have ended it the moment we Bonded.”

Harry blushed but muttered, “Presumptuous much? We didn’t know where this would go.”

Draco smirked.  “My father was right in telling you that not all Bonds need to be romantic.  But he failed to mention that about 99% of the time, they are.”

Sirius laughed, “Yeah, we drew up the courting contract and marriage contract that night,” he winked at the boys. “Don’t worry, we haven’t signed anything. Not until you’re ready.”  Grinning, Sirius moved on, seeing the boys were at a loss for words. “Okay so we’re one week before Yule break and James still hasn’t asked Lily out.  He’s getting worked up even more over it because of the pressure and his dad and the time limit.  He’s going crazy and he’s driving us all insane. And then, out of nowhere, he tells us this awful plan that he’ll pass her a note during potions.  Severus, knowing how important potions was to Lily and how something like that could affect brewing, was fed up with this, and so he talked Lily into asking James for a quill in Transfiguration.  Your mother was always smarter than all of us, and she knew from Narcissa what James was trying to do.  So she asked James to borrow a quill in every class they had together, making small talk right before class.  Finally, after the last exam, Lily gave James back his quill and asked what his plans were for Yule, and that’s when the dolt finally asked her to the ball. He was a procrastinator through and through.”

Harry was grinning like mad.  He felt for his dad, he really did.  He didn’t think he’d have had the courage to ask Draco out, not before he had already confirmed it multiple times that Draco did indeed like Harry like that.  Sirius went off on another story about the first triple date with him and Remus, Lucius and Narcissa, and James and Lily and what a disaster that was.  Harry moved to squeeze onto Draco’s seat, his front against the blonde’s side, his grin never leaving his face. Draco’s arms came immediately around him, rubbing his back and arm.  Harry soaked in Sirius’s stories, basked in his Bonded’s affection.  He loved this.  Being in Draco’s arms, being on his family’s land, hearing everyday stories from his family about his parents. Harry loved just breathing the same air as his family.  Being in the same room.  But this? Intimacy, touch and comfort, affection, receiving the gift of others’ memories.  All at the same time.  Because he was worthy of all of it all at once?  He’d never take it for granted. And he’d never have enough.

Chapter Text

Harry was a strong, independent wizard.  He’d defeated a Dark Lord– well, that actually kinda made him nauseous to think about now considering Tom was his grandfather.  But the point stands.  He defeated the most powerful wizard.  AND he did so with less than half of his magic.  He’d won a deadly tournament with three years less education than his competitors.  He’d battled bloody dragons.  He was strong. He was capable. He did shit.   

He was not clingy.

Not at all.

He certainly could handle being by himself for three hours.

The more the seconds dragged by, though, the harder it was to convince himself of that.  Sighing, Harry did another lap around the manor, his menagerie of animals either clinging to some part of his body or trotting happily around him.  Around his neck, of course, was Selene, napping lazily, head on his shoulder. Mordred, a black long-haired kitten with one eye, was happily sitting in his left robes pocket with his head poking out, so he could see everything, and in Harry’s right robes pocket was Mordred’s BFF, Vida, a gray cat with three legs and three heads to match.  Right in front of Harry was Lucky, the Abraxan who had sought Harry out from Merlin knows where with a broken wing on his right side and the reason Harry had learned he could heal animals.  Harry couldn’t explain it.  He’d seen the poor creature in pain, and on instinct, he’d reached out, willing the Abraxan’s pain and injury gone.  And he had, just not how he’d thought he would.  He’d immediately decided that the fact that he healed by absorbing the malady into his body and then healing himself needed to be kept secret, figuring Tom wouldn’t like the mechanics of this magic and would be against Harry using it too liberally.  But Draco had somehow just known exactly what was happening, and not knowing Harry’s plan to keep it a secret, had, in his panic, frantically demanded Tom figure out how Harry could heal without having to absorb it.

To say Tom was not a fan of Harry’s methods was an understatement.  It was Harry’s and Tom’s first fight. 

“I’m fine, Tom,” Harry had insisted, rolling his eyes.  “Cissa didn’t even have to set my arm.  Look!” he wiggled his right arm over his head.  “I don’t even need a cast or a potion!”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, but no amount of calming breaths could stop the red from seeping into his eyes.  “Harry, you are still magically exhausted from performing such a feat, and you can’t go about healing everything that comes to you injured.  These are dangerous powers, Harry, much too powerful for you to be acting all willy nilly about it.”

In Harry’s defense, it was very funny hearing his 80-year-old grandfather, the most powerful wizard alive, and the freaking Dark Lord, say ‘willy nilly.”  But Harry’s giggle fit just deepened Tom’s frown lines.  Severus decided to intervene at this point.

“We’re not saying to stop healing entirely, Hadrian.  You should learn about your gifts.  But this is unlike any healing magic we’ve ever encountered.”  He let that sink into the boy’s brain.  Harry had been devouring books across the Malfoy, Black, Peverell and Potter libraries all summer; and he’d never heard of this either. And so for Tom, the Dark Lord, and Severus, the youngest Potions Master and Healer in two centuries, also not knowing about this type of magic on top of that?  Harry must be playing with magic that was ancient.  Seeing that his point had gotten through, Severus threw out what he knew to be the clincher.  “As your guardians and parents, Hadrian, it’s our job to keep you safe.  To set up healthy boundaries to teach you how to take care of yourself.”  He sat at the edge of Harry’s bed and cupped the boy’s face.  Harry leaned into his touch.  “We love you.”

Harry’s smile brightened the room and brought Tom back to himself.  “Harry,” Tom said, quietly, sitting on Harry’s other side. “You can’t get hurt.  I…I don’t know what I’d do if I ever let you get hurt.”  Tom could feel the tension seep out of his body as Harry’s smile turned soft and Harry leaned over to hug him.

After that Harry, Tom, and Severus had come to a compromise.  If Harry healed anything bigger than a flu or some cuts on a human or animal, Tom, Severus, or Narcissa had to be present, and the second Harry felt magical exhaustion, he was to stop all healing instantly.

Lucky the Abraxan hadn’t needed any recovery time, but he’d refused to leave the manor’s grounds until Harry had been cleared by Narcissa and Lucky had seen for himself that Harry was okay. Even then though, Lucky had proceeded to make a home for himself in the woods on Malfoy grounds and only came out to say hi to Harry and to fly with Harry and Draco– either with the boys on their brooms or on Lucky’s back.

The other three animals rounding out their odd little group was Baby, a Chimera cub; Willa Whisp, a Tree Nymph whose spirit form was full of cherry blossoms, jasmine, and wind that Harry swore sparkled pink at the right angle; and finally the unicorn/thestral twins. They were about a year from fully grown.  Harry named the twin that looked like a white thestral, Hemera, and the black unicorn, Nyx.

Mordred and Vida started purring, rubbing their heads against Harry’s body.  He scoffed, knowing what the two were up to. “No amount of cuteness will make me feed you early.” Baby let out a whine and Harry shook his head, “Any of you,” he added, trying to remain firm.

Nyx and Hemena glared at him, huffing their displeasure.  Harry just patted their heads, “It’s too early.  They’re babies.  They need a schedule.”

Mordred and Vida bit down on wrinkles in his robes, clearly telling him that no, what they– all of them– needed was food.

And because Harry was a big old softie for all of his pets, he waved his hand, conjuring the bag of treats he’d bought from Diagon, and  gave them each some treats.  “Better not spoil your dinner,” he said, laughing as they all pressed in closer to him for more.  And because Harry loved them and couldn’t be with Draco yet, he relented.  He walked some more with them until he came back around to the Manor, but he had three whole hours to kill so he hung around his animals under a tree, playing with the babies when they brought a stick to him and then playing tag with the twins and Lucky.  After awhile, though, Harry was ready to go in, so at a back entrance to the manor, Harry told his animals goodbye, promising them to come out again before dinner with Draco.  Selene stayed back with the rest of them, liking to stay on Nyx’s back.  

With one final wave, Harry stepped into the dimly lit hallways, and now he was back to his original problem.  What to do while he was alone, and Draco was in his private lessons with Lucius and Tom.  The lessons, which all three were very quiet about, had started two weeks prior, and they had quickly become the bane of Harry’s existence.  He’d survived nearly fifteen years without his Bonded.  Surely a few hours a couple of times a week were nothing. But playing with his pets or reading with them all around him wasn’t nearly as fun without Draco curled up with them, reading a book or listening to Harry read out loud.  And exploring the grounds and the Antiques Room with rows and rows and cases and cases of magical baubles and artifacts wasn’t as exciting without his Bonded right beside him, rattling off random trivia about where they were or what they were looking at. 

But damn it, Harry was his own person!  He’s Harry Fucking Potter.  The Boy who Lived. The Heir to FIVE Most Ancient and Noble Houses. The Master of Death, for crying out loud!  He could handle– Harry waved his new wand to cast a tempus– two hours.

Harry groaned.  He’d only killed one hour of time?  What was he going to do now?

Serendipitously, at that moment, he heard a loud boom, a deep voice cursing, and the crash of a door being thrown open.  Harry followed the noise and saw a figure obscured by all of the smoke run out of a door on the second floor.  

“Merlins Blasted Flaming Balls!” Severus cried angrily.  He stomped to the open window that gave a view of the grounds, and angrily threw out the contents of a cauldron. With an agitated wave of his wand, the smoke filling up the hall disappeared, and Severus stormed back into the room.

Curious, Harry jogged down the corridor, up the spiral staircase, and to the open door and saw what he figured was Severus’s personal potions lab. He stepped cautiously into the room, the air thick with the scent of herbs and smoke and magic. The room itself was circular, with high ceilings adorned with intricate runes that glow softly with magic. Along the back wall were shelves filled with jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes reaching towards the ceiling, some containing rare and exotic ingredients like crystallized dragon scales, powdered phoenix feathers, and vials of shimmering mermaid tears, and other shelves had more standard ingredients like herbs, phoenix tears, and various animals’ teeth.

In the center of the room, a massive stone cauldron rests over a fire pit. It was empty at the moment, Harry thinking this huge cauldron was used for big batch potions like pain tonics, headache potions, and nausea tinctures.  Surrounding it were various workstations cluttered with mortars and pestles, alembics, and retorts. A long wooden table spans the length of the room on the right wall that had three huge arched windows that covered most of the wall; the table was littered with parchment scrolls filled with ancient incantations and detailed potion recipes. On the opposite wall were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with potions books of varying newness, some looking like one touch would turn them to dust, their spines adorned with golden sigils and intricate designs. Harry could feel the thrum of magical threads weaving together across the room in intricate patterns.  He lost track of time and forgot he’d followed his godfather in.  All he could do was spin slowly, looking up and around at the room in awe.

“Hadrian,” Severus said, the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.  Severus’s deep, warm voice brought Hadrian out of his reverie.

“Is this your potions lab?” Harry asked quietly almost reverently, the room demanding it.

“It is,” Severus replied, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders and bringing him further into the room.  “What do you think?”

“This is amazing,” Harry breathed, still looking up and around at everything.  “Do you create your own potions, too?”

“Yes, I actually created the wolfsbane potion; I did it for Remus.  I’m currently working on some potions that focus on burn healing.”

“Wicked,” Harry whispered, almost to himself.

Severus’s face broke into a true smile at his godson’s words, and he couldn’t help the way his chest puffed out in pride; it pleased Severus greatly that his godson was impressed with his workspace and treated the art of potion-making as reverently as he did.  Made him even prouder of his work, which was saying something.

“What happened earlier?” Harry asked, concerned green eyes turning fully to Severus.  “Are you hurt?”

Even the reminder of his morning of failures wasn’t enough to dim his joy.  Severus snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes.

“My potion keeps exploding,” Severus replied, gesturing at a workstation to their right.  “It’s a fairly simple one, too, but it happens sometimes.  Sometimes a batch of ingredients is bad and it sours the potion.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, looking at the station.  He walked up to the workstation and started picking up each ingredient, rubbing his thumb over the leaves.  Severus left his godson to it, still too happy to think too deeply about Harry’s strange behavior.  He couldn’t wait to show Tom his memory of Harry’s face when he saw his potions lab.

“Sev!” Harry cried with a grin.  “Your rosemary wants to be a poison, and your dragon’s heart wants to be in a wand.  They’re very upset you made their companions go into a healing balm. The fact that it was Regenesis made it worse.”  Harry chuckled.  “The rosemary’s mostly to blame, though. This rosemary wants to destroy something.  Anything.  Guess it settled for your potion.”

Severus’s mouth dropped open.  What Harry was intimating was utterly unheard of. His ingredients had feelings and opinions? And he wouldn’t give any credence to it, except of course this was Hadrian James Potter. He was the Master of Death, healer extraordinaire, and a magnet for all animals.  Why wouldn’t plants share their hopes and dreams with him?  Not to mention, he hadn’t told Harry what he had been trying to make all morning, mostly because Regenesis was a third year level potion, and he was too embarrassed to admit that he’d blown up four batches that morning.  And Harry was right. He’d even gotten the specific balm right.

Severus rummaged around his various work stations and shelves before finding a new bundle of rosemary and another package of dragon’s heart.  “What about these, Hadrian?”

Harry ran his fingers gently over the ingredients and carefully selected four pieces of rosemary and two pieces of dragon’s heart, the approximate amount Severus would need for a full batch of Regenesis.  He’d need to make his base first, measure out the appropriate chunk of Heartwood and then measure everything else in comparison to balance it out, but this was a good start.

“These are okay with being in Regenesis,” Harry said proudly, affectionately giving the ingredients one last stroke before handing them to Severus.

“Thank you, Hadrian.  Want to help me brew?”  Severus was rewarded with a blinding smile from his godson.  Heart filled with warmth and a contented joy settling over the pair, they got to work.

As they brewed together, Severus realized, grief and joy and love all a chaotic mix in his heart, that Harry brewed like his mother.  He bit his lip when he was doing something complicated, he danced in his seat when he accomplished something he’d been working hard on, he wrinkled his nose when a calculation came out wrong.  All exactly like her.  He even held a quill just like her– like a bloody heathen.  Seriously, who put their quill between their middle and ring finger? Apparently Lily and Harry Potter.  Sev made a mental note to show Harry Lilly’s potions journals after dinner. 

After all of the important calculations and arithmancy were out of the way and the potion was simmering, Severus called Dobby for tea service, and took tea with Hadrian on the potion lab’s balcony.

“Tea, splash of milk and two sugars,” he said, handing the cup to Harry who accepted with a thank you and another smile.  Severus went about fixing his own cup and asked, “So do all of my ingredients have opinions on what they should be used in?”

Harry laughed. “They don’t have thoughts the same way we do, but they have feelings and desires.  All the natural word does.  But such strong preferences are actually rare in the natural world; they’re all mostly neutral.  Maybe just ask me if things seem to be going wrong for no reason.”

Harry and Severus slipped into a comfortable silence, sipping their tea and looking out over the manor grounds.  Willa Whisp fluttered around Harry, caressing him affectionately as best she could as magical wind with cherry blossoms and jasmine.  Harry told Severus how well Nyx and Hemera were doing after he’d used his magic to reset their broken bones, proudly telling his godfather he hadn’t even needed to re-break their leg and he barely had to absorb anything this time with the healing potions Severus had given him. 

Severus’s timer went off, signaling the potion was done, and Harry spent the next half hour helping Severus bottle it. The two hours went by so fast, Harry asked if he could help Severus again.  Not able to hide how pleased he was, Severus grabbed Harry into a warm hug, and Harry went willingly, still after two months not able to get enough affection and touch from his family.  “You’re welcome in here anytime I’m in here,” Severus said quietly, sending up a prayer of thanks to Lady Magic he’d gotten this precious time back with his godson.

-

The summer was quickly coming to a close, and Harry was not happy about it.  He liked the life he had with his family.  And a week before his birthday something happened that made his life– if it was possible– even better. Regulus and Barty came back from a mission for Tom one week before his birthday.  Harry had missed Barty, having spent so much time with him at Hogwarts, and he’d been so excited to get to know the man he considered to be his uncle.  But Tom had needed Barty to “handle some investments.”  They’d been gone since the third day of summer, and Harry knew that this one-man mission became a two-man mission because Thomas Gideon Gaunt was becoming a big old softie.  There was no way in hell Barty would be going anywhere without Regulus, not after thinking the other man was dead for over a decade.  The power hungry, evil, heartless bastard of a Dark Lord that Dumbledore had concocted, the one Harry had lived in fear of, wouldn’t have given a flying fuck about two lovers reunited.  But Tom wasn’t that Dark Lord.  He valued his followers’ loyalty and wouldn’t dream of coming between Barty and Regulus’s love.  

The only downside to this mission had been that Regulus had been heartbroken that he wouldn't be able to see Sirius once he was up for visitors and wouldn’t be there when he finally came home.  Harry had held Regulus’s hand when Tom had given him the option to go with Barty.  And as much as Barty clearly wanted Regulus with him, he said nothing, letting Regulus make the decision himself.

Regulus was obviously at war with himself.  He hadn’t seen either his brother or the love of his life for fourteen years.  They’d both been through over a decade of trauma.  How could he possibly choose? 

“He won’t even be up for visitors for a while,” Harry had said softly.  “And Tom said you’ll be back well before the start of term.  He might not even be cleared by then.”  Harry’s lips quivered, “He’s been living with dementors and on the run for fourteen years.  Might as well wait for Siri with Barty.”

Barty gave Harry a sad smile and came to sit on Harry’s other side. “Padfoot is a tough one, Harry. He’ll be fine, but you’re right.  There’s a lot of healing he has to do that we can’t do for him.”

“I would,” Regulus whispered.  “I’d take it all from him.”

“He wouldn’t let you,” Harry and Barty said at the same time.  Everyone in the room– Tom and the Malfoys included–  chuckled at that, lightening the mood.  

Harry went to go sit between Tom and Draco, settling into the comfort of their closeness.  Regulus also leant against Barty, who brushed his lips over Regulus’s forehead.  “The decision is yours, love,” he said quietly. 

“I can’t be away from you again,” Regulus said quietly. 

And that had been that.  

Regulus and Harry had kept up a correspondence.  It was sporadic at best, but Harry kept Regulus updated on Sirius’s progress, and even included a letter or two from Sirius once he’d recovered enough to gain the motor function in his hand so he could write.  And in one of his letters, after Harry had admitted he missed Barty and couldn’t wait to get to know Regulus, Regulus had told Harry that it was Harry more than Sirius who he’d wanted to stay for.  He’d wanted to stay to look after Harry for Sirius until Sirius could do it himself, to get to know his nephew, to begin bridging fourteen years of absence.  He thought it’d be a good start to bridging that gap with Sirius.

I would have, Harry.  I wanted to, Regulus had written.  But Barty and I had also been apart for fourteen years. Harry had scowled at that, so much lost, so many lives coming to a standstill and all for what? For some self-declared Light Lord playing god and chess master? But I got off so easy, Harry.  I was asleep the whole time.  Barty had to live that entire fourteen years, thinking I’d never come back.  I couldn’t let us be separated again willingly.

Of course Harry had understood, told Regulus as much.  He couldn’t imagine the bone chilling fear that gripped both of them.  Barty fear of living without Regulus again, and Regulus at being ripped from his life for years, and him none the wiser.  After that realization, he’d sent Regulus and Barty two pieces of jewelry.  To Regulus, he sent a simple gold chain from the Peverell vaults.  It was Goblin made, and couldn’t be stolen, could only be moved really if Regulus willed it.  And it was charmed to warn against all ill-intended magic and even protected against minor ill-intended magic.  It’d keep him safe.  To Barty, he’d sent the chain’s twin from the Potter vaults.  This chain was silver and had all of the same charms.  

There was one final extraordinary trick the chains were capable of, a rare charm  and complicated piece of magic.  When the chains were worn by two who loved each other, they would warn when the other was in danger but would also warm when one was thinking about the other and wanted them to know it.

This way, you’ll always know the other is alive and safe, Harry had written.

The morning Barty and Regulus arrived, Tom seemed like he was anticipating something.  There was an expectancy to his words and mannerisms at breakfast that Harry had trouble naming at first, and he’d even caught Severus humming as he gathered some pieces of parchment and tidied them.  They refused to tell him anything but told him to be sure to make it to dinner on time.

Harry spent the morning flying with Draco and the afternoon reading on how to use cosmic runes to boost healing potions so they could work better for Goblins; it was a new study out of Amsterdam that Narcissa had snagged a copy of for him.  He was so wrapped up in the research that he would have forgotten all about dinner, but Dobby popped in with a cookie and a glass of water. “Here’s a snack, Master Dragon’s Harry.  Master Harry’s Dragon has sent Dobby to remind Sir that dinner is in 15 minutes.  I can pop Sir to his quarters and then to the dining room.”

Harry grinned. “You’re the best, Dobby,” he gushed, running to the elf who was blushing furiously.

Harry changed into some black tweed trousers, tailored to perfection, and a black button-up top.  The clothes had been purchased by Draco who liked seeing him in all black, something about it working with his hair to bring out his eyes.  He hurriedly slipped on his shoes and didn’t even bother running a comb through his hair.  Not even the Black family genes could contain his Potter-cursed hair.  Dobby came back as promised and got him into the dining room with ten whole minutes to spare.  

He had barely gotten his footting back from the apparition when he was grabbed and enveloped in a hug.  A second letter, someone shoved the person away and grabbed Harry into another hug, “My turn,” Regulus said. “He’s my nephew.”

“Regulus!” Harry exclaimed, hugging back.  Before Harry could say anything else, Barty snuck an arm around Harry and exclaimed, “And he’s my friend.”

“And you got six weeks with him at Hogwarts,” Reggie retorted.  He looked at Harry, gray eyes dancing with love and humor.  “How’ve things been, kid?”

“Great!” Harry gushed.  He turned to see Barty’s bright blue eyes on him. “I have to introduce you all to Willa and Baby and Godric and Vida.  Oh, and since I wrote last, we’ve gotten Thestral/Unicorn twins.  They’re absolutely adorable, you’re going to love them.  And I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on.”  Harry grabbed Regulus’s hand and Barty’s and brought them over to the table.  He took out three shrunken books, set them on the table, and waved his hand over them. He picked one up, with another wave of his wand, shrunk all three, and handed it to Regulus, pocketing the other two.

“This is about blood magic, but not like evil blood magic that will render someone a zombie.  It’s real blood magic that is powered by nature and gives honor to Lady Magic.  It’s so cool, Uncle Reggie. I want to do a ritual, but Tom said I need a” Harry rolled his eyes and mimed air quotes, “‘a grown adult of at least moderate intellect’ with me to do new magic.  You’ve got intellect in spades. I’ve been saving this for you. Wann do it after dinner?”

Regulus laughed, loving Harry calling him ‘Uncle Reggie.’ “Maybe give me a day or two to read up on it first.”

Harry nodded, bouncing on his toes, giddy with excitement.

Barty cleared his throat.  “Ummm what’s with all the wandless magic, kid?  That’s new, right?”  

Regulus met Barty’s gaze, eyes widening at the realization. He hadn’t even noticed, so caught up in the books Harry wanted to show him and being called uncle for the first time. Barty’s lips quirked up into a smile, having known his lover gets blinders on when books were involved.

Harry, though, shrugged as if the feat wasn’t impressive for grown wizards, let alone a teenager who hadn’t even taken his OWLs yet.  “Oh, yeah.  I was having problems with my wand, and I have a new one now which is wicked, but I guess I just got into the habit.”

“You’ll need to break it before we go back to Hogwarts,” Draco said, walking in with his parents, Severus and Tom right behind them.  

“Why?” Harry asked.  Walking up to his bonded and accepting the gentle kiss Draco placed on his forehead.

So the headmaster doesn’t know how powerful you are, Reggie wanted to say.  He’d heard every detail of Harry’s life up until he’d been reunited with them, his family, where he belonged.  And if he hadn’t been in the damned Arctic with Barty, he'd have done something stupid like demand the Dark Lord let him enact revenge, too.

Curiously, neither Tom nor Severus nor the Malfoys who were technically on paper his legal guardians said that.

Instead, Lucius winked at Harry and said, “Always good to have secrets, right, Hadrian?”

Harry laughed and went to greet his godfather and grandfather.  

Regulus and Barty caught Lucius’s gaze and asked quietly when they were closer, “Has nobody told Hadrian how much power that takes?”

Lucius shook his head. “Tom, Severus, and Sirius want Hadrian’s magic to develop without him becoming too self conscious.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Barty asked. “Not telling him how much power he has?  How rare it is?”

Lucius shrugged. “It could also hinder his development.  You’ve seen how he’s changed, Barty.  He’s so carefree and…light.  For lack of a better word.”

Regulus had to agree, and when he glanced at Barty, so did his lover.  Not light in the way Albus Dumbledore used the term.  But like sunshine. Like joy.  He was, in a way, the exact opposite of their lord.  Tom’s was a power that repelled, that used sheer force and strength to strongarm his way into being.  It was a fearsome thing to behold, and Tom was damned good at protecting what was his.  Harry’s, though– his was a power that invited, gathered. 

That was it.  

Harry gathered. 

He collected up everything good and beautiful and wonderful and then shared it.

God, Harry needed to be protected.  Sensing his conclusions and subsequent panic, courtesy of the necklaces Harry had gifted them, Barty rested a gentle hand against his lover’s cheek. “Easy, love.  He has all of us to protect him.”  

Regulus leaned into the touch and grasped Barty’s wrist.  “Yes, he does.”

Tom clapped his hands, excitement dancing in his eyes despite his bland expression.  It was still more emotion than Barty and Regulus had seen in their lord recently.  Harry was a good influence on him.  “Show time.  I believe Lord Black is coming.”

Sirius walked in hair a chaotic mess in that rock n’ roll way he had.  “Sorry I’m late,” he said, shaking his robes to straighten them, but they still somehow ended up haphazardly falling around him.  He looked up, “The bloody goblins wouldn’t let me out–” 

And then his eyes landed on Regulus, his little brother who’d worked tirelessly to get him out, who’d been his best friend, who had been his lifeline and support despite being three years younger.  “Reggie,” Sirius breathed.  “REGGIE!”  

Regulus ran to his brother and the two embraced, grasping onto each other as if they were afraid at any moment the other would disappear.  

“You look good, Siri,” Regulus said softly.  “I missed you.”

“Thanks to you, little brother,” Siri said, voice thick with emotion. “I missed you, too. Even those damned dementors couldn’t take away the simple fact you are my brother and Harry is my godson. You and Harry are what got me through.”

Tears gathered in Regulus’s eyes, but before they could fall, Barty slapped Sirius on the back.  “Long time, Sirius!” Barty exclaimed.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, but the humor was evident.  “Crouch.  Still think you deserve my brother?”

“No,” Barty replied easily, grinning. “Your brother, though, disagrees, and who am I to deny him.”

Sirius burst out laughing, pulling Barty into a hug. 

The rest of the dinner was perfect.  Barty and Regulus told them about their travels, and Severus and Tom and Lucius caught the other two up on everything that was going on.  Harry talked to Narcissa about the article, Draco drifting between the two conversations and, of course, fixing Harry’s second helping.  At this point, Harry could probably do it himself with minimal to no anxiety.  But he liked Draco doing it for him almost as much as Draco liked doing it.

When they retired to the drawing room after dinner, Harry curled into Draco’s side, hiding his blush in Draco’s chest when he saw Barty elbow Regulus and they both looked at the two boys with wide grins.  Everyone was winding down, the adults having a glass of wine or fire whisky; Barty was talking to Sirius and Narcissa in the corner while Regulus talked with Severus and Tom animatedly about what muggle physics meant for transfiguration while Draco and Harry were content to just be with each other as if they hadn’t spent the day together.  Before everyone could start saying goodnight, though, Barty cleared his throat.

He looked around the room, his nerves obvious.  He turned to Regulus who was still seated in an armchair, leaning over the arm to be closer to Tom and Severus.  “Reggie, I…”

Concerned, Regulus went straight to Barty.  “Love, are you okay?”

“Yes, mon coeur ,” Barty breathed, leaning his forehead on Regulus’s.  “You just make me so damned fucking happy.”  Barty laughed, the sound wet and joyous.  “I love you so much.  The last few weeks with just you have been the best of my life.  And our time together only showed me more ways you’re amazing, more ways you’re brilliant, more reasons to love you.  I never want to be without you again.”  He got down on one knee and opened up a jewelry box, a simple thick gold band with a single diamond at the center nestled against black silk.  “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Regulus grabbed Barty by the shoulders and hoisted him up, crashing his lips to his fiance’s in a quick but no less passionate kiss. “Yes! A thousand times, yes!”

Harry and Draco offered their congratulations with everyone else, hugging the newly engaged couple.  Narcissa excitedly started planning, Regulus and Barty quickly giving her free reign over the celebration.  Their only requests were that there would be roses for Barty and chocolate cake for Regulus.

After the frenzy had died down, Harry tucked himself back up against Draco’s side, who’d meandered to his favorite spot by the fireplace. Harry laid his head against Draco’s shoulder, tears in his eyes.  He looked up at his Bonded, admired the way the light was absorbed into his steel blue eyes. It should have dulled them, but it made them shine in a way Harry would forever be mesmerized by.  The room was still abuzz with the excitement at the engagement, and then he looked around the room at his family.  Narcissa talking quietly with Barty, a spelled quill taking notes.  Regulus was grinning up at Sirius, who poured another round of drinks for himself, Regulus, Severus, and Lucius, planning Regulus’s bachelor party and threatening Barty bodily harm if he ever hurt Regulus.  This was his family.  He’d never not be stunned by the beauty of that statement.  Never not be thankful.

“What is it, love?” Draco asked. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Harry whispered, turning his face into Draco’s chest again.  He did it a lot, he knew.  But in Draco’s arms, he was safe.  In Draco’s arms, the rest of the world could melt away. “How can I go to Hogwarts, when it means I leave this?”

Draco brushed his lips against Harry’s forehead, catching Regulus’s and Sirius’s worried gazes. He nodded at them, silently telling him he could handle this.  They inclined their heads, trusting Draco to take care of Harry.

Draco coaxed Harry out from his chest and leaned down to place a quick, chaste kiss on Harry’s lips.  Harry’s wet, green eyes looked up at him, the adoration in them shining through the anxiety he was feeling.  Draco gently wiped a tear from the corner of his eye before it could fall and whispered, “Because, my darling, they’ll always be here for us when we come back.”

Chapter Text

Hermione looked around the room nervously, not knowing what to do now that the ritual was done.  She chewed her lip nervously, her hands squeezing each other in a death grip in her lap.   She’d come back from a ritual in the depths of Gringotts not a few minutes before and now Lucius was talking to the Goblins before Fred and George would go next.  Fred and George were in a far corner of the room, where they’d been when she’d left for her ritual not an hour before and they were whispering furiously to each other, their normally mischievous joyous expressions, dark and dangerous. Neville, who sat across from her, had already completed his cleansing and was nervously waiting for his grandmother.  His eyes remained fixed on his shoes, and he was either so in a state of shock or so lost in thought that he hadn’t registered Hermione had come back.

George and Fred looked over in unison when the Goblin called them, and they walked to the ritual room, Lucius guiding them, an arm loosely around both boys as he murmured mostly what he’d said to Hermione and probably Neville– explaining the ritual, how it’d be painless, how they might look differently after.  Hermione’s heart clenched, she needed a mirror.

All four of them had the same story for how they’d ended up at Gringotts without their parents or guardian and in a meeting room with a group of goblins fussing over them in turn– from account managers to healers to mages– and Lucius Malfoy who was not only their legal representation but being kind.

They’d gone through the new standard summer check-ins with a ministry healer, where they were checked for magical and muggle maladies and given any missing inoculations, then were given an preliminary inheritance test which required a blood quill, and were promptly whisked away to Gringotts.  The only guardian who had been allowed to come had been Neville’s grandmother who put up such a fight, she’d been escorted to a separate room, and they hadn’t seen her for hours.  One of the goblins, Thorpscruff, had taken pity on them when they’d tried asking for what felt like the thousandth time what was going on.  And he’d let them know that their tests had shown signs of blocks and compulsions and that the next step was a more in depth inheritance test.  Normally, the ministry handled those, too, but because of who their legal representation was they’d be getting the test as well as a cleansing done today.  He’d told Neville, addressing him as Heir Longbottom, that his grandmother had been under intense memory alteration curses that cut deep into her brain as well as blocks and compulsions and that healing his grandmother would be more intensive and take longer considering her age and the extent of the damage.

Lucius had waited patiently with them as one-by-one they’d been taken to the ritual room and had come out to take the inheritance test; even now he was walking with Fred and George and explaining quietly what would be done to them.  It had thrown all of them how gently Lucius had explained how blood quills worked and how there were alternatives if they were too nervous to use a blood quill.

Now, Lucius beckoned to Hermione to follow him to the corner the twins had occupied where they could talk in private.  

“This corner is warded with a silencing charm,” he told her.  “I’d love to know how Fred and George figured it out.”  He grimaced, probably trying for a smile and handed her her new family tree and when she took it, she gasped– her skin was now a rich dark brown.

She scanned the parchment and almost fell to her knees from shock.  It didn’t name her name for some reason, that spot remaining blank.  But her parents were none other than Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. He held Hermione firmly against him as he walked them over to the sitting area where Neville was still looking at the ground.

Lucius rubbed her arm and said softly, “I think you can call me Uncle Lucius if you’d like, Miss Lestrange.”

Hermione’s whole body reacted.  She knew he was being kind but calling her Lestrange felt like a betrayal to Neville.  His parents were tortured into insanity by her parents.  She shook her head, stopping so abruptly they almost tripped.  

“No.  I can’t be a Lestrange.  I can’t be related to those mo–”  He breath caught on a sob that had caught in her throat. She kept shaking her head, looking up with pleading eyes at the man who claimed to be her uncle. A man she thought hated her kind– though if she were a Lestrange she must be a pureblood.

“Shhhh, it’s alright, sweetie,” Lucius soothed.  “You will be okay.”

“No, I won’t,” she shouted, causing Neville to look up.  She caught his gaze and saw his eyes bug out, probably at whatever her new appearance was.  “I can’t lose Neville.  Please, Mr. Malfoy.  I just lost my entire life and identity.  I can’t lose him, too.” She felt hollow, like she was nothing.  She was a nobody, floating in space all alone with no place to belong.  She rubbed her face angrily.  She was being dramatic, she knew, but she had a right to be! She had just been stripped of her identity with one piece of parchment and she had no clue who she was. 

She continued to sob, and Lucius continued to hold her, whispering words of comfort while she tried to regain control of herself.  She felt both stuck and like her cells were flying apart.  She couldn’t breathe but air was going into her lungs too fast.  Her hand shook and her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest.  But eventually when she’d accepted she wouldn’t stop crying for a while she allowed Lucius to gently guide her back to the sitting area where Neville was waiting, leg bouncing nervously and gaze back on his shoes.  As Lucius approached with Hermione, though, Neville looked back up.

“Mione what’s wrong?” Neville asked.  He tried to take Hermione from Lucius but she stiffened and sank deeper into Lucius’s side.  Neville tried not to be hurt.  Afterall, his friends were dealing with way more change than he was.  But he was hurt, he couldn’t help it.  Hermione and Fred and George were the only others who knew as much as he did and were going through this life-altering experience with him.  He needed them.  He needed Hermione.

“She found out who her parents are,” Lucius said quietly, rocking Hermione a little.

“I’m so sorry, Neville,” Hermione sobbed, distraught.  “My parents are…”

“Not responsible for Mr. Longbottom’s parents’ fate,” Lucius said firmly.

Neville jerked back as if he had been slapped.  “You’re the Lestrange’s daughter?” he whispered.

Hermione couldn’t bear to meet her friend's eyes so she just nodded, keeping her gaze resolutely on Lucius’s knee.

“If not them, who?” he asked, voice quivering.  His hard eyes flicked to Lucius. “Who was it?” he demanded.

Lucius sighed. “Messers Weasley will join us shortly.  This is a story that involves all of you.  Can you wait five minutes for the answer? You will get the truth, Heir Longbottom.  I swear on my magic.”

Neville nodded stiffly, but then he looked at his friend who yes put him in a full body bind in first year but she’d always stood up for him and always defended him. And she’d always been kind to him. “Mione,” he said softly.  “Even if you were related to the people who hurt my parents, I could never hate you.”

Hermione looked up at him, sniffing.  “Really?”

Neville smiled.  He opened his arms, “Really.”

Hermione shot into his embrace, tears eventually slowing down as she hung onto the fact that Neville was still her friend.  Too much had changed in only a matter of hours.  She needed her constants, her friends: the twins and Neville.  And hopefully Harry.  Wherever he was. Her test had revealed compulsions to stay friends with Ron and to forgive him no matter what.  And she’d seen how her parents had received a monthly stipend to continue to keep her kidnapped, which actually helped explain why they’d become aloof almost bored of her when she was around twelve or thirteen, when she was no longer a ‘cute kid.’ But Harry’s name had been absent from the list of compulsions and blocks so she hoped they’d see each other again and he’d accept her new ancestry and this new reality that made her feel like she was in a muggle movie.

Once her tears had stopped, Lucius conjured a mirror so she could see her new appearance without the blocks and compulsions and glamours.

Her wild, bushy, red-brown hair had morphed into a wild mess of black curls, and her pale skin had changed to a rich dark brown with even darker freckles across her nose and cheek.  Her eyes were a bright blue and not that dull brown she’d always wished she could change.  She’d begged her parents– well, not her parents but nevertheless– for contacts throughout her entire childhood but they’d never budge.  Hermione smiled at her reflection.  She was beautiful.  She laughed, causing the two men with her to look at her like she was insane.  And y’know maybe she was.  She was Bellatrix’s daughter after all.  But for the first time in her life, she considered herself beautiful and that was a wonderful experience.

The twins came in from their ritual, and stoically listened to Lucius explain that Molly and Arthur were not their parents but their aunt and uncle.  He handed them their family tree.  Their parents were Fabian Prewett and Cassiopeia Black. And their names were Fred and George Prewett.

“At least our kidnappers kept our real names,” Fred said through gritted teeth.

Lucius gave them the mirror he’d conjured to Hermione so they could see what Neville and Hermione had already seen.  They had some minor changes to their appearance, nothing as drastic as Hermione’s.  The twins’ hair was a really dark auburn, especially when compared to the bright red Weasley hair.  Their eyes were now the signature gray blue of the Black family.  And their freckles were gone.  Instead their skin was a smooth ivory.  The twins thanked Lucius and went to sit down between Neville and Hermione, allowing them to read their trees. Hermione leaned against Fred, her heart heavy with sorrow, knowing exactly what kind of mental gymnastics the boys were having to do. But maybe once the shock wore off a little she could tell them that they were cousins!  She smiled to herself.  She’d never had cousins. 

Neville’s heart also went out to his friends. He didn’t have to find out that he was not his parents’ child or that his grandmother was an interloper, but he did find out that his mother was not a Fortescue but in fact a Nagi, one of the Sacred families when they were still connected to other continents as well as other countries as The Sacred 777– 111 families from each of the continents.  So technically The Sacred 28 had been the Sacred 111 across Europe, only 3 actually originating from England.  Members of all 111 families used to be spread out across Europe.  The various heads of each of the houses, depending on their status in the family, were members of the Wizengamot, and/or the now defunct European Union of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and/or The International Congregation of Magic.  Neville had devoured anything his family archives, hidden in the depths of their vaults, could tell him while he waited for his friends, and he’d found an old dusty book that was spelled to update itself.  A book on The Sacred 777.  And with that boon granted to him, he had a start to understanding why so many of their class had blocks and compulsions.  Through her father, he’d learned when she’d given him her family tree that Hermione had Achebe blood, an African family of the Sacred 777 that died out worldwide in the 1600s and was shown to be the first heir the family magics had accepted in over 400 years.  Through their mother, the Prewett twins had Rún blood in them, a Sacred Family from Ireland, a family that died out during the Potato Famine. Neville had received an owl from Hannah Abbot and learned that she had blocks on her core and magic and compulsions to be passive, and her inheritance test came back that she had been accepted by the Schön family magicks, a family originating in Germany 

It was not a coincidence that he and the current school-age generation were reviving old family magics that had died out decades if not centuries ago.  Colin Creevy was the heir to the Gataki family, a Greek family whose magic had been thought to have died out as far back as Ancient Greece. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Americas, Asia, and Africa were experiencing the same revival, unless another self-proclaimed light lord was meddling there, too.  As far as Neville could tell with his limited access to research materials, his book notwithstanding, his family and the others he knew about were reviving families that had historically remained neutral– not as in they didn’t take a side but as in they voted by their conscience and could not be predicted or coerced. Neville wasn’t sure what the implications were or what was happening, but the world was in for an influx of once dormant magic.

Lucius cleared his throat and gestured for them all to follow him to the floo.  “Our business is done here.  So here’s what’s going to happen now.” 

He waited until he had their attention, and Lucius’s heart clenched at the despondence in these children’s eyes, at the sorrow they carried like a weight in their bodies.  He turned to Neville first.

“Heir Longbottom,” he said softly. “Your grandmother just needs some time to rest, there was a lot of memory tampering the goblins had to undo so she’ll be fatigued for a while, don’t be alarmed by that.  She said she’ll come straight to you as soon as she gets you something from your mother’s real vault. Since that might take awhile, you’re going to go to Malfoy Manor, and she’ll meet you there.”  Neville gulped but nodded silently.  

To the Prewett Twins, he said, “I am sorry that your parents are not alive, but you have Black blood in you, and the current Black Lord who is staying with me and my family has invited you to stay with him until you decide what you want to do, even if that is to go back with the Weasleys.  Lord Black said you two are old enough to decide what you want, and whatever that is, he will assist you in any way he can.”  The twins’ countenance darkened at the mention of the people they’d once considered their family; they hadn’t said what their tests had revealed but Hermione could feel the malice that lit up their eyes when she and Neville had discussed theirs, could feel their anger rolling off of them in waves when all they’d said was, “Our entire life is a lie. We are not Weasleys, will never again be Weasleys.”

The twins nodded and said a quiet, “Thank you, Lord Malfoy,” in unison.

To Hermione, Lucius’s lips lifted into a smile.  “Your parents are outside; they were released the moment your tests came through the Ministry last week. They will need to go to outpatient care, but they want to see you first.  As a Black child, you are also welcome to stay with Lord Black while they heal.”

Tears gathered in Hermione’s eyes.  She nodded her head.  “I’d like that, if Neville’s okay with it.”

Before Neville could answer, Lucius turned to Neville and walked closer to him.  He gently put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said softly, “Bellatrix and Rodolophus did not harm your parents, Heir Longbottom.  Bellatrix was best friends with Alice, she’d die before harming a single hair on her head.  It was Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alistair Moody. They’ve been taken into custody and upon being found guilty will give their magical signature and a bit of their core to heal your parents.”

Neville stood frozen, shellshocked.  It had always shocked healers that his grandmother’s signature/core and the Lestrange’s hadn’t helped his parents heal and regenerate their core.  That was standard medical practice, the signature and core of the abusers/victimizers and the signature and core of a family member of the same House. They’d tried again with Uncle Algie and again when Neville turned eleven, thinking his grandmother was not a close enough relative or had a strong enough core or– there had been a lot of theories, healers grasping at straws.  Neville had stopped hoping, he still daydreamed about meeting his parents for real and having a life with them but he’d closed the door on hope at eleven years old. A sob rose up from his belly, and he pushed it down with all of his might and willpower, but the stronger he pushed the bigger it became until it escaped, Neville’s legs giving out.  He would have fallen if his friends hadn’t rushed over, holding him up and surrounding him.  They said nothing because really what could they say, but they stayed and they supported him until his body awareness came back and he was able to stand on his own. 

“Mione, you didn’t need my permission to see your parents. But I’d like to meet them when they’re ready.”

Hermione nodded her head vigorously at him, still hugging his side.  “Yes, of course! And I can’t wait to meet your grandmother.”

Neville laughed suddenly. “Me, too.  What with all the blocks and compulsions, I think I might be meeting her at the same time you will.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and so did the twins’.  And suddenly everyone burst out laughing.  At the absurdity of the situation.  At the sorrow and heartbreak wrapped up in what was beginning to feel like a comedy of errors even though everyone knew that the stupid fucking headmaster was who put them all here.

The four friends hugged goodbye again, and Neville and the Prewett twins floo’d to Malfoy Manor. Once they were gone, Lucius opened one of the many doors in the room and in walked Bellatrix and Rodolphus, her parents. 

Hermione couldn’t move when she saw her parents in the doorframe, but she didn’t need to.  Bellatrix and Rodolphus rushed to her, dragging her into a desperate embrace, clinging to her as if they could hug away the deep sorrow and loss the trio had suffered.

Bellatrix smiled down at her, smoothing Hermione’s wild curls that she’d inherited from her and said, “Hello, my little star.  We’ve waited so long to meet you.”

“The thought of you, that you’re our daughter, protected our sanity,” Rodolphus choked out.

Hermione broke down crying. Again. Not knowing what else to do, what else she was even capable of doing.  She sent a silent thanks to Lady Magic that she had parents still, and she had a chance at protective, loving, involved parents, not cold muggles doing their duty to earn a paycheck.  

They stayed like that, a crying family of three, huddled together, soaking in the others’ presence.  Bellatrix smoothed her hair down again and kissed her forehead, after which Rodolphus kissed the top of her head.

“We need to go now,” Rodolphus said.  “But the second the healers clear us, we'll come get you and go home.”  Hermione’s heart leapt at that.  “Here is your Heir ring; it’ll give you protection and access to our manor–with Lord Black as your escort.”

Hermione took the ring and slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand and she could have sworn it whispered welcome home.  But it was so fleeting and so quiet her grief-addled mind might have made it up.

Bellatrix placed a necklace around her neck.  “This tells everyone you are a Child of House Black.  It will protect you.”  

Hermione turned the pendant around and looked at it.  It was a gold circle, the chain attached to the circle in two places, and dangling from the ring were four delicate pendants.  One was a long rectangle with a raised lion.  It looked like a coat of arms, and tiny diamonds surrounded it and stars etched in gold.  The second a wolf head with obsidian stones for eyes.  There was a shape she didn’t recognize, almost like a flower with four corners punctuated with little diamonds.  And finally, a small sphere with two constellations glowing in the center.

Bellatrix smiled and gently held the charms one by one to explain them to Hermione.  “The lion is for me and you, it goes with our names.”  She held up the wolf.  “This is for your father.  His name means Famous Wolf.”  

Hermione giggled when her father grumbled, “A wolf of great fame.”

And then she held up the sphere with the constellations.  “These are the constellations you and I are named after.”  And finally, she held up the symbol she didn’t recognize.  “And this is an African Adinkra symbol for protection and security.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, her voice wet and trembling.  “It’s beautiful. I’ll never take it off.”  And she wouldn’t.  She knew that symbols of belonging to a pureblood family had protections for underage children, and she knew that the Black and Lestrange families wouldn’t settle for anything other than precious metals and stone, so her gold necklace would never tarnish.  And what’s more, her parents had lovingly picked these charms out for her, had neatly packaged her identity in this necklace to ground her in where she belonged.  She’d treasure it for always.

Her mom looked down and sniffed, fingering a jewelry box.  She opened it to show Hermione a beautiful locket that looked to be made of obsidian on a blackened gold chain. In the center was an etched ‘A’ in fancy script.  Her voice broke but she forced the words out as she handed it to Hermione.  “Please give this to Heir Longbottom.  It returned to my vault when Alice could no longer keep it safe.  His mother was my best friend.  I’d empty my core to save her and Frank if that was what it took.”  She held back a sob and said, voice cracking, “Tell him to just put it on and it’ll open for him.  Tell him I hope this will help him wait for them to get better.”

“Now that they have Shacklebolt and Moody, it’s only a matter of time and patience,” Rodolophus murmured into Bellatrix’s hair, before kissing his wife’s temple.

Hermione nodded, throat thick with more emotions and tears than her fifteen-year-old body knew what to do with.  As they turned to leave, she remembered something.  She called out, “Wait! Mum! Dad!”  She ran to them holding onto them, searching their faces.  “What’s my real name?” When he’d seen that her test had left the spot for her name blank and had only listed her House affiliations and her parents’ names, Lucius had laughed, saying her mother had been overprotective from the jump.  She’d placed a protective ward on Hermione, only broken by familial blood, that protected her from being found and named. 

Her parents startled expressions melted into joy at being called mum and dad and then softened into a smile filled with memories.  “Your name is Aurora Mura Black Lestrange,” her mother said, voice fond.

Her father smiled.  “Our people called the Milky Way, when it could be seen on the horizon, Night’s Backbone.  So we named you after the horizon.  And to keep with Black tradition, Mura means ‘The Eyes,’ part of a constellation of two female lions.”

Bellatrix laughed, a soft twinkling sound. “I heard we hit the nail on the head.”  

She laughed, almost insanely.  She was not Hermione Granger.  She was Aurora Mura Black Lestrange.  Her name was Aurora.  Her heritage and her family traditions were housed in her name and the basics of her identity hung near her heart.  Aurora warmed from her head to her toes with contentment.   

To answer her parents, though, she shrugged her shoulders, looking up at them.  “All children found with blocks will be resorted.  I have a feeling I’ll be joining the snake pit.”

Her parents grinned at that, but her dad ruffled her hair.  “Any house is a good house.”

Bellatrix laughed. “We’ll love you no matter what.  But if you get into Slytherin, I’ll tell you how to get to this secret study where me and my sisters used to escape to.”

Aurora’s heart clenched. More family history, more of learning who she is and where she came from.  She couldn’t wait. With one more hug, her parents left for the in-patient healing center, and she was left alone with Lucius.  She grabbed her Uncle’s hand and he helped her into the fireplace.

She threw her head back and laughed as the green flames engulfed her, the Black madness and joy ringing out in her giggles.  She was related to Draco Fucking Malfoy.

-

Not even the house elves or his animals had been able to keep Harry calm.  Not even Draco. His magic had been lashing out all day, carrying with it the fury of nature and the power of life and death.  It’d taken Draco awhile to figure out why Harry could heal when he was the Master of Death.  He’d learned of Harry’s ominous title after they’d discovered Hadrian could heal in such a unique way, a way that frightened him.  That fear was why his father and Tom had been teaching him how, in times of crisis, he could connect with Hadrian through their Bond and give him either some magic or life force.  They only practiced for twenty minutes at a time, it was incredibly intense, hard magic that drained his energy quickly.  But none of them had wanted Hadrian to know about it, so after the lesson, he took a nap, had some tea and a snack and met with Hadrian after he recovered enough.  But over the summer, he’d come to the realization that Harry respected all life just like he respected death, and he’d slowly started putting pieces together.  Harry respected life as much as he respected death.  He appreciated that without one, the other loses its meaning, its necessity.  Harry has power over both because honestly they are one and the same. And he was the right person to give that power to because his sense of right and wrong and kindness were absolute.

That made this display all the more terrifying.

The wrongs he’d learned of today were extensive and deep.  And the victims were his friends.

Harry had read Hermione’s, Fred’s, George’s, and Neville’s preliminary tests, and upon reading them, he’d demanded to be sent a copy as soon as the Goblins tested them.  He held the stack of paper in his hands now, his face darkening in a way that would strike fear in the heart of even the bravest person.

“That rat bastard,” he muttered, as he continued scanning the parchment papers.  “I take it back,” Harry said quietly, looking up and meeting Tom’s eyes.  

Tom sucked in a breath but asked calmly, “About what Hadrian.”

“About Dumbles being a rat bastard.  It’s an insult to fucking rats,” he hissed.  “I want him to pay. I want them avenged.”  Tears gathered in his now glowing white eyes.  “I want them to be okay.”

Draco rushed forward, knowing they’d finally come to the crux of Harry’s fury.  His friends were hurt, hurting even right now and he wasn’t with them.  He caught his darling in his arms, and Harry continued to cry into his shoulder.  

“They’ll be here soon, my darling,” he whispered, kissing his temple and hugging him to his side.  “Our family will be here soon.”

Hadrian’s anger still burned furiously, his magic rising to the occasion and demanding to be let out.   But he held it, promising himself and his magic that they would right these wrongs and they would get revenge.  With that promise, his magic calmed and he was able to finally think clearly.

He looked up into his love’s eyes, some strange light he couldn’t place, not even when he glanced around the room, causing them to glow in the way he loved.  He caressed Draco’s face and looked around the room at his family.  Narcissa was already fixing a mixture of potion and Mipsy’s calming tea.  Sirius and Regulus looked like they wanted to run to him and snatch him away.  Tom looked at him in an assessing manner but his eyes were blood red, and Snape smiled encouragingly at him.  His family.  And his family had just grown.  He had cousins.

He looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye and whispered, “We’re not really cousins, right?”

Draco threw back his head and laughed.  “In blood maybe.  But if it bothers you just remember we don’t share that much blood.”

Harry laughed along with everyone else relieved.  “Sorry about my outburst, everyone.  When does the rest of our family get here?”

Draco laughed.  “Father said they’ll be here for dinner.  Let’s go get ready.”

Harry let Draco lead him to Draco’s room.  They asked Dobby to get a set of Harry’s clothes, and if they spent most of their time in Draco’s bed, entwined each other’s embrace and making out, getting more handsy than usual no one needed to know.

In Draco’s defense, Harry’s power was the biggest turn on for him.

Chapter Text

Neville stared at the locket in his hands, a gold locket with an ornate A etched into the obsidian.  An ‘A’ that stood for Alice.  His mother.  It was nestled on a cushion of black silk, snug against the black velvet box.

Hermione– no Aurora–, when they’d found a quiet moment together amidst the boisterous welcome Sirius and Harry had given them, had told him that her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, had been his mom’s best friend.  And that the locket had gone to Bellatrix when his mother couldn’t protect it anymore.  

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Of all people, she was his mother’s best friend.

Aurora had told him that Bellatrix had said to put it on.  Neville had accepted the gift, but hadn’t put it on.  Something in his chest constricted just thinking about doing that.  He trusted her; of course, he did.  Name change or not; Aurora was his friend.  She wouldn’t ask him to do anything that could harm him.

He knew that.

So why was he hesitating so hard that he couldn’t even bring himself to touch the locket?

Neville was so lost in thought, he didn’t even notice Harry taking a seat next to him.

Hadrian had never had cousins before, except Dudley which he resolutely didn’t count.  More specifically, he had never had cousins he’d liked.  And all at once, he’d gotten Aurora, Fred, and George.  And nothing could ever make Neville anything less than his dear friend.  Maybe even his best friend once they proceeded to live their lives free of blocks and compulsions.

Fred and George had been quiet and moody, which Hadrian had understood and given them space.  He’d happily shown them to their suite– a space with two separate bedrooms, two separate studies and a single experiment room, as well as a common area– and left them to their ruminations, but not before Fred and George had each pulled him into a tight hugged and told him to thank Sirius for his kindness.  

Fred, the more sensitive of the two, had whispered to Harry, “I’m so glad you’re our family.”

He’d show Aurora her room later, and he couldn’t wait.  He’d asked the manor to give her the most spectacular library and study it could muster, even suggesting some of the books in his room he knew she’d like.  He was determined to make his cousins feel welcome.

And though Neville wasn’t his cousin, he was his dear friend.  He’d always been himself.  Awkward, brave, intelligent, strong Neville.  He hoped their friendship could deepen and grow in this life, quicker than it had in his previous one.

After leaving Fred and George to wrap their heads around their circumstances and how quickly their lives and identities had changed, Harry had left with a soft goodbye and a promise to reintroduce them to Draco in the morning; Harry knew better than anyone what they and Aurora were going through.  It was obvious; they’d all had to come to terms with new personalities– personalities unknown and unrealized even to themselves– and new circumstances, new homes and new families.  

Looking at Neville, though, it was perhaps maybe less obvious how much he understood where Neville was at and what he was dealing with.

Harry, in his previous life and through all of the changes of his current one, had dreamed of meeting and knowing his parents.  And with that dream came the doubt and uncertainty about whether or not he and his parents would have liked each other.  There was nothing in any memory anybody had ever shared with Harry that would indicate they would be anything other than proud to call him his son.  But the hypothetical of it all left much room for doubt.

Neville also must have harbored such dreams that bore the same doubts and fears.  Harry had always thought Neville had the worst circumstances to come of that fateful Samhain night.  To have his parents physically in front of him but unreachable was a pain Harry could only try to imagine. 

And now, Neville held in his hands the first tangible proof his parents loved him, that his parents had kin and friends who would tell him of their true nature.  And Neville was registering this as a newly freed teenager, coming to terms with an unburdened personality and identity.

It was a lot. 

The welcome party, still taking place though it was well past midnight, was bustling with energy and laughter and love. The Prewett Twins even coming out of their rooms to rejoin the festivities after taking a bit of time for themselves. But amidst the chaos, Neville’s absence had been felt, so Harry had sought out his friend who he knew would be weighed down with troubles he shouldn’t deal with alone, and Harry was determined to make sure he didn’t.

Following the sound of Neville's subdued sobs, Harry found him nestled in a secluded alcove, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his grief. Without a word, Harry settled beside him, offering silent companionship as Neville's tears flowed unchecked. Neville looked up, his tear-streaked gaze meeting Harry's with a mixture of sorrow and relief.

"Harry," Neville's voice cracked with emotion, the sound carrying the weight of a lifetime of longing.

"Hey, Neville," Harry's response was gentle.

He opened his arms, an invitation, and waited to see if Neville would take it.  A pained sound caught in Neville's throat as he sagged against Harry, his body trembling with his barely withheld grief.

Wordlessly, they sat together, the weight of Neville's sorrow hanging heavy in the air. "Why do I feel such sadness when the possibility of reuniting with my parents is within reach?" Neville wondered aloud, his voice tinged with pain and uncertainty. Even as hard as his yearly trips to St. Mungoes with his grandmother had been; he’d never felt this depth of grief, he’d never shed a single tear.  Why now when they were days from truly– for absolute sure– being healed was he suddenly paralyzed with sadness and uncertainty?

Harry listened attentively, his heart aching for Neville's pain. "It's okay to feel conflicted, Neville," he reassured him, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Your emotions are valid, and it's important to acknowledge and process them."

Neville heard the words.  He did.  But bubbling beneath the depth– and make no mistake it was deep– of his grief was anger.  Pure, unadulterated, coated in Dark Magic– ANGER.

Sensing the shift in Neville’s demeanor, Harry quickly called Dobby and had the elf apparate them to the Dueling Room.

There, Neville let loose his anger, the hatred he’d been storing up in his heart and soul, believing letting his anger guide him was wrong or evil or Dark, finally free .

His magic flooded out of him in a fury of black smoke and white lightning, raging around the room.  It was beautiful.  It was terrifying.

It was beautifully terrifying.

Neville loved his parents so much.

But more than that, he was protective of them.  He wanted them to heal as much as he wanted them to be his parents in truth, to love and care for him.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered.  “Your love for them is beautiful.”

Neville choked on a sob, sagging against Harry.  “I’ve never had to worry about what my parents thought of me, Harry.  I’ve never had to think about if they’d…”  He trailed off, unsure of what to say to his friend who had no hope in Magic to meet his parents on this plane.  In this life.  He suddenly felt silly and selfish.

Harry’s eyes flashed with a white hot light.  “Don’t invalidate your feelings, Neville.  Whatever you feel is right.  Even if there was a user manual for Life, I doubt your situation would be covered.”  He smiled, encouraged by Neville’s soft laughter.  “What you just unleashed on this room was rooted in love and hope and magic, Neville.  Your love for your parents did that.  I have no doubt they love you just as fiercely.”

“What if I’m not what they wanted, Harry,” Neville whispered.  “They didn’t raise me.”

“So what?” Harry asked, gently brushing Neville’s tears away.  “You are their blood. If they are even a tenth of the people I expect them to be, you being their son is enough.”

“How do you know that?” Neville asked glumly.

Harry laughed, the brightness ringing out and echoing in the room.  “Because you are their son and not once have you asked if they’d live up to who you want them to be.”

“I just want them,” Neville replied instantly.

“Exactly, Neville,” Harry said softly.  “You’ll have them, and they’ll have you.  You love them, and they love you.  It’s the best foundation to build the relationship you all want.”

Neville stayed there in the Malfoy’s dueling room, his body leaning against Harry’s small frame.  They may not be blood family, but Harry was his chosen family, his best friend.  He soaked in the comfort Harry’s presence gave him and with a shuddering breath after a few minutes of silence, he asked.  “Will you stay with me, while I put it on?”

Harry bumped his shoulder against Neville’s, hard to do considering how close they were already, but Harry managed.  “I’d be honored," he said.

Harry held Neville’s hand as he slipped the Obsidian locket around his neck, and they both heard Alice Longbottom’s happy voice sing a jingle she’d made for her baby boy.

You’re so brave.  You’re unafraid. You’re not alone. Mummy is here. Daddy is here. You’re so brave.  My Neville Boy.

Neville’s body wracked with sobs as she continued to sing the jingle and his father joined in.  The jingle faded into Alice reading him the Tale of the Three Brothers and then into Frank reading him the muggle fairytale of Cinderella.

Neville sat with his head on Harry’s shoulder, his hands holding onto Harry’s for dear life, and listening to the evidence of his parents’ love and excitement to watch their son grow and learn and love.

With a shuddering breath, he listened to his parents sing their ridiculous wonderful jingle again.  He was brave.  He wasn’t unafraid, but he was brave.  And he had the strength of his grandmother, his family, and his chosen family the Black cousins, and Harry Freaking Potter. 

He let the tears flow, he let his heart ache, and he let himself look forward to meeting his parents in truth.

“Will you go with me?” Neville whispered, after listening to his parents sing their silly little love-filled jingle again for the tenth time.  “When they’re healed?”

“I’d be honored,” Harry repeated.  “I can’t wait to meet them.”

Neville choked on a sob as he said, “Me neither.” 

Chapter Text

Harry’s eyes narrowed.  

Tom was nervous.  

It was such a ridiculous thought, Harry was almost inclined to believe it was all in his head.  But, no.  Harry had lived with Tom for three months, and though that wasn’t an exorbitant amount of time, just a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things and in what he hoped would be a long life with this family, Harry knew Tom.  Maybe it was because a piece of Tom’s soul had always lived with him, or maybe it was because they were two sides of the same coin.  As ridiculous as it might seem on face value.  It was true.  They wanted the same things, valued the same things.  It’s just they went about getting those things and keeping them very differently.

So yes, Harry knew his guardian. And Tom Gideon Gaunt was nervous.  

But for what?  

All of the hard stuff was over.  At least in Harry’s view.  Sure, Dumbles was still a problem and they needed to put their plans of ruining his reputation and stripping him of his powers into action. But Harry was confident in his plans, secure in his power and ability to enact the carefully meticulous plan he and his family had come up with.

But his health was so improved, Healer Sharpclaw had reduced the number of potions he needed by almost half.  And the reintroduction of the Malfoys and Aurora went about as well as they could have hoped, even with Aurora greeting Draco with a stinging hex.  Harry bit back a smile, reminiscing about that day.

The Malfoys had graciously vacated their own home to go to France for a week to let Tom and Harry ease Aurora and the Prewett Twins into their new lives.  Over that week, he’d cried and laughed and screamed and plotted with his cousins.  Harry knew intimately what they were going through; maybe not specifically, but close enough he could easily empathize and give advice when it was necessary and asked for.

One night in particular stuck out.  He’d gotten back from sneaking into the North Wing on the fourth floor to meet up with Draco.  There was a suite that hardly anybody used there, and conveniently it had a fireplace connected to the floo.  He was at the point in his addiction to Draco’s touch and kisses, he couldn’t go longer than a day or so without them.  So after they’d fin–

Harry quickly threw up his Occlumency shield and shoved his embarrassment and arousal behind it before he could blush.  Thank Salazar he was getting better at hiding his emotions. He snuck a look at his guardians through the messy waves of the hair that fell over his forehead. Thankfully they were both too caught up in their own nervousness to have noticed the ripple of emotion that just went through Harry.  Harry smirked to himself, keeping his head bowed.  He went back to the memory. 

After he and Draco had said goodbye, Harry had come back into the family room that connected his, Aurora’s, the Prewett Twins’ and Tom and Sev’s rooms, Fred and George had been up. A blush had quickly spread from his head to his toes, and he waited with baited breath for Fred and George to take the mickey out of him.

But all that greeted him were small smirks and silence.

“Seen Draco, young Harry?” George asked. 

Harry shrugged, a sheepish smile blooming on his lips. “Yeah.”

“We’re happy you’re happy,” George said softly.

“Though I’m not opposed to slugging a Malfoy if he hurts you,” Fred said, grimly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed.  They’d been quieter, something he thought they’d need time to overcome.  They were dealing with a lot after all.  And yes, one week was not nearly enough time to adequately heal.  But he thought maybe shadows of their former selves would peak out now and again.  But for four straight days, nothing. They were quiet, polite, contemplative, and…that’s it really.  Like they were existing only because they had to.  

“Are you two okay?” Harry asked softly, walking over to sit on the coffee table so he could be between them, facing them.  He grabbed their hands. “I mean of course you’re not okay, but…I’m worried about you.”

He watched as they communicated silently, through a lift of the brow, a twitch of the lips, a squeeze on each other’s shoulder. And then Fred produced their tests.  Aurora and even Neville had been very forthcoming, handing theirs over easily.  Fred and George had guarded theirs like the results had been etched on a massive diamond.

Harry looked down and his heart jumped to his throat.

“Oh, Fred, George,” Harry whispered.  “How could she?”

Intelligence Block: 85%
Personality Block: 100%
Magical Core Block: 85%
Metamorphmagi Block: 100%
Soul Bond Block: 100%
Compulsion for pranks & silliness
Compulsion for twins to finish each other’s sentences
Compulsion for loyalty to the Weasley Family
Compulsion to hate Slytherins
Compulsion to hate Dark Magic
Compulsion to hate the Black Family
Compulsion to underachieve
Compulsion to not do homework
Compulsion to disobey Molly Weasley
Compulsion to feel and bee the family’s Black Sheep
Compulsion for twinness to be main identifier

Everything about them.  Everything they were; Everything Harry had utterly loved about them: it was all compulsions?  And she'd had the fucking audacity to treat them like the Black Sheeps of the family, to berate them for their lack of academic ambition and their pranks when she'd literally compelled them to be that way? No wonder they were silent.  They had no idea who they were anymore!  That fucking woman. She would pay, Harry vowed.  And not just in galleons.  He would have her pride and her head.  She would beg for the mercy of death by the time he was through with her and even then– if he had to build an in-between realm himself– she would not get it.

To Fred and George though, he said, “If your intelligence and magical core were blocked by 85%, I am absolutely terrified of what you’re capable of.”

George gave him a weak smile, and Fred looked grim.

“I can’t even imagine how devastating this is to you, if I am reeling.  I wish I could make it better for you,” Harry said, a tear sliding down his cheek.  “I’d take all of your pain in a heartbeat if I could.”

Fred and George pulled him to the couch so he was sitting between them.  “We would never ask that of you, Cousin.  We are so grateful to have you and Aurora and Tom and Neville,” Fred said. 

“Hell, even Severus has been a godsend,” said George. “It’s just…”

They both whispered in unison. “Who even are we?”

“Whoever you want to be,” Harry said fiercely.  “You get to be whoever and whatever you want to be.”

Their grip on him tightened.   Their grief and gratitude too big for words. They sat there, in silence, mourning, thinking, plotting.  Until the clock struck 3 am.

The clock’s chimes startled them all out of their stupor and they began to stir.

“When you’re ready,” Harry said, getting to his feet.  He held out a hand and helped the twins up. “Me and mine, we will help you get whatever justice you want.  If I have to negotiate with Death himself.  I will.”

George grinned. “You’re picking up on Tom’s dramatics.”

Fred ruffled his hair. “It suits you.”

Harry had laughed, all the way to his room.  He was picking up some of Tom’s traits.  And he loved it.

The meeting with the Malfoys a few days later had had Harry pacing Draco’s room.

"My darling," Draco drawled from his bed. "It'll be okay."

Harry scowled at him. "We're bonded and were able to move past our antagonistic past quickly.  Which I am very grateful for.  But there is a chance my new cousins and my Bonded might hate each other!"

Draco just smiled, the asshole. "Don't worry, love. I have contingency plans for every possible outcome.  Even Aurora blowing up the manor."

That did not make Harry feel better.  Scowling at his love, he continued to pace, at least until Mipsy popped in and said primly, “Master Draco’s Harry be making a draft with that pacing. Drink this.”

Harry took it and downed it. “What is it?” he asked afterwards.

Mipsy’s pointed look softened. “It be a calming draught. I be taking young masters to breakfast.”

The calming draught only helped marginally.  He knew Fred and George would get along with Draco like a house on fire. And not only because Draco had always been outspoken in his hate for the Weasley family, and now Fred and George were sympathizers to the cause.  They had the same mischievous streak, Draco had just always been more sly about it.  It might be good for Fred and George to see all the different slants you could put on mischiefery and fun.  From the stories about him that Sev and Tom had been sharing over the last week with all of them, Harry knew that at their heart they were like their father: joyous pranksters with hearts of gold and spines of steel.  Draco could show them a different way to be who they had fought to be under Molly’s reign so that it was entirely their own identity.  The real wild card was Aurora.

Aurora walked in with Tom and Severus and sent a wordless, wandless, strong stinging hex to Draco.

“What the hell was that for?” Draco asked, scowling at the girl.

Aurora took her seat, the picture of aristocratic grace.  Her hair was still a wild mess of curls, but there was a method to the madness now, and her curls hung to the middle of her back with white, yellow, and pink wildflowers adorning her locks.  Her rich brown skin was complemented with her crisp white day robes and yellow sun dress underneath.  She looked like a sun goddess.  Bright.  Beautiful.  Stunning.

Severus looked surprised at her actions, Tom was trying to hide a smirk.  He liked Aurora’s spirit.  

“That,” Aurora said primly, “is for the last four years.”

Draco’s scowl deepened. “What the fuck does that mean? I’m not the one who was under compulsions and blocks.”

“Exactly,” Aurora hissed. “So what’s your excuse for being so awful to me, Harry, and Neville?” She left out the Weasley family.  She also hated them, now.

“What the fuck?” Draco asked. Confusion bloomed in his Black storm gray eyes.  “All I ever did was try to explain shit to you.  I was the last standing pureblood in the entire fucking school who even tried talking sense into you lot. Everyone else gave up year one.”

Aurora  sent another stinging hex. “You called me a mudblood,” she spat.  “It doesn’t make it better suddenly now that I’m a pureblood and what you consider acceptable.”

Harry stayed quiet. He’d forgotten about that incident.  And now that he remembered, he did want to hear Draco’s side. That prejudice had hurt him, too. But his Bonded as he knew him would never say something so hurtful and hateful.  Harry was so confused.  He grabbed Draco's hand under the table, seeking comfort.

But then Narcissa, voice tinted with confusion asked, “Do you mean mugblood, dear?”

Aurora shook her head. “No, Lady Malfoy.  Mudblood.  The slur for muggleborns.”

“Slur for muggleborns?” Draco asked. “Aurora, I swear on my magic, I never called you a mudblood.  Mostly because that term is not in the magical lexicon.”

Aurora looked horrified. “Those compulsions could twist how I experienced reality? I swear on my magic, I heard ‘mudblood’ that day Ron’s wand backfired and he threw up slugs.  Y’know that day the Slytherins were flaunting their Nimbus 2001 brooms? Back in second year?” 

Draco’s face was a cacophony of emotions.  Anger at Aurora’s accusations.  Sympathy as they realize what is happening.  Back to anger when he realizes the implications of what Aurora is saying.

“Cousin, I, Draconis Lucius Malfoy, Heir to the most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, apologize for any misunderstanding up to your cleansing.  And I swear on my magic, I have never called you or any other muggleborn a derogatory term. They exist I assure you, but it is not what you said, nor have I ever used them.”  He smirked. “I was raised better.”

Aurora burst into tears and ran from her chair.  Harry thought she might be running away, which was so unlike Hermione, but then she ran around the table and pulled Draco into a hug.  “I’m so sorry for the stinging hexes, cousin.  What…how can I not trust my own memories?”

Draco handed her a handkerchief and gently guided her back to her seat.  “Nothing to forgive, Cousin.  How about I tell you my perspective? And then we can go from there?”

At her nod, Draco began to tell them what happened as everyone served themselves.  He laid his hand on Harry's thing and gently squeezed and even fixed Harry's first serving beofre he served himself, letting Harry know he was fully aware that this would be news to him, too. 

In their second year as part of his Board Gift,  Lucius had bought new brooms for all Hogwarts Quidditch teams and donated them. He’d even bought new brooms for students to learn on since the old brooms were so old they were actually dangerous.  In their first year, Draco had written to Lucius about the horrible quality of the brooms he and his classmates had been given for their flying lessons.  Draco was fine because he’d been on brooms before, but for muggleborns? Their first time on a Comet 360, from the freaking 1970’s? 

Most students couldn’t afford a broom since they cost the equivalent of a new car.  Which meant most students, quidditch team or not, used school brooms. As a safety measure, Lucius bought the brooms, but McGonnigal refused to accept them for Gryffindor. Which was extremely tabboo in their culture. Lucius and Narcissa were still upset by it.

“Yknow,” Draco said, taking a bit of his toast. “Four Board Members usually go in together every year to supply the kitchens with supplemental food since the ministry's budget is never enough.”

Aurora was utterly fascinated. “I always wondered how they could provide that much food on a daily basis.”

Draco nodded. “Oh yes, the ministry only provides about 60% of the food budget.”  He looks down then back up at Aurora. “Y’know, it’s very taboo in our culture to refuse a gift.  Pureblood Culture is Magical Culture.  Pureblood has nothing to do with pureness of blood.  The name comes from the first question of most British rituals. ‘Are you pure of mind, body, and spirit?’ In this case, purity just means some meditation and incense. Magical culture was your culture, even when you were a muggleborn.  So for you to twist my father’s gift into me buying my place on the team after a professor refused it? Yeah, I was hurt and I was a little prick about it.  But all my twelve-year-old mind could come up with is adding filthy and little to a term that means muggleborn.  Mugblood.”

Aurora nodded. “That would have made me angry, too.”

Draco offered her a smile before saying, “You and Harry and Fred and George and Neville were always so weirdly antagonistic.  I never understood it.  Like I could say something that was just fact-based, and somehow you’d all twist it into some sort of war or prejudice.”  He smiled wryly.  “I get it now.  But that much confusion in 11-year-olds bred a lot of antagonism.  By third year, I don’t think the compulsions were necessary since you’d all alienated the entire school.”

Aurora looked devastated. “Cousin,” Draco said sharply. “Do not cry for others’ mistakes.  You are better than that.”

Aurora looked startled as she wiped a tear she’d apparently not known she’d shed from her cheek.  “You,” Draco continued, “are an Heiress to the most Noble and Ancient House of Lestrange and a Child of House Black. Everyone, ” he hissed, “will give you a chance to be exactly as you are, or they will make an enemy of House Malfoy, House Black, and House Lestrange.”

“And House Prewett,” Fred and George said. 

“And House Potter,” Harry said grimly, grabbing Draco's hand under the table and bringing it up to his face, brushing his lips against Draco's knuckles, hoping he could pour all of his gratitude and love and understanding into that one gesture. 

Aurora gave Draco a watery smile.  Draco, though, the pompous bastard, just smirked. “I had a feeling we’d hash something out. So I brought some peace offerings.” He waved his wand and some books materialized in a neat pile next to Aurora’s plate. “Half of those are on the conversation the magical community has been having about labels for the last six decades.” Draco elaborates, “MugBlood was popularized in the 60's because Muggleborns wanted to have a name that more aligned with Pureblood and Halfblood.  In the 70's backlash happened for all of the labels and asked why they needed to classify by blood type and questioned the validity of typing that way anyway since no matter who married who, there was nothing detectable about magic or blood or anything that any known ritual or test could pick up. In the 80's it was complicated by learning that squibs are actually wizards with weak magical cores, meaning they could partake in group rituals (if the old ways were observed) and group magic. So what language do we use?”

Draco had even thrown in some books about the importance of language and how language shapes reality, two of them were even muggle books, adding that Aurora always talked like he didn't know anything about the muggle world even when he corrected her, and how every Magical family taught their children about the muggle world; they couldn't very well keep the Statute of Secrecy if they went around in Kings Cross Station yelling about Pigmy Puffs and Dragon Hide Gloves,

At this, Aurora had burst into tears again, dragging Draco into a hug, “I swear I only ever heard you and your friends say how dirty my blood was and how muggles were below wizards and muggle borns were barely better.  I’m so sorry I was so foul.”

In unison, like it was a fucking BBC comedy, Draco and Harry and even Fred and George said in unison, “Do not apologize for something that is not your fault.”

Harry finished the last bite, bringing his attention back to the weirdly awkward dinner he was enduring.  What the fuck was going on? They’d come too far for such prolonged, awkward silences.  He refrained from rolling his eyes as Severus, in what he thought was a sneaky manner, slid his hand around Tom’s waist and squeezed, the faraway look in his eyes giving away he was using legilimency to communicate, probably giving Tom some reassurance.  Harry kept his laugh to himself; these two were so not subtle around each other. No amount of occlumency or Slytherin cunning could ever dull the love Tom and Severus had for each other. As happy as he was for them, he’d never be able to take the sheer tooth rotting fluff he was subjected to when around these two gracefully.

He cut himself a piece of lemon cake as he let himself relive another favorite memory.  His first ever birthday party.

Draco had been beside himself with worry for days. He’d actually hid it well, but Hermione, Fred, and George had all spilled. 

“He’s so gone for you mate,” George had said conspiratorially.

“Yeah, that infamous Malfoy Pride has left the building,” Aurora said wryly, but her eyes were lit with love and joy.

The party was everything he’d ever dreamed of.  Tom, Severus, Narcissa, and Lucius had all been there.  As had the family members closer to his age: Aurora, Fred, George, and Draco.  His friends, too, had come: Neville, Cedric, Luna, Blaise, Pansy, Theo, and Daphne.

With Harry’s blessing, Aurora had greeted the Slytherin guests with a traditional Pureblood apology.

She floated into the room in her chartreuse robes beautifully contrasting her rich dark brown skin and put a hand over her heart. “I Aurora Mura Black Lestrange, Heiress to the most Noble and Ancient House of Lestrange and a Child of House Black, formally apologize to Heirs Zabini, Parkinson, Knott, and Greengrass for my behavior unbecoming to a magical Heir.”

Fred and George also put their hands over their hearts and said in unison, “We, Heirs to the most Noble and Ancient House of Prewett and Children of House Black, formally apologize to Heirs Zabini, Parkinson, Knott, and Greengrass for our behavior unbecoming to a magical Heir.”

To their credit, they all accepted their apologizes with ease and grace.

Blaise, ever the blunt one as Harry had learned over the summer, said, “Y’know, Heir Lestrange and Heirs Prewett, you all had a reputation for being a little batty and belligerent but now that it’ll be obvious who was under blocks and compulsions what with your sorting, I can almost guarantee you, everyone at Hogwarts would understand.”

“And if they don’t?” Fred asked.

“We have ways of strongly persuading people,” Theo deadpanned.

Pansy rolled her eyes, elbowing both Blaise and Theo who were on either side of her. “Water under the bridge,” she said encouragingly to Aurora and the Prewett Twins, though she made a beeline for Aurora.  Eyes sparkling, she linked her arm with Auroa and beckoned Luna to follow her. Wanting to make sure she was alright, Harry hovered around close to where Pansy led Aurora and Luna, pretending to converse with Fred and George who followed suit.  Draco’s eyes gleamed as he smirked into his punch, shaking his head at his Bonded in fond amusement.

Harry grins into his punch and gives a little shrug as if to say, I am who I am.

When he tuned back into the girls, Pansy was suggesting books to help with Pureblood culture. Aurora told her Draco gave her some but Pansy shook her head, “I’m sure they’re great, but I know the best ones for women. Draco is a gem, but the woman’s experience is her own. Trust me, Heir Lestrange.”  

Aurora inclined her head in thanks and said, "Please, call me Aurora."

Pansy grinned, "Only if you call me Pansy."

Luna nodded thoughtfully, eyes glued on Pansy.  She said, voice dreamy and far away, “Oh, yes. The Nargles agree. You should read her suggestions, Aurora. They will help in the future. Despite the Wrackspurts trying to confuse you.  The Nargles rather like you, Pansy.”  

Harry had to fight to keep his jaw from the floor. Pansy showed a startling understanding to Luna. 

Pansy's smile widened. “Oh, really, Luna? Do tell them thank you. Y’know I’ve never seen a Wrackspurt but my Great Aunt Willow always said to sleep with a sachet of Witch Hazel under your pillow to keep the Wrackspurts away.”

Luna nodded solemnly. “Yes! I also have a good night cream that helps keep them away and keeps them from burrowing under you skin. I can give you some?”

Pansy nods enthusiastically, taking both of Luna’s hands in hers, holding them to her chest. “That would be divine, Luna.  And if you have any tricks with Nargles I’d be indebted to you.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I think they’re evading my baby brother.”

That odd interaction was the cherry on top of the best birthday party orchestrated by the best Bondmate Harry could ask for.  The presents were thoughtful, personal, and fun. Mipsy had outdone herself on the cake, a five tier chocolate cake with a chocolate treacle tart between the layers and whipped cream frosting.

Harry blew out fifteen real candles and was at a loss what to wish for.  Because his happiness had come to pass.  His dreams, to fruition.

I wish….I wish for lasting happiness and peace, he thought before blowing out his candles.

It had been wonderful. Everything he’d ever hoped a real birthday celebration especially for him could be.

Harry was startled out of his trip down memory lane by Tom’s insistent voice, “Harry?”

Harry jerked in surprise. “Sorry, lost in thought,” he said sheepishly. “What happened?”

Tom smiled, “Nothing happened, I just asked how you’re feeling with your return to Hogwarts only five days away.”

“Oh,” Harry said, wiping his mouth with his napkin before placing it back on his lap. “I mean…nervous, I guess? I don’t know what to do about Dumbledore.”

“You won’t be alone,” Severus interjected. “He won’t be able to do anything without me knowing.”

Harry smiled at his godfather. “I know. But I’m also…sad?” A short, incredulous laugh burst out of Harry. “I’ve never had to leave anything worth missing behind. I’ve never not wanted to leave.”

“Oh, Harry,” Tom breathed.  And in a matter of seconds, they were all on the couch in Severus and Tom’s shared bedroom.  Harry was between them, half in Tom’s lap.  Good thing, they were all done eating.

“You can always come home,” Tom said, voice wrought with emotion. “Lucius and Narcissa would never ever allow you to want for a place to stay.” Neither would I was left unsaid but wholly understood.

Severus leaned in to kiss Harry’s temple. “And by Yule, the Prince-Gaunt Manor we’ve been working on will be done.”

Harry perked up. “Prince-Gaunt? Paunt? No. Gaunce? No. Grince? Oh. My. God. GRINCH MANOR.  Can we please call it Grinch Manor.”

Tom looked confused.  Severus scowled.  “We will not name our new home after a Yule-hating monster, Hadrian.”

Harry just grinned. “But he hated Christmas, Sev! And we don’t celebrate Christmas! It’s perfect!”

Tom cleared his throat, “Jury’s still out on the name.  The point is, you always have a place to return to.  Even if you want to come back for a few hours, we can arrange it.”

“All you need to do is tell us,” Sev said, smoothing Harry’s hair down.

Harry sighed, reveling in the comforting touch of family.  He loved them.  How could he ever leave them?

Tom cleared his throat. “I have a gift for you.” 

The nerves again, Harry thought.  A slight-barely-there tremble to his voice. A very slowed down darting of his eyes, so slowed it almost looked intentional. A brief bite to his lower lip.

“I love presents,” Harry said happily. “Yours always show you know me.”

Tom’s gaze softened. “I heard you telling Draco the other day, you didn’t know what to pack.”  Harry blushed. His old trunk had outgrown his lifestyle.  He’d never had enough worldly possessions to have to choose what to bring. It was an embarrassment of riches.  An embarrassment Harry reveled in.

“So,” Tom said. He waved his hand and a sleek black trunk with a silver H.P.G appeared on the table. Tom’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment. “I, uh, know it’s not your official name, but y’know you’re my heir. So.  Harry Potter..”

“Gaunt?” Harry asked, tears already in his voice and eyes. At Tom’s nod, he launched himself at his guardian.  “I love it.”

Tom laughed. “You haven’t even opened it.”

“I don’t need to,” Harry sniffed. “You gave it to me. And our names are on it.”

“Your name,” Tom said gently. “When it’s safe to claim it.”

Tom showed Harry through the utter embarrassment of riches his new trunk provided.  It had a fully furnished two bedroom apartment, y’know just in case, Tom had said. It had a potions lab.  A duelling room. Three libraries. And ten fully customizable compartments. 

“I just didn’t want you to have to choose what to bring,” Tom said softly. “I wanted you to feel at home, have pieces of home, wherever you are.”

“Tom, you’re spoiling him,” Sev said, smirking.  He waved a hand and two glasses of firewhisky appeared in his and Tom's hand.

Instead of taking offense, Tom just scoffed. “And what, my love, have you brought to gift to Hadrian?”

Hadrian was fascinated.  Sev’s face went from pale ivory to flushed red in an instant. He shyly brought out a box, neatly wrapped in silver wrapping paper with a dark green ribbon.

“It’s to help you keep in contact with us,” Sev said softly.

Harry hugged Severus before reverently unwrapping his gift. First the bow.  Then fold by fold the wrapping paper.

On top of the box was a handsome, leather-bound journal. The bottom right hand corner had his full initials HJPBPG (Hadrian James Potter-Black-Prince-Gaunt).

“You’re adding the P for Prince to his trunk next summer,” Severus muttered, to Tom, poking him in the side. Laughing, Tom agreed easily.

The journal was a three-way communication tool between Tom, Severus, and Harry, much like the Goblin journal he’d been using to keep Healer Sharpclaw up-to-date on his healing.  She was thrilled with his progress.

Beneath that was a beautiful compact that opened to two round mirrors.  The outer shell was inlaid with beautiful pearl and had the four crests of his heirships inlaid with obsidian.

“It’s a communication mirror.”

“Aren’t these rare?” Hadrian breathed.

“Well, yes. But I commissioned these and made sure the magic and charms and wards would last at the very least through your Hogwarts years. Mostly likely a few years beyond that.”

“Who’s spoiling him now?” Tom murmured, kissing Severus’s temple who scowled. 

“The point,” Severus said, “is that you’ll have every means of communication with us.  And I’ll be in the castle with you and on your side, even if you’re not in Slytherin, though, I’ll go wrestle a hippogriff if you're not in my house.”  Harry grinned.  He thought he was a shoo-in for Slytherin, too.  He after all was Sal's Heir. 

“And if that’s not enough, you can use Severus’s floo to come home,” Tom said, almost more to himself than to Harry.

Harry was crying in earnest now. “These gifts are wonderful,” he said, crying into Tom’s shoulder. “Still the hardest thing I’ll have to do to leave the home you’ve given me.” 

-

Three days later, Harry climbed out of his trunk and started to get ready for bed.  He’d been trying to figure out what to do with all the extra space his trunk gave him since Tom had given it to him.  The books weren’t even an issue.  Between the libraries and his apartment, he’d had the elves working on copying all of the libraries across his ancestral homes to his trunk.  Elf copies lasted anywhere from 5 years to 7, so his Hogwarts stay was covered.  His clothes, he still didn’t have enough for it to be difficult what to choose– only because of the excess room.  Draco, Narcissa, and surprisingly Severus and George had all contributed equal amounts to his wardrobe. But he could still fit everything into his trunk.

His trunk even had this cool feature where if he put things on a certain shelf, with a tap to a rune, he could bring up that shelf only to the top of his trunk. So sorting, choosing, and packing were easy. And despite the utter madness of how much he was packing in there, the featherlight charm made it weigh less than five pounds.

Harry fucking loved magic.

But figuring out what to do with the extra ten spaces was difficult. He knew he didn’t need to fill every inch of his trunk right this second.  But it was exciting to know he had choices and had space for whatever he decided to pick up or adopt in the future.

Speaking of adopting, the only concrete plan he had was to make a jungle in one of the compartments so he could travel with Amir when necessary.  The process of making that jungle was tricky, and he’d almost exhausted his own resources.  His next step was to ask Tom for help.

Tonight, though, he was tired.  So when he was changed and had completed his night routine, he climbed into bed.

Ssssselene, he hissed.

No reply.  

It was odd for her not to be waiting in his bed for him.

Sssselene, he called again.

Massster Harry, he heard her call faintly.

She kept calling and he followed her voice until he was in front of his new trunk. He called for her again, and he heard her little voice coming from his closed trunk.  He hurriedly undid the clasps and jumped into the only compartment he thought she’d be in, his failed jungle compartment.  

It looked wonky, it almost hurt Harry’s eyes with how it looked, like a picasso painting. He thankfully found her fast, small rainbowy iridescent body wrapped around what should bea tree branch.  He held out his harm for her to wind herself around and he proceeded to show her around, explaining his vision, asking her what she thought about it, what her grandpa might like.

Massster, can Ssssselene visssit Grandpa Amir in Trunk Jungle Nesssst when itsss finissshhhed?

Any time you want, Harry replied.

Selene looked pleased. Good, Grandpa tellsss the besssst ssstoriesss.

Harry carried her out and laid her in the bed.

Massster, can you warm Bed Nessst pleassse?

He did it with a flick of his wrist, getting into bed, careful not to disturb Princess Selene.  

Not thirty seconds later, Selen was already drifting off, voice sleepy as she tells him,  Grandpa will take Massster Harry to Massssster Sssssal’s sssstudy when we go to Casssstle Nessst.  The ssssstudy is in Chamber nessst. Selene yawns. Grandpa ssssayssss hi.  He alssssso sssssaid, Geomancy.  

Harry wanted to knock his head against the wall.  Of course.  Instead, he whispered to his baby snake to tell Amir thank you and wished her sweet dreams. Geomancy. That’s the magical branch he needed to create the jungle.  He’d ask Tom in the morning if he can help, letting him know his plan for Amir.

Now, though, he drifted off to sleep, warm in his soft bed, belly full from his dinner with his family, heart bursting with love and contentedness.  Mind racing with plans and more dreams for a bright a future. Yes, life was good. He’d been granted all the wishes his eleven-year-old self had hoped for as he blew out the candles he’d drawn in the dirt.

Chapter Text

Harry kissed Hedwig’s head before carrying her to the window so she could fly to Hogwarts.  She’d been extra needy after seeing all of the alternative ways Harry now had to communicate with people, and it had taken days of explaining how they were only for sensitive information and conversations– that normal letters to his family and friends, with the exception of Tom, would still be sent through her– for her to calm down.  She’d nearly drawn blood when she’d seen his mirror and journal when he’d taken them up to his room.  It had taken a lot of treats and promises that once they were at Hogwarts again, she’d have plenty of letters to deliver, to calm her down yet again, but she’d eventually forgiven him.

Draco had teased Harry that he talked to his owl– all his animals really– as if she could understand him.  And as with all his other animals, Hedwig understood him in her own way.  She was a vault of secrets, had listened to his dreams, his nightmares, his hopes, his fears that he’d whisper to her and feed her the same scraps he’d used to feed himself.  She had been his first friend, and nothing and nobody could ever replace her.  And yet, she’d not abandoned him.  She was precious to him, more precious than all the gold and jewels across his numerous vaults.

Now, she nipped his fingers gently, her eerily emotive eyes locked on him.  She flitted in his hand, hovering momentarily before trilling. She rubbed her cheek against Harry’s shoulder.  With his growing magic, Harry sometimes thought he could hear his animals say things to him.  Not like talking to snakes but like he understood their intentions.  Like now, as she rubbed her cheek against him, Harry could feel the love she had for him, the peace she wished for him.  Harry smiled, petting the soft feathers on her head.  “You’ve gotten a lot of rest this summer, girl,” he murmured quietly.  “I hope you’re ready for all the work you have ahead of you.”

Hedwig trilled happily and with another gentle nip to Harry’s cheek and a sharp hoot as if to say behave , she flew out his bedroom window and to Hogwarts.  She’d probably beat him there, but he knew she got on well with the other Hogwarts owls, and hunting in the Forbidden Forest gave her some of her favorite meals, so she’d have plenty to do until he sent his letters with updates to Tom and Narcissa in the morning.

“Are you ready, Harry?” Tom asked.  “It’s almost time to floo to the platform.”

Harry turned to see Tom walking into his bedroom, Severus right behind him.  His room looked pretty normal since he was taking copies of all of his books to Hogwarts and Severus, the secret shop-a-holic, was hell-bent on Harry receiving only the best clothes and accessories, so his closet still looked full. Severus even got really good-quality art supplies for Harry’s newfound love of art.  Seeing that the art supplies only went to his trunk, Sev had taken to buying two of everything, so even his art supplies still adorned his rooms, letting the room still look lived in.  So his room didn’t look nearly as empty as it should have, but he had finished packing last night, the jungle compartment done too right in the knick of  time thanks to Tom and the Peverell family library’s vast selections on geomancy.

In answer to Tom, Harry waved his hand, shrinking his trunk and Hedwig’s cage before putting them in his pocket.  

“Show off,” Severus said affectionately. 

“All set,” Harry said, sticking his tongue out at Severus jokingly.  “Just need to say goodbye to my animals and the elves.”

“Softie,” Tom joked.  Harry scoffed, feigning indignation. 

Severus grabbed Harry into a quick hug. “Remember not to do wandless, wordless magic in front of anyone other than Draco and your cousins.”

“And Neville, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise,” Tom added.  He absentmindedly smoothed down Harry’s hair while also reminding him of the background story for their modge podge family, in case anybody asked.  The tale was nothing new to Harry, but certain legal documents had been submitted and notarized so that now they had the proper paperwork and paper trail to back them up.

As much as Tom had loathed his name, it had been a surprisingly hard decision for him to stick with killing his former self.  The identity of Thomas Gideon Gaunt, to Tom, was always supposed to be temporary.  He hated the idea of sacrificing who he was born to be because of the machinations of a psychotic narcissist and his lover.  Severus and Harry and even Draco had been trying to figure out how to clear Tom’s name and extricate it from the false legacy of Voldemort.  But try as they might, no good solution came to anyone. In the end, it was simpler and was far more advantageous to their future plans to kill off his former self.  Which meant that whether or not Severus had his blocks and compulsions and memory altering curses broken, he was now a widower.  So they had to tweak their story just a bit to somehow include Tom.

It was decided with input from all relevant parties, that after Sirius got guardianship of Harry, he was able to name godfathers because due to the blood adoption, he was now Harry’s father, so he was able to name godparents.  He named Severus as godfather and Andromeda as godmother. It was also decided that Tom’s new identity, Thomas Gideon Gaunt, was a distant cousin of Thomas Marvelo Riddle, a many times removed cousin, part of a branch of the family who had lost touch with the rest when his great grandfather had decided to marry a halfblood.  Tom and Sirius had gotten to know each other in the inpatient facility. Tom, a lawyer, had been sent to the same facility to heal from the damage done when he’d been sent a cursed object in the mail after winning a case abroad.  He’d intended to go to England at the summons of the goblins from the English branch of Gringotts upon the death of some relative who had held the lordship. When he’d been released, he’d learned that he’d inherited the Gaunt and Slytherin lordship. Tom had also come to visit Sirius at Malfoy Manor and that was how he met Severus.  Both of them had hit it off instantly.

Harry dusted a small dittany leaf from Tom’s shoulder and said, “I know, Tom.  Don’t worry. You and Severus are my godfathers.”  

Severus snaked his arms around Tom from behind, chin resting on Tom’s shoulder.  “Well, dating your godfather.”

Harry’s grin turned devilish. “I don’t know, you two look like you’re really in love, like obsessed.”  Severus turned his smile into Tom’s neck. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing wedding bells sooner rather than later.”

Tom just stood there, shocked into silence.  Harry’s grin only widened.

That hadn’t even occurred to Tom.  He and Severus hadn’t been married before; they’d just silently but together agreed they were each other’s end game.  Liking to stake his claim in every and all ways, especially those visible, he’d given Severus a band to wear to show he was no longer available.  Severus, on the other hand, rested secure in the knowledge that the Dark Lord was his and his alone, no need for such an obvious outward symbol, content to just give Tom the Prince Locket. 

Harry cleared his throat, bringing Tom out of his reverie.  “Don’t worry, the platform will be fine.  If we get there early enough, we can all say goodbye and we’ll all find seats before the Weasleys show up.”

Severus’s countenance darkened notably at the mention of that family, but remained silent.  “Meet us by the kitchen floo in forty-five minutes,” Tom said, dragging Severus back to their rooms.

Once inside the privacy of their bedroom, Tom pushed Severus against the door and crushed their lips together in a desperate kiss.  A spark had shot off in Tom that lit up his entire body, nerve endings firing all at once when Harry had mentioned wedding bells.  

“Tom, not that I’m complaining,” Severus said between kisses.  “But what brought this on.”

Tom brought his hand up to cup Severus’s cheek, the spark crackling at the contact.  “I’m sorry it took our fifteen-year-old godson to get me to think of marriage,” Tom said quietly.

Severus laughed, pushing Tom onto the bed.  “I am hardly somebody who needs pretty flowers and ceremonies,” Severus said breathily, their faces so close together that as he talked, his lips brushed against Tom’s.  

“But you deserve them,” Tom said softly, the regret coloring his voice flooring Severus.  He nipped at Tom’s lips, along his jaw, and down his neck.  He waved his wand and vanished their clothing.  His lips brushed against Tom’s right nipple before taking it into his mouth, his hand reaching down to work at Tom’s cock until he was hard and heavy in his hand.  

“Be that as it may,” Severus said, the bass of his voice vibrating against the fire crackling across Tom’s skin, “We were different people back then.  It was a different life.”  Severus kissed his way lazily down Tom’s body, the scars and dips and curves and edges all familiar to him, all home to him.  This was Severus’s favorite form of foreplay, loving Tom’s body until he was such a needy writhing mess, he snapped and showed Severus exactly why he was a Dark Lord, all of his deliciously dark magic blanketing Severus as Tom pounded into him with deep, powerful strokes.

Tom loved this, too.  Dark Lords were inherently possessive beings, Severus had known this and had not only made his peace with it but had grown to love that about Tom.  Loved how safe and held he was in all aspects of his life, because he had Tom, and Tom had him.  But Tom also loved his Severus’s sweet, craze-inducing ways of showing his possession as well.

“Tom,” Severus murmured, his blissed out voice adding to the building heat in Tom’s body.  “My Tom,” Severus intoned between all of the kisses up Tom’s body.

“My love,” Tom said, sitting up, the sudden movement confusing Severus’s sex-addled mind enough that Tom could grab his hands and pull him against Tom’s hard body.  “In this new life of ours, in your mind, would marriage have a place with us?”

Severus smiled softly.  His Tom was wonderful. “Of course, love, just ask me.”

Reaching the end of his patience, Severus nipped at Tom’s ear, gently biting on his earlobe, careful to avoid the diamond stud, Tom had taken to wearing. And then he sucked on the spot he knew would drive Tom crazy. 

The fire in Tom’s body grew and grew and grew, and his magic coiled tighter and tighter and tighter.  But when Severus whispered those beautiful words, Tom’s vision blurred with the force of his magic bursting from his body.  

Severus sighed laying back, feeling Tom’s magic wrap around him, hot, possessive, and dark.  Sev purred.  

Tom grinned down at the sight of his lover blissed out and relaxed beneath him.  Thank the gods they’d told Harry forty-five minutes.  He planned to make great use of every single one of them.

-

They’d made it to the platform with thirty minutes before the train was set to leave, everyone politely not commenting on the new rasp in Severus’s and Tom’s voice.  Sirius being Sirius couldn’t help but hand them both a throat lozenge with a little wink.

Harry bade goodbye to Tom and Severus, hugging both of them and promising to keep them both updated with the journal and mirror. Harry still held close their little hints throughout the past few days about reuniting sooner than Harry thought, but with no other clues, Harry just settled in to receive a happy surprise. Narcissa handed him and Draco and each of his cousins a lunch box with food and snacks and drinks, and made them all promise to write with updates on their houses the minute they could. Harry accepted his box with a bright thank you and threw his arms around the woman who was his godmother and his Bonded’s mother.  He hugged Lucius, too, and promised them both he’d write.

Lastly he walked up to Sirius, burrowing himself in his father’s side.  “The life you all have given me is the single most greatest thing I’ve ever had,” Harry said, voice thick.  But he had to let Sirius know how amazing this summer had been.  “You all are the best.”  He turned his face into Sirius’s shoulder, hoping his next words were muffled enough that they stayed between the two of them. “I love you, dad.”

Sirius drew in a sharp intake of breath, clinging to Harry as much as Harry to him.  “Write, okay, kid? I need to know you’re okay,” he said, voice thick.  Gods, he’d see his son in a few months.  Everything would be fine, he told himself.  “It’s gonna be torture not seeing you every day. But I’m sure the time will fly by once you’re in slytherin.”

“Someone’s gotta keep the Black legacy going,” Regulus said, with a smirk, pulling Harry from Sirius’s hold and hugging him.

“Thankfully,” Lucius drawled, “Board members can make impromptu visits. So I’m sure I’ll see you all soon.”

Sirius brightened, hugging Aurora harder to his side. “Me too, then. Thank the gods.”

After another round of goodbyes, everyone reluctantly got onto the train.  With how early they were, it wasn’t hard to find an empty compartment, and once they’d settled in, Harry put up a notice-me-not and silencing ward.  They made sure the compartment had a window facing the platform, and when the train began moving, they waved at their family until they could no longer see them.

Neville came in a few minutes after the train pulled away from the station and sat between Aurora and Fred. They settled in for road trip games, good conversation, and good food courtesy of Narcissa and the house elves. But when it was close to their stop at Hogsmeade, Draco said he was going to go say hi to Theo, Pansy, and Blaise and change into his robes.

The minute Draco had opened their compartment door and strode back in, Harry’s stomach had done a little loop de loop.  Draco had rolled up the sleeves so his forearms were showing, and Harry’s mouth had watered as he imagined tracing the pattern of the veins with his tongue. Harry was hyper aware of every detail of Draco’s beautiful hands, of the texture of his skin and every curve of his fingers.  Harry struggled to keep his body and mind in check, and try as he might to shove his arousal behind his shields, a slow steady stream of need leaked out.  His magic, without conscious direction from Harry, reached out in desperation for Draco, and when Harry had finally raised his eyes to meet Draco’s, the heat in his Bonded’s gaze threatened to burn him.  Harry had all but dragged Draco out of the train compartment he’d been sharing with their cousins, much to said cousins’ amusement.   

Forgetting about his conversation with Aurora about his switched electives– he was in ancient runes, arithmancy, and magical theory– Harry shoved Draco back through the sliding door and had bodily dragged him threw the train corridor, hexing Ronald Weasley when he abruptly opened the door of his compartment to flag him down.  Ron hadn’t even gotten a full “Hey mate” out before Harry hit him with a full body stinging curse.  He was a man on a mission, and Ronald “The Worst Friend Ever” Weasley would not get in his way.

A fraction of a second after they were in the safe confinement of the train bathroom, Harry shoved Draco against the door, all but devouring his Bonded’s lips, pressing his hardening body against Draco’s. Draco, with a shit eating grin, had allowed Harry to man handle him and had eagerly gotten on board, meeting Harry touch for every hungry touch and kiss.

When Draco tried to push Harry back, though, Harry pushed back harder.

“Draco,” Harry whined against the other boy’s lips. He dragged his nails gently down the front of Draco’s white button up shirt and then up his Bonded’s back. Draco looked too damn good in this shirt.  What was it about a man in a white button-up?

“Not yet, my love,” Draco whispered now against his neck.  

But Harry shook his head, his cheek brushing against the top of Draco’s head, where his face was buried in Harry’s neck, breathing in his scent, licking at the fine sheen of sweat against his skin.  “Yes, please, Draco.”

Draco chuckled, the sound deep and dark, the vibrations resonating through Harry’s body.  “We’re almost to Hogwarts, Harry.  We need to get back.”

But Harry wasn’t having any of it.  He needed to be near his Bonded, needed to feel his skin against his.  This all consuming, mind numbing, fucking visceral need was beginning to be hard ignore.  They’d been so good up until now. They’d stayed within the confines of society, seeing as they didn’t have a courting contract in place– at least until they had a courting contract in place.  And once they had one, they’d stayed within the confines of that.  Draco had told Harry that their courting contract gave more leeway than most, probably because they were Bonded, a rare enough occurrence in Britain that it demanded a respect all its own. Harry was usually a good rule-follower– when it suited his needs and interests.  However, the growing ache in him had nothing to do with the logistics of a contract or propriety or anything.  He knew for a fact if he and Draco had sex right this second, nothing would change with their parents.  Sure, they’d get a lecture or two. But their marriage contract would remain intact.  Their relationship with each other and their parents would not be changed.  

No, this need for Draco was more primal, more…about them.  Harry needed to belong to his Bonded in every way, and he needed Draco to belong to him in every way.  He needed to feel close.  Their makeout sessions would no longer suffice.  He needed to feel the length of Draco’s body at his back, needed to feel those sinfully long fingers across his skin and in his body.

Gods, he needed Draco.

Harry dropped to his knees, and encouraged by the strangled sound of arousal that sounded like it’d been ripped from Draco’s soul, Harry shoved his face in Draco’s crotch and started mouthing at Draco’s increasingly hard member.

“Please, Draco,” he said again, barely recognizing the breathy, needy voice coming out of him.  He peppered kisses along Draco’s still clothed crotch.  “ Please.”

Draco brushed his fingers through Harry’s hair, “Well,” he said, voice rough.  “How can I say no when you beg so prettily.”  And with a wave of his hand in a show of breathtaking wandless magic, Draco vanished their clothes, and Harry found his mouth full of Draco’s thick, hard cock.  Harry’s chest swelled with victory. 

He worked Draco’s cock, reveling in the soft moans and breathy whispers of pleasure streaming out of Draco.  He glanced up and saw Draco’s head thrown back in ecstasy, the long column of his neck on display.  The moan Harry let out around Draco's cock was obscene.  Harry kissed back his way up Draco’s body, making certain to give his nipples the love and attention they deserved and sucking his Adam’s apple before sucking a bruise where Draco’s neck met his shoulder.

Mine, something in Harry growled.  All mine.

Harry continued to suck at Draco’s neck, working Draco’s cock with his hand.  When he could feel Draco was close, he dropped back down to his knees and took Draco back into his mouth, grabbing Draco’s perfect, round ass cheeks and pressing him harder into his mouth.  

Draco came with a strangled cry, pumping his hips against Harry’s soft warm mouth, running his hands through his hair as he rode out his orgasm.

Harry swallowed every last drop, didn’t move until Draco was done.  And when he was, Harry sat back and leaned against the bathroom wall.  With a few quick wandless spells, Harry cleaned them up and Draco redressed them.

Draco dropped down to his knees and made his way into Harry’s space, pushing Harry's legs apart so he could comfortably kneel between them.  Draco positioned himself so his knee was right up against Harry’s crotch  Draco cupped Harry’s face in the exact way he knows drives Harry wild, and kissed him.  Harry’s cock hardened, and Draco incresed the pressure of his knee on Harry's crotch. The kisses deepened, their hands started roaming, and Harry was grinding against Draco's leg desperately.

Draco sucked on Harry's neck, and a strangled cry tore out of Harry, his body writhing jerky and greedy against Draco.

A dragon in Draco's chest awakened, Harry's moans and gasps feeding it.  His darling boy, his Harry, his love was beautiful like this.  He couldn't wait to share a bed him.  He couldn't wait to take him, the dragon in Draco's chest puffing up in victory just at the thought.

And then all of a sudden, Draco pulled back, an evil smirk turning up his lips.  “Get sorted into Slytherin, my love," Draco said, voice low and raspy as he stood up.  "And we can finish this tonight.”

And with that, Draco leaned down to kiss the top of Harry’s head and left the bathroom.

It took Harry a few minutes to make his erection go down and his breath to remain even.  But eventually he made his way back to their compartment, resuming his conversation with Aurora, as if nothing had happened.  He resolutely ignored Aurora’s knowing smirk, the twins’ wiggling their eyebrows, and Neville’s red cheeks.  He only had eyes for his bonded, whose heated gaze promised him pleasure and love and ecstasy.  

All he needed to do was get into Slytherin.

Cake, Harry thought smugly.

Harry couldn’t wait to give the sorting hat what it originally wanted– Harry in Slytherin, so he could get what he wanted.

Draco fucking Malfoy.

Chapter Text

As an 11 year old, the Sorting Hat had been Harry’s first real experience with magic.  Up until then, he’d, of course, seen Hagrid perform a quite frankly astonishingly difficult piece of magic using a non-wand piece of wood (Harry made a mental note to get Hagrid his wand back in this life and get the gentle half-giant out from Dumbledore’s influence), and he’d seen Hermione fix his glasses.  But the Sorting Hat was the first time he’d experienced magic, had magic enter his mind, had felt the electricity of magic on his skin.  And most importantly, it’d been the first time a foreign magic had interacted with his magic.  As such, he’d never noticed the way time stopped when he’d put the hat on.  He hadn’t noticed that the room melted away or that the Sorting Hat’s magic sparked with the uniqueness only a sentient being could bring to magic. 

As if in slow motion, Harry watched his cousins and their friends waiting to be re-sorted blur, melding with the stone walls of the Great Hall.  He looked beyond the blur of his surroundings out to where his consciousness met that of the hat.  Time and space warped and he could see just at the edge of his sight, the blank void of nothingness in which the Hat had pulled him.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” the grizzled, old Hat greeted him.  

Harry reached out with his own magic to size up the Hat’s even as the Hat scanned his thoughts, his being, Harry thought maybe even his very soul to figure out his new placement.  Not that Harry or the Hat had any doubts about where he’d be sitting tonight.

The Hat chuckled, feeling Harry’s magic.  “Many have tried to pinpoint my magic, Harry.  None have succeeded.”

“Occupancy charms,” Harry responded.  “Time runes of Fae origin.  You feel the same as the Heart of Hogwarts, which began as simple protection wards.”  Harry paused before saying softly, “All anchored in soul magic.”

Harry could feel the pulse of his heartbeat in his head as he waited for the Sorting Hat to reply.

“Correct, Mr. Potter.  Or should I say ‘Master Death.’” The Hat made a humming sound. “You are a Traveler, how interesting.  I haven’t had one since Merlin.”  

Harry put a mental pin in that,too, to come back to later. 

“You,” the Hat continued, “are much changed from last time, I see.”

“For the better, right?” Harry tried to joke. 

“For certain, Harry,” the Hat responded.  As I said in your first life, you will do great things.  Even greater still, and it looks like you’ve already started on this path to greatness.  We both know which house will help the most, yes?”

Harry sighed in relief.  “Yes, please.  Send me to my Bonded.”

“Bring Balance, young Harry.  And come visit me in the Chamber, which you will find easier access to in…..SLYTHERIN!”

As Harry came back to himself and the time and place he existed, he felt the oppressing silence that met the single word everyone had heard.  Harry straightened his shoulders, took off the hat, thanked his old Head of House, and walked with the aristocratic grace the Malfoys and Tom had drummed into him over the summer.  He couldn’t help his grin, though, as he glanced at his cousins before making a beeline to his Bonded who helped him sit on the bench before tucking him against his side.

Draco’s voice was hot against his ear, the little puffs of air sending delicious shivers down Harry’s spine. “Good boy,” Draco whispered, a quick kitten lick to the shell of Harry’s ear nearly making him moan right there in the middle of the Great Hall and in front of his godfather.  “So good.” Draco repeated, voice soft.  He moved the hand of the arm currently wrapped tightly around Harry to his hip and squeezed.  “Good boys get rewards.”

Harry shivered, he couldn’t wait.  He grabbed Draco’s hand, the one currently not on his hip and listened to the rest of the sorting, playing with Draco’s beautiful long fingers absentmindedly, resolutely ignoring Theo and Blaise wiggling their eyebrows at him.  

Fred and Aurora were sorted into Slytherin, of course.  Surprisingly yet not surprisingly, George went to Hufflepuff.  Susan Bones remained in Hufflepuff, much to her apparent relief.  Neville was sorted also into Hufflepuff which did not surprise Harry one bit.  Neville had the fierce strength and loyalty of a Badger that was easy to mistake for Gryffindor bravado if one didn’t look close enough.  Neville waved at Harry and his cousins as he went to join George and the rest of the Badgers. Parvati Patil went to Slytherin while Padma Patil went to Ravenclaw, while Cho Chang also stayed in Ravenclaw and looked incredibly chuffed about it, probably because Cedric, who had to retake his 7th year, had just previously been resorted to Ravenclaw. Colin Creevy was sorted to Hufflepuff and David Creevy was sorted to Slytherin. There were a few students Harry had no recollection of.  Such as a muggleborn student, Annie Garcia, who went to Slytherin.  Harry tensed before Draco kissed his temple, leaning in to remind him that all muggleborns were safe in Slytherin.  It was still a knee-jerk reaction he was working on because with all the truth he’d learned, Slytherin was probably the best place for a muggleborn, they all wanted to prove themselves in this new world so it fit, but Slytherin housed the students brought up the most traditionally and so in the best place to teach them about their new world and culture. There was also a pureblood Harry couldn’t place at all named Raphael Slewyn who went to Slytherin.  Raphael was beautiful, objectively speaking, though the harsh angles of his face and the coldness in his dark eyes tempered it a bit in Harry’s opinion.

Harry clapped politely for Raphael who was the last student to be resorted, though he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine when Raphael turned those cold eyes to him and Draco and nodded.

“Simply a mask, my darling” Draco whispered to him.  “Raphael is lovely.  It always confused everyone how he’d been sorted to the badgers.  The poor dears weren’t ready for him. Though they were very safe with Raphael around.”

Harry could feel the tension seep from his frame as he leaned into his Bonded. “He seems so….emotionless.”  Harry shivered.  “So….empty.”

“A good mask then,” Draco replied. 

Harry dropped the subject of Raphael and turned to the feast in front of them.  Harry’s thing with food was getting better, he was way better about it than at the beginning of the summer.  But the sight of so much food and the oppressive presence of so many people had Harry too much in his head.  He worried his lip between his teeth and his hands trembled as he reached for the knife for the shepherd’s pie.  

“Let me,” Draco said, grabbing the knife and filling Harry’s plate.  When he was done, he brought Draco’s hand to his lips and said a quiet, sincere, “Thank you.”  

Harry again resolutely ignored the gagging noises Aurora and Fred were making or the wide grins on Theo and Blaise who had absolutely no room to say or do anything considering they were as bad or worse than Harry and Draco.  Harry stuck his tongue out at the table, making them laugh.  The rest of the meal was filled with light conversation and excited chatter. Towards the end of his meal and as the conversations came to a close with the feast, Harry looked around the Great Hall, his eyes wandering to the Head Table.  Severus caught his gaze quickly, the right side of his mouth quirking ever so slightly showing his pleasure that his godson would now be safe in his House. Harry returned the subtle smile with a big grin of his own.  Knowing they’d talk later that night, Harry moved on until he stopped at the Headmaster in the dead center of the table. The entire evening, he’d resolutely kept his eyes only on the sorting or Draco and their friends at the Slytherin table.  But now, he sneaked a quick glance at the Headmaster and nearly snorted out his pumpkin juice.  God, even looking down at his food, Harry could see the anger raging inside the man he’d once looked up to as a father.  He was seething, the tantrum so very close to the surface, sending bright angry sparks of magic out from his body.  Harry was sure he was one of the few who could see it, but everyone at the Head Table could feel his anger.  If he was as good at reading magic as he thought he was, it seemed that McGongiall found great joy and pleasure from the pouting headmaster.  Hmmmm, maybe they could trust her.  

The rest of the meal was uneventful, and Harry hurried out with his new housemates, finding Luna, George, and Neville to say good night really quick before running to catch up to Draco.  The prefects led the first year’s to Snape’s office where he was waiting to welcome them to the house (i.e. scare them into compliance while offering his help, advice, and comfort should they need it.  Really, though, that combo could only work for Severus.)  The Head Boy gave them some quick updates, telling everyone to welcome their new year mates and get them up to speed with Slytherin House before turning in for the night.

Harry followed everyone else deeper into the common room. It was just as he remembered it from second year…except without the blinders on from the blocks and compulsions, the room was warmer, more inviting.  The massive windows into the Great Lake warmed the lighting of the dungeon, and he could see some of the merfolk trying to peek around the kelp to get a look at the new students.  Harry discreetly waved at them before flopping down onto one of the giant leather couches, right next to Draco.

“Did you see Dumbledore’s face?” Harry asked, looking up at his beloved.  “He looked like he’d sucked on a lemon!” Harry couldn’t help the cackle that erupted from him. “I bet he’s furious.  How much you want a bet he’s going to go into his office and break all of those hideous baubles in there.”

The rest of the fifth years and some of the upper years like Marcus Flint and Fred came to join them.  

Fred took his place on Harry’s other side, said, “How long do you think it’ll take before he tries to get you to his office?”

“He might try tonight,” Aurora said, biting her lip with worry.  “Should we call Sirius?”  Sirius had given Harry, Aurora, and the Twins mirrors so that they could all get on a call together.  Aurora had teared up at the gesture and told Harry she was going to figure out how to make muggle cell phones compatible with magic because this was getting ridiculous.  He couldn’t even really disagree, with the magic they had available to them, mirrors only worked with other mirrors made with the same spell at the same time.  So Aurora had a mirror for Sirius and her cousins, a mirror for her parents, a mirror for Neville (which Harry had sworn on his life not to tell anyone else, Merlin knows what reason she was keeping her budding friendship with Neville a secret for) and a mirror for Luna as well as one for Luna and Pansy.  It was hard to keep track of all of them.

Blaise spoke up, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Nah, I think he’ll try to pull you out of potions tomorrow.” Blaise stopped to drop a kiss on Theo’s lips who’d shyly grabbed his hand after inching closer on the loveseat they were sharing.  “That way Professor Snape can’t be there with you.”

“As if that’ll stop him,” Draco snorted. He hugged Harry closer to his side on instinct.  And Harry just snuggled into his Bonded’s side, not particularly worried about the Headmaster.  He hadn’t been able to tell anybody yet mostly because he couldn’t explain it, but they were safe at Hogwarts.  Harry in particular, no matter who the Headmaster was or what said Headmaster was planning.  Hogwarts would keep them safe.

“I think he’s going to try to get you to his office after hours,” Theo said.  “That way nobody can help you when you’re there.”  Theo grimaced at Harry, and Harry grimaced back, both knowing it was just the kind of underhanded thing the Headmaster would do.

Marcus Flint and Daphne Greengrass, both from families who were dedicated to Tom and his vision, put in their bets.  

“I don’t know,” Daphne said, picking at the fringe of the pillow she’d hugged to her chest.  “I think he’ll try as soon as he thinks it’s clear.  Which won't be for at least a few weeks, his trial is coming up.  So if he gets cleared at the trial, I’d say the next day after breakfast.”  Daphne looked up, worry dimming her normally bright green eyes.  “I don’t like this, Harry.”

Pansy patted her friend’s back in comfort but didn’t say anything in regards to a bet.  Fred, though, was already writing all of the bets down and writing in his journal that was linked to George’s.  They’d no doubt start a pool amongst the Snakes, the Badgers, and the Claws and a few Gryffindors who were as indignant as the rest of the school with the amount of resorts–  namely Lee Jordan.

Flint grunted out, “I think tomorrow at some random time, like in the middle of Charms or at the end of your free period.”

Pansy, though, shook her head, finally speaking up. “You’re all wrong.  He’s going to wait at least a month.”

Everyone turned to look at her, gaping.  “Harry just put a giant dent in his plan! A plan he’s probably been working on for well over a decade!” Marcus exclaimed.  “He doesn’t have the time to wait that long.”

“And did your parents tell you about when the Dark Lord made his introductions in the Wizengamot last week?” Blaise whisper yelled, eyes going big with the conspiracy of it all.  “My mother said it looked like Dumbledore wanted to murder him.  She said more than once the old goat jerked forward like he was going to strangle him.”

Daphne nodded, “My father said Dumbledore’s magic was going crazy, like he was angry.  He said the twinkle dimmed to nothing and what was left was terrifying. ”   She shivered.

Harry nodded, though he was smiling.  Sirius had shown him the memory.  It was the same day Sirius had claimed his seats as well as claimed Proxy of Harry’s substantial amount of seats and resulting votes, moving them all to the Dark.  Right after, Severus had claimed the Prince seat and moved it to the Dark and then, Tom had strolled in, claiming the Gaunt and Slytherin seats, moving them to the Dark.  And just like that, in a single session, the Light lost the majority and Dumbledore was no longer Chief Warlock.  The Dark voted Lucius as the new Chief Warlock which had infuriated Dumbledore further, but what really got the fucker’s goat was that he no longer had any place in the Wizengamot because the Dumbledore family was neither a noble or ancient house.  The look on that old man’s face had been priceless as he had been escorted out of the chamber.  Almost as angry as he was watching his child pawns be re-sorted on his game board, not being able to do anything about it.

Dumbledore had protested Sirius’s use of Harry’s seats and his reallocation of them very loudly, trying to cause as much fuss and public outrage as possible, even telling the Daily Prophet that Harry wouldn’t have wanted his family seats aligned with the Dark, the side that had killed his parents and something should be done about the abuse of power.  No official investigation, according to Susan, though, had been started considering the lack of evidence. Most articles that even covered Dumbledore’s ramblings called into question his sanity, showing pictures of Harry’s’ very newly happy childhood with Sirius and the Malfoys.  The papers were more abuzz with the news that Harry and Draco were Bonded, a bond having not appeared in magical Europe for over two centuries.  

The old man’s power was beginning to slip.

“That’s true, but… it’s just,” Daphne spoke up.  “My father said that desperate men do crazy things when pushed.  And everyone in the Dark has been poking and prodding and pushing him all summer.  He might break soon.”

They all looked at Pansy expectantly.  But instead of defending her point, Pansy just shrugged her delicate shoulders and brought out a plate of snacks seemingly out of nowhere for everyone.  

Everyone grabbed one of the peppermint patties or chocolate frogs from the plate and some sugar wands, and a few minutes later, after chewing over everything and finishing her snack, Aurora said. “I changed my mind.  Pansy’s right.  He needs to regroup.  But I think he’s going to call Professor Snape to his office tonight since he’s your new head of house; he’s going to give Harry two weeks to make him sweat it out, and he’s going to try and get Ron and Ginny to cozy up to….probably me, actually.”  

They all just stared at her expectantly.  “Well, think about it,” Aurora said, gesturing wildly with her hands.  Harry grinned and sat back.  Talking with her hands was a telltale sign that the gears in Aurora’s mind were turning at an alarming rate.  “He needs to figure out if we know who put the blocks and compulsions on us.  He needs to start rebuilding his reputation.  He needs to take power somehow, get proxy of new seats or something.  And he needs a new plan for whatever his goal was with all of this manipulation.  So he needs time to regroup but not too much that his reputation and influence fade, so two weeks to regroup.  He doesn’t know Severus is your godfather, so he’s probably going to try and get him to treat you better so you can open up to him.  He needs Ron and Ginny, the only two students who trust him completely at this point, besides a handful of Gryffindors who don’t know you and so have no shot, to get as close to you as possible.  You are out of the question, Harry.  Your Bonded is most definitely out of the question and anybody loyal to him, so Draco’s friends in Slytherin, all out.  Luna is…”  Pansy and Hermione made eye contact, both smiling. “Not an option,” Aurora continued, “And Fred and George, who are probably the best option, hate the Weasleys.  So I'm the one who's left.” 

Aurora’s eyes widened.  “And then depending on how much I tell them and how I tell them, they’re either going to keep trying with me or are going to try for Cedric or Cho.”

“What will that accomplish?” Flint asked.  

“The Weasleys are going to be digging for information.  It needs to be somebody close to Harry who is not part of…well Harry’s inner circle.”

Harry sat up abruptly, Draco’s hands falling away.  “But you are,” Harry said indignantly. “You always have been.”

Aurora smiled, “I know, Harry,” she said.  “But remember.  All Dumbledore knows is that our blocks and compulsions were spotted and broken.  They don’t know all of us know he was the one who set the compulsions.  He doesn’t know we’ve found our family, and Lady Longbottom has made everyone working with Neville’s parents swear an unbreakable vow so that nobody knows they’re about to be healed.  They think we are basically the same person that they know, just without blocks and so vulnerable with the sudden changes. They, including Dumbledore, are going to be operating under last year’s universal truths.”

Everyone leaned in closer, attention unmoving from Aurora.  “What truths?” Pansy asked, eyes sharp and calculating.

“That Voldemort exists.  He killed Harry’s parents.  Harry and I are friends but I’m not his best friend.  Fred and George are fun-loving idiots so they probably just need time to come around about the adoption.  Yes, Fred,” Aurora said softly, moving to the arm of the sofa beside Fred to wrap an arm around him. Fred’s eyes had blazed with indignant fury at Aurora’s word choice on instinct, but as she continued to speak, he relaxed a bit more. 

“Adoption. That’s what they think they did and that’s what they think all evidence we’d have access to would point to.  Because remember there’s no reason that they know of that could even remotely make it so we know you were….” Aurora trailed off not knowing how much he wanted everyone outside of their family to know.

“Stolen,” Fred said, voice hard.  “Me, George, Bill, and Charlie were all stolen.”  

Aurora let everyone take that information in before finishing it with the final universal truth from last year, “And finally, that Harry has a crush on Cedric and Cho.”

Draco stiffened but said nothing.

“So what do we do?” Theo asked.

“Harry doesn’t go anywhere alone. We give up as little information about this summer as possible.” Draco said, voice more clipped than he meant it to be.  He quickly gathered the blanket he had conjured for Harry and sent it to their bedroom, Theo and Blaise doing a double take.  “I’ll tell you in the morning,” Draco murmured to them.  They were his best friends, after all, they should know the type of training he’d received that summer. 

“And if I’m right, we use their tactics against them,” Aurora said.  “We collect as much information as possible to send back to our parents.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. They made no movements to go, though; it was still quite early in the grand scheme of things, so Draco figured they’d want to wind down a bit more before going to bed.  

He, though, needed to take his Bonded away from so many people– even if the people in question were family and close friends.   “Come on, my love,” Draco whispered, grabbing his hand and gathering him to his side. Harry was exhausted and his body was soft and warm from it; he went sleepy and willing to Draco which helped to quiet the dragon roaring in his chest. But before Harry could say a full good night to everyone, Draco was gently pulling Harry away towards their shared dorm room.

-

Draco was livid.  

And he had no fucking idea why.  

Well, he did, but he was very aware of how ridiculous he was being.

He and Harry had lived separate lives for almost fifteen years.  They’d had full lives before ever meeting each other for real.  Of course , Harry would have had crushes and maybe even dated.  It made sense.  But fuck. Why did it make him so angry?

And why did he suddenly want to bare his teeth at Cedric Diggory and whoever the fuck Cho Chang was and warn them away from his Harry?

Draco tried to remain gentle as he led Harry up the stairs to the fifth year dorm room but the dragon in his chest was raging.  He needed Harry in their territory, away from other scents and prying eyes and good-natured teasing.  He needed Harry with him, only him, Harry’s attention only on him.

As soon as the door locked, his mouth was on Harry’s who made a startled sound but nevertheless enthusiastically returned the kiss.

“Draco, my love,” Harry said softly.  He rubbed his hands along Draco’s shoulders and down his arms.  “What’s wrong?”

In answer, Draco just pinned him against the door and pushed his hips against Harry’s, grinding against him.  “Mine,” Draco growled.

Harry moaned, pushing his growing erection against Draco’s, head falling against the door.  He looked up at Draco and saw a dangerous, possessive fire in his Bonded’s eyes.  A fire that would take down anyone who would keep him from Harry, even if it meant burning the world if that’s what it took for Draco to have Harry.  And maybe Harry was a little crazy but he loved it.  Draco like this was mind-numbingly delicious and so so sexy.  One of his favorite feelings was feeling owned by Draco.  And Harry wasn’t oblivious–especially when it came to Draco.  He’d felt the shift in his Bonded at the mention of his past crushes, but whatever Harry had felt for them had been almost nothing when he compared it to all he felt for the boy in front of him.  Merlin, until Aurora had mentioned it, he’d forgotten he’d ever looked twice at Cho and Cedric, beautiful as they were.

Sensing his love’s need to possess him, Harry lowered his eyes and bared his neck.  The growl that poured from Draco’s mouth sent shivers spiraling down Harry’s spine.  Draco attached his mouth to Harry’s neck and sucked love bites up and down the column of his neck.

Harry could feel the fledgling creature magic across his Bonded’s skin and reveled in it, soaked in the sparks it shot off when it came into contact with Harry’s own magic.  Creature Inheritances were practically mythical, they were so rare.  Even rarer than Bonded pairs and triads. But Neville had shared his theory about the Sacred 777 bloodlines with Harry, and with the influx of new magical bloodlines, Harry expanded on Neville's theory and told him as well as all of his parents that he thought Creature Inheritances would become more prominent in his generation.  He’d seen some signs in Draco as well as some in the Creevy brothers and the Patil twins.  Even George was showing signs but it could be something else because it was next to impossible for one magical twin to experience a Creature Inheritance and not the other, and so far Fred had not shown one sign.  They still had more time though.  Creature Inheritances happened anywhere from the date of magical maturity to 5 years after.

Draco, as his and Harry’s bond had grown and deepened, had shown more and more of the tell tale signs he would be in for one.  And whatever his creature, it would be dominant.  And since they were Bonded, Harry would most likely experience a Creature Inheritance, too; his creature being complementary and submissive. 

So Draco’s jealousy and possessiveness were not new or unwanted.  It was the exact opposite.  Harry loved knowing that only Harry was Draco’s and vice versa.  Of course, they were still young and figuring out what their dynamic meant for them at this age, but Draco would always be more dominant and so more likely to lead in their relationship.  That didn’t mean Harry couldn’t and wouldn’t lead the movement of their generation to keep their culture alive and maintain Balance, to continue Tom’s work.  Because he most definitely would be doing that.  But with Draco, he’d have the protection and love and safety he’d always yearned for.  And as Draco had told Harry over and over again, he’d follow Harry anywhere, into every battle Harry chose to undertake.

So Harry pushed Draco back, Draco very much letting him and when the back of Draco’s knees hit the edge of one of the beds, Harry tugged on his shirt, silently telling Draco to sit down.  Draco obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up with a dark, hungry heat in his eyes.  His eyes followed Harry as he kneeled between his legs and began to undress his Bonded, kissing Draco’s beautiful pale skin as he exposed it.

“The crushes that Aurora mentioned,” Harry murmured, untying Draco’s shoes.  

“You don’t have to explain, Harry,” Draco said, voice tight.  “I’m sorry I reacted that way….of course, you’d have crushes…”

Harry laughed, putting Draco’s socks into his shoes and moving on to unbuckle Draco’s belt.  “Cedric is a friend now, Draco.  And Cho– who I did ask to the Yule Ball after she’d agreed to go with Cedric– is absolutely in love with Cedric.”  Harry was beyond happy that Cho and the rest of the student body and, particularly, Cedric's dad wouldn’t ever have to mourn him just as Cedric was about to begin his life.  

Harry folded Draco’s trousers and couldn’t help but kiss the growing bulge in Draco’s pants before moving on to the tie and shirt.  “What I felt for them was so….insignificant, Draco,” Harry said, his voice cracking.  “When I compare it to what I feel for you, what I want with you.  My entire future only has one checkbox right now and it’s you.  Whatever I end up doing as a job, whatever hobbies I take up, places I want to travel to or where I end up living….” Harry continued to unbutton Draco’s shirt, kissing his way down Draco’s chest while he tried to find his voice again.  “All of that will just be a bonus of this life.”  Harry helped Draco out of the shirt and folded it before setting it aside with the rest of his clothes and shoes.  Rising on his knees, Harry placed his palm on Draco’s cheek.  Draco leaned into the touch. “You are…” 

Overcome suddenly with love and want and need and happiness and every good thing that Draco was and gave him, Harry kissed his love. He kissed him like he could convey every ounce of feeling and love he could in his kisses. He kissed him like he needed him.  Because he did.  

But he wasn’t done talking so he moved down to Draco’s neck and continued to move down his chest.  In between those kisses, he said, “When I was 11, I drew a birthday cake in the dirt and blew out the candles, wishing for a family who loved me, who would save me from the Dursleys.  And I got it.  And you know what Draco?”

“What, my love?” Draco asked, voice shaky and eyes soft.

“I thought that was the height of impossibility.  I thought…there was no damn way I’d get any of it.  I thought that if by some miracle I was saved and given a new childhood with people who loved me that all my luck and all my miracles would run out.”

A tear slipped down Draco’s cheek as Harry whispered, “And then Magic gave me you.”

Draco surged forward and gathered Harry in his arms, “Oh, my darling,” Draco breathed into Harry’s hair.  He settled Harry in his lap, waving his hand to undress Harry, his magic rippling over Harry’s skin causing him to shiver.  It was so deep and dark and rich, Draco’s magic.  Harry wanted to lean down and lap it up from Draco’s palms.  “My life might have been different from yours but make no mistake. My life has a before and after, all centered around you.  You are so precious to me, sometimes I think my heart will splinter into a million pieces from how much I love you.”  He laughed, voice wet.  “You are my North Star.  Wherever you go, I’ll follow, and wherever we end up, we’ll be home.”

Silent tears streamed down Harry’s face.  They sat like that for a good long while, skin-to-skin, silent but present, both soaking up the other.  Then, Draco’s hands began to rub Harry’s back.  “I do believe I promised you a reward,” Draco said, voice thick with need.

Harry perked up.  “Yes, please,” he whispered against Draco’s neck.  “How do you want me?”  

Draco laughed, the sound pinging straight to Harry’s heart.  He was so beautiful.  “I believe that’s my line, my love.  It’s your reward.  What do you want?”

Harry smiled up at him.  “I want to worship your body.  Every inch of it.  And then I want you to take me apart so slowly I’m desperate and begging.”  

Draco’s eyes darkened. “That sounds lovely, my darling.” He spread his legs, moving Harry to a kneel between them, and guided Harry by the back of his head to right between his legs.  “Let’s get started then.”

Harry leaned forward and breathed his Bonded in.  God, this was going to be such a good night.   

Chapter Text

That night, not too long after sleep had claimed him, Harry found himself in a quiet clearing, a forest surrounding him at the edges, misty and ominous in the moonlight.  The moon was full, high in the sky, casting pale light through the fog, adding to the mystery.  Harry looked around, amusement rooting itself deep in his heart, threatening to bubble up out of him.  He brushed some snow off of his cloak before sitting on a tree stump under a gnarled twisting tree and settling in to wait however long he needed to for his companion.

Death appeared not too long after, not at all what Harry had been expecting.  He thought he’d be like the being he’d met in that in between white space that still gave Harry the heebie jeebies whenever he thought about it.  

He hadn’t been playing with his power of life and death further than healing the wounded life that was in front of him.  Since understanding the truth and weight of the power he wielded, Harry had made several rules for himself to keep from going mad with said power within him.  Not seeking out reasons to use his power was high on the list. 

So he knew a fair bit about the realms that Death commanded, that he himself now had influence over– and it was anywhere that life had hold of.  So his realm was vast.  Encompassing many worlds and dimensions. But that weird white space of austere nothingness?  That was neither his nor not his.  Without being a former horcrux at the time and now without being the Master of Death, Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that space would be incredibly painful for his soul now.  Though short of asking Death, there was no way to know, and Harry didn’t want to test his theory nor deal the assured insult to ask Death about that plane. So he remained silent.  Though no less sure. 

Now, though, Death approached him with the hood of his sweatshirt slightly tilted back so he could see Death’s wide grin.  Death wore black jeans ripped at the knees and a black hoodie, the sleeves of which were rolled up, exposing his forearms and hands.  The dark skin showed veins and articulations that looked like they housed the cosmos and his white teeth flashed bright in the moonlight.

“Harry,” Death greeted warmly as he approached.

Harry ran to Death, jumping into his embrace.  

Death grunted softly at the slight impact of Harry’s body but caught the Master of Death in his arms, tightening his embrace around Harry’s smaller body.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered in Death’s ear, and obscured as it was being covered by his hoodie, Death could hear the tears in Harry’s voice.  

Death set Harry down on the ground gently keeping his arms on Harry’s slight shoulders.  “For what?”  Death was genuinely curious.  All he’d done was tell Harry what his options were and carried out his wishes once he’d decided what he wanted to do.

“This second chance, your advice, my new life….” Harry looked down, trying to hide his tears.  But Death caught his master’s tears with his thumb before they could fall and wiped them away.  “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.  Dumbeldore doesn’t even matter.  Isn’t that insane?  I want justice of course.  I want to prevent him from hurting more people.  But I don’t even…care.”  A laugh bordering on hysterical escaped Harry and Death waited patiently for his master to continue.  “I just want Balance to be restored and him unable to hurt innocents.  But even that pales in comparison to all of the….” Harry drew in a shuddering breath.  “The hope you’ve given me.  The….future I have.”

“This was always meant to be yours, Harry,”  Death replied.  “My siblings agree.  Fate, Magic, and Time.  This was always meant to be your life.  A deviance here and there has occurred, but you get the gist, yes?”

Harry grinned up at Death and took his hand, leading him to the tree stump which had transfigured into a bench.

“How have you been?” Harry asked, taking his seat, letting Death take theirs, never letting go of their hand.

“Time means little to me, Harry. The afterlife is as it always has been—steady. The souls come, they go. Some are surprised to meet me, others greet me as an old companion. Others think I’m a villain and attack me.”  Harry stiffened, but Death continued, “But it's never dull.”

“Do they…hurt you?”

Death chuckled, laying their head against Harry’s.  “They cannot.  No matter how hard they wish.  I am safe, Harry.”

Harry hummed but otherwise said nothing.  They stayed like that, staying contentedly in the other’s presence, gazing across the mist into the endless black of the forest or up at the stars that were foreign to one but not the other.  

“Death?” Harry asked, after both a short while and an eternity of soaking in the other’s presence.  

“Yes, Harry?” Death rasped out softly.

“Why do you look differently today than you did when I’d died before?”

Death didn’t answer right away.  They could feel the inhales and exhales of their master as Death tried to put into words both the answer to Harry’s question and what he was feeling. The movements of Harry's breath, the rhythm of it, calmed him. 

“Some see me as a dark hooded figure, like I came to you after you died.  I–I– I made you see me that way, I thought it’d be useful for you to see me like that.  So you knew what was happening.  Most people see me as an ancient, unwavering entity, some see me as evil. You, though, you see the truth.  You see me as I am.”  

Harry listened and tried to read in between the lines– he cursed the fact that he knew so little of Death.  He knew that Death was trying to say more than they was actually putting into words so Harry mulled over Death’s words before replying.  He took too long though and Death asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I just….” Harry stammered. They hadn’t changed positions in the entire time they’d been sitting together but now Harry shifted so he could look up into Death’s cloaked face. “I can see more of your face,” Harry said softly.  He reached up to touch Death’s cheek.  Death instinctively leaned into his touch.  “I like it.  I like seeing you.”

Death dropped his gaze to the ground. He could feel the blush overtaking his face, and Harry was mesmerized by the faint dusting of pink rising up the column of Death’s neck to his cheeks, tinging the galaxies and stars in his skin pink.

Death had ushered souls into the afterlife…cycle was more like it but….it was also a life…an existence.  Whatever word you wanted to put to it, Death had ushered souls into it for as long as Time and Magic existed.  His siblings used their few millennia on him constantly.  Even Fate did, though she was only a few hundred years older than him.  He’d seen everything there was to see.  Sure, it was never dull because it was a couple hundred years between when he’d see a human  react a certain way that caused his sisters to laugh and check him over for harm. But the point was he’d seen it all. So it took a lot to stun Death to silence.  

But his Master’s words…they knocked the breath right out of him.

“You….you want to see me?”

Harry stiffened at the words and Death almost apologized before Harry said vehemently.  “ Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

“You just…” Death started.  They licked their lips.  “You hadn’t really told your Bonded about me.  Or your role as my master.  I just thought you….wanted to forget.”

Harry was silent.  

And Death was worried he’d angered his master.  “I don’t blame you, of course!  It’s…a lot.  I just thought…you weren’t keen on being….stuck…with me.”

Harry was silent for another couple of minutes and Death cursed his impulse to call for his master and summon him to this plain every second of the wait.  But then Harry whispered, “I don’t know you as well as I should.”

“You are but newly my master,” Death said hastily.

“Yes, and we’ll get to know each other in time.  But I do see you, Death.  And I….when you’re comfortable…I’d love to see you as you are.”

Death reared back, stunned.  For all the timeless existence he lived, he’d never heard those words.  His siblings had no choice but to see him as he was.  He’d never had someone choose him, and continue to choose him long enough to see him fully.

“I’d like that…,” Death said slowly after a while.  “Is it okay if we wait?”  Death didn’t want to get his hopes up for another true master before his current one had even told his Bonded.

“We can wait as long as you need,” Harry reassured, laying his head back down on Death’s broad shoulders.  What weights these shoulders must have carried all alone, Harry thought to himself.  “But at some point in whatever existence you and your siblings have in store for me, I’d like to gaze into your eyes.”  Harry smiled.  “If they’re half as intriguing as your hands, the wait will be more than worth it.”  Harry squeezed the hands in question but said nothing more, content to just be in Death’s presence. 

“I would like that, Master,” Death said. “And I would like to meet Draco.”

Harry perked up in delighted surprise.  “You-you would?” he asked, turning sparkling eyes up towards Death.  “I didn’t tell him because I didn’t know if I was allowed to tell anyone or not.”

Death chuckled again, the sound deep and resonant.  “You are my master.  You may do as you wish.”

“Some choices are better than others, though, are they not?” Harry questioned, searching the shadows of his face.  

“Yes.”

“What would you suggest?” Harry asked.  

Mouth dry with the…utter insanity of being asked for his opinion yet again, Death said, “I suggest you tell him when you think you and he are ready.  I will always be here, and you will always be my master.  And tomorrow or two hundred years from now will make little difference to me.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, taking in all of the cues he could as to what else Death was trying to tell him.  The slight grasp of the fabric on the back of his shirt.  The caress of the fabric a second later.  The painfully careful control of Death’s voice. 

“Well,” Harry said slowly and he felt Death stiffen in a way that was painful to Harry, in a way that split his soul into a million pieces. Death was bracing for a blow.  “I didn’t like not telling him or any of my parents and godparents.  I just thought…I should check in with you first.”

Death perked up and Harry hid his grin.  “I’ll tell him when the time is right,” Harry said instead of unleashing the giddy laughter that was begging for escape. “Tom and Sirius and Sev and the Malfoys….I don’t know what to do about them yet.” And to be honest, he was less concerned with them meeting Death than his Bonded. Something was intensifying in him by the second, something that said Death and Draco needed to meet.

Death deflated and Harry hurried to continue.  “I love the family you and your siblings have given me,” Harry whispered, rising on his knees to bring his forehead to Death’s, the fabric obscuring the skin-to-skin contact doing nothing to mute the electric energy that ran between his body and Death’s.  

“But Draco is my future,” Harry whispered.  “And you are my forever.  I’m so excited for you two to meet now that I know I can tell him.  And I….I want us both to be able to see you as you are, as whatever you want to be. My family will adore you whether they meet you in your plane or mine. But Draco…Draco will love you. As I do.”

Death let those words reverberate through his entire being. “I’d…I’d like that.”

Death turned his face to the stars and Harry followed his gaze.  The stars were shifting; it was almost time for his little Master to wake up.  “Tell him your title and I’ll work on my courage for you to see my face.”

Harry turned his soft gaze to Death.  “You set the pace, Dear One.”  Death jerked back at the endearment.  But before Harry could get in his head about it, Death whispered, “Can you say it again, Master?”

Harry smiled.  “I will tell Draco as soon as I can, and you, Dear One, can tell me when you are ready for me to see you as you are and when you are ready to meet Draco however you want to meet him.”  Harry cupped Death’s face, hoodie and all.  “They can be mere hours apart or centuries apart.  But they both will happen and I cannot wait, Dear One.”

Death shuddered, his whole body alight with….this energy his Harry was giving him, his master.  “It is almost time for you to go, Master,” Death said urgently, forcing himself to stand and move out of Harry’s embrace.  

Harry waited silently for Death to say something after those ominous words.  But when Death spoke next, it was with the voices of all he related to and all he commanded, the weight of it ominously ringing in his voice, “Severus will call you to his office after potions tomorrow.  Tell him then.  He will be ready.  Your parents–all of them– should know before your Bonded.  Your Bonded…this knowledge will trigger something in him.  And once it’s triggered, there’s no going back.”

Harry nodded.  He wasn’t concerned with most of what Death had just said.  He was glad he knew Severus was ready for this revelation and so probably Tom.  But he was mostly concerned with his dear Death.  He tugged on Death’s hand so they’d sit back down and then    moved closer to Death until he was half in his lap.  Death shifted so Harry was fully in his arms.  “Thank you,” Harry whispered.

“For the advice?” Death questioned, curious what pleased this master who was unlike any he’d had.  

Harry shook his head even as he felt his plane call to him.  “For being you.  I can’t wait to talk to you again.  I hope next time it's me, you, and my Bonded.  But however I next meet you, I can’t wait.”

“You can summon me, too, Master,” Death whispered hurriedly, trying to get his words in before his master was gone.

“Perfect,” Harry whispered, laying his head on Death’s shoulder and nuzzling into the crook of his neck.  “I’ll see you after I tell Sev.” And between the exhale after those words and the inhale for his next, Harry was back in his plane. And Death was alone again.

But the hope for when he next would talk to his Master warmed him from the inside out.  Time would keep.  And he had work to do in the meantime.  

Chapter Text

On the first day of classes, the Great Hall was as noisy and chaotic as it’d always been. Students were buzzing with excitement for the first day of classes– Harry and his friends among them.  Harry was so excited to share an entire schedule with his Bonded. They’d never have to be apart.

Harry suddenly cringed at the neediness of that thought.  But really, he wasn’t that bad. It’s not like Harry and Draco didn’t have lives outside of each other.  They definitely chose to have time away with other friends regularly.  In fact, in a few days, he had a walk scheduled with Luna in the Forbidden Forest at midnight, she said Harry would finally be able to see the wrackspurts.  But it was different when it was their choice.  Harry didn’t like being forced from his Bonded for any reason, even classes.  After his talk with his friends about the old goat and his talk with Death about his future, he was more than a little wobbly, and Draco was his anchor, a bulwark against any storm raging in his head and heart.

And a mighty storm had been brewing since he’d arrived at the castle.  Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on what was going on.  He knew everything would be fine.  Not only were Death, Fate, Lady Magic, and Time on his side, not only was the literal Heart of Hogwarts, the sentient wards, on his side but he had an entire army in his family and friends at his back.  And yet, Harry had been on edge since the moment he was within Hogwarts’ wards. It had started as small as a mustard seed, and had been easily ignored.  But now that he’d been on Hogwarts’ grounds for three days, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

But he also couldn’t name it.  So Harry was at a loss. 

Harry picked up his plate and reached for the toast but then froze as his eyes settled on Aurora scarfing down some eggs and bacon in a decidedly not pureblood way.  As quickly as she’d begun eating, she stopped, wiped her mouth, smoothed her uniform, and then with a quick “Please get my schedule from Uncle Sev” thrown over her shoulder at Harry, she hastened to the other side of the hall to sit with Neville and finish breakfast there. She still moved away with the ease and grace of any Pureblood who’d been raised in the magical world, save for the quick middle finger she flipped at Fred who laughingly told her he’d tell Cissa about her table manners.  

Blaise looked over the top of his morning paper, which Harry was surprised to see was The Quibbler , and said, “Does she really think we don’t know about her and Neville?”

Pansy scowled, though the excitement for her friend shining in her smile broke it in a matter of seconds. “Honestly, we’re not as smart as her but we’re not that hopeless.”

Draco smiled. He understood Aurora better than anyone except Harry.  He took the plate from Harry’s hands and began filling it with his Bonded’s favorite foods. “She’s most likely establishing inconsistent eating habits so the food isn’t spiked.”

Murmurs of approval sounded.  Not only was that very Aurora– and Draco.  But it made sense since she thought she would be the biggest target for the Weasley children’s threats of friendship.

Gemma Farley and Antonius Hawthorne, the prefects, came with a stack of parchment shortly after Draco placed the plate he had made for him, and then Draco whispered to the table about “the thing he’d requested” and a steaming cup of chai tea popped up right next to Harry’s plate.

Harry smiled. It settled him. Despite whatever was making him uneasy was making his heart and mind feel…loose.   As if they were drifting beyond his body and control. Despite the chaos in his heart, nothing could settle him like being taken care of by his Bonded.

Harry kissed Draco’s cheek in thanks but before he could say anything, Antonius interrupted with a quick clearing of his throat.

He’d added a carefully controlled sonorus with his wand tip to his throat so he could be heard above the noise of the Great Hall as Gemma cast a muffliato on said noise to make it almost disappear.  At the abrupt change in auditory input all eyes went to the prefects, Draco’s and Harry’s included. 

“Great, now that the lovebirds are with us,” Antonius began.  Draco and Harry looked down sheepishly, though Antonius’s words lacked heat and everyone else just giggled.  They were the first Bonded pair in Wizarding England in centuries, and they were currently surrounded by teenagers.  Of course, they’d be teased.  Most of their house, though, they knew, loved that they were in love.  “Severus is stuck in a meeting,” Antonius continued, "so we’ll be handing out your schedules.”

“Is everything alright?” Draco asked, frowning.  A meeting before classes even started? It’d never happened as far as any of them were aware.

“He’s meeting with Dumbledore,” Gemma answered.  “All the teachers are. Something about the DADA teacher.”

Draco and Harry glanced at each other.  Now that she mentioned it, it was strange that a teacher hadn’t been introduced last night. The prefects, though, refused to say anything else and started to call out names. Harry just held grabbed Draco's hand with his left hand and turned back to eating with his right. Whatever it was, they’d find out soon enough.

Gemma eventually called his name and when he went to get his schedule, he asked, “Can I also get Aurora’s? She’s at the Badger's table.”

She hesitated. “We’re really not supposed to share this information. Why can’t she get it herself?”

“She’s at the Badger's table,” Harry repeated, smiling. 

Gemma rolled her eyes, “So you said. She can still come and get it herself.”

Harry hit her with his best doe-eyes and smile.  “We’re just trying to give her and Neville space to figure things out.  You know how self conscious she gets.  This is a big step for her.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded once and handed over Aurora’s schedule.

Harry grinned and said, “Thanks, Gemma! You’re the best!” And he caught the slight blush on her face before he turned around, grinning at Draco triumphantly.

Draco laughed. “You’ll have the entire castle wrapped around your fingers soon.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, shoving his Bonded playfully before checking both his and Draco’s schedules to see what they had together. Harry nearly blew out a breath of relief. He knew their schedules should be like this; it was very rare that those in the same year and house would have wildly different schedules, but he was worried the headmaster would interfere– his latest schtick was trying to get everyone to think that Bonded pairs were Dark Magic.  So Harry had been worried, he’d try to force him and Draco apart. But, no. His schedule perfectly aligned with Draco’s.  They had all the same classes and free periods. But as he continued to scan, his eyes landed on the only difference: Quidditch practice. His heart sank. He’d been dreading missing his favorite sport. He stared at the blank space on his own schedule where Draco and Blaise had "Quidditch Practice: Thursday, Saturday, Sunday 5 PM" neatly printed.

“What’s wrong, love?” Draco asked, concerned, Harry’s stomach doing a little loop-de-loop at the endearment.  They’d been skirting around that word for awhile.  A little too long, actually.  He was full to overflowing with love for Draco, it was bound to spill over soon.

“Quidditch,” Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant but his voice was dull.

“You can spend that time with me in the Library,” Theo offered, chewing his lip nervously.  His dark espresso eyes held a tiny bit of hesitation, as if not sure if Harry would want to spend one-on-one time with him. “Y’know, if you’re thinking of not going out for the team.”

Harry smiled at Theo.  “Thanks, Theo.  That sounds good. I’d love to!”

“Why wouldn’t you be planning to be on the Quidditch team?  You're the best seeker Hogwarts has ever had.” Draco asked, barely hiding a smirk, and if Harry had been looking at his Bonded instead of trying to hide his sadness, he would have seen it.

Harry snorted, though a blush at Draco's vehement compliment was spreading on his cheeks. “You know I'm not on the team.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be,” Blaise offered.

Harry glared at Blaise, offended on his and Draco’s behalf.  As if he’d take the position his Bonded currently held just so he could play.  Besides, what he loved about Quidditch was the flying, and he could do that without being on the team.

Before Harry could come up with a come back or hex Blaise for even suggesting he steal Draco’s spot, Marcus Flint lumbered over, his ever-present scowl deepened by what Harry assumed was a lack of coffee. He dropped heavily onto the bench next to Blaise, nearly knocking over a jug of pumpkin juice.

“You’re coming to tryouts, right, Potter?” Flint growled, taking a hasty gulp of steaming coffee. “They’re this Thursday.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. I don’t…”

Flint gulped down his black coffee in quick successive gulps, making everyone around him wince at what must be surface-temperature-of-the-sun hot judging by the amount of steam coming from his cup and even his mouth as he talked.  He slammed the empty cup down and growled, “No, no, no, no, no!”

Draco’s arm instantly came around Harry who couldn’t help but shrink a little into him.  He was already a little on edge, and now he’d made Flint this angry? On the first day of classes? What had he said? He hadn’t even gotten a full sentence out!

“You are not doing this to me, Potter,” Flint all but growled. “I finally get Draco to play where he’s best at the year you get into Slytherin and you’re telling me you’ve decided to take a break from being the best damned Seeker this school has ever had?”

Harry stared wide-eyed and silent through Flint’s entire rant and when he was finally done, Harry threw back his head and laughed.  The sound, brilliant and beautiful and music to Draco’s very soul.

“You fucking dick!” Harry exclaimed, shoving Draco. “Why didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be playing Seeker this year?”

Blaise opened his mouth to reply but his smaller, quieter, secret hellion of a boyfriend beat him to it.  “Probably because he didn’t want to tell you why he went out for seeker in second year, since keeper was an open spot on Slytherin’s team then, too.” Theo leaned into Blaise hiding his laughter in Blaise’s shoulder.

“Our entire childhoods,” Blaise supplied, “we heard nothing but ‘I am going to be the best Keeper Hogwarts has ever seen.’”

“And then,” Theo said, leaning across the table towards Harry conspiratorially, “as soon as you made Seeker in our First Year he was all about playing seeker for Slytherin.”

“And after every game, we had to get a play by play about Saint Potter and his lunatic moves,” Blaise said.

Draco glared at his two best friends.  Honestly, it was like they’d rehearsed that.  He glanced at Harry as he buttered some toast for him, trying to read his Bonded’s expression.  If the wide eyes and wide smile were anything to go by, he was very surprised if not also entertained.

“But—” Harry started. “You’ve been Seeker for years. And you’re really good at it.”

“I played Seeker because of you, ” Draco said. “Because it was the only way I could talk to you. The rivalry, the sniping, the chasing each other around the pitch... It was my way of getting your attention.”  Harry just stared at him which made Draco say, a little defensively, “I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, his thoughts spinning. “You mean... you only played Seeker to—?”

“To get your attention,” Draco repeated, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “But Keeper is what I’ve always been best at. Pucey was decent, but the position’s open now, so I took it. Flint’s thrilled about it.”

Harry’s mind raced as he tried to process this new information. Draco, who had always seemed so confident and competitive, had chosen an entire position on the pitch because of him?  Even before they were Bonded? Draco wanted his attention even before they were magically stuck together.

“Anyway,” Draco continued, “that means Seeker’s open. You’d have to come to tryouts on Thursday. With you on the team, we’ll be unstoppable.”  

“Yeah, Potter,” Flint said, butting back into the conversation. “You’re not taking anything from Draco but you’ll give Slytherin a fighting chance.  If not for me or our housemates, think of what Dumbeldore’s face will look like when the trophy goes to Snape’s office.”

Not that he needed more convincing, but that clinched it for Harry.  He mock-saluted Flint and then dug into the second helping of breakfast that Draco set in front of him. Harry thanked him with a quick kiss to the cheek and dug in.  He’d been oddly starving lately, like his-stomach-was-suddenly-a-black-hole starving. On Saturday after his first walk with Luna through the Forbidden Forest, Harry had even eaten three servings of dinner, which had both puzzled Harry and pleased Draco.  The serving the food itself was another tell-tale sign of an impending creature inheritance; Draco loved providing for his mate. But more so was the fact that Draco was so in tune with Harry, he’d made the third helping– the first time Harry had needed one– without being asked, much to Harry’s relief.  Harry didn’t know if he had it in him to go for a third plate of food himself, even with all of the therapy he’d had.

Draco leaned down to whisper, causing Harry to shiver. “Gotta keep our future seeker's strength up.” 

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of laughter and light teasing, but Harry couldn’t shake the warmth that spread through his chest every time he glanced at Draco. The idea that Draco had spent years crafting their so-called rivalry just to get his attention made Harry’s heart flutter.

Breakfast was beginning to come to a close, and Aurora had finally come back to the Slytherin table briefly to get and look over the schedule Harry had for her. Some people started gathering their things.  Aurora was among them; she left with 20 minutes before classes, mumbling about wanting to get there early to ‘feel things out.’  Knowing she had a system that worked for her, no matter how insane it looked to anybody else, Harry left her to it, but was surprised when she came back to the table not even a minute later with the others who’d left with her streaming back in, too.

“There’s going to be some announcement,” Aurora said. “We’re all to stay until it's made”

Since they still had time, Draco turned back to Harry and leaned down so his lips were right next to Harry’s ear, his breath tickling him as he spoke in the way he knew drove Harry crazy, “I know I probably should’ve told you sooner. But seeing the look on your face when Flint all but begged you to join the team was worth the wait.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched into a smile. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And you love it,” Draco shot back, smirking.

“I still can’t believe you gave up your ‘best Keeper in Slytherin history’ streak just because—”

Draco shut him up with a quick kiss. “Because I wanted you, Harry.  Even then, I wanted you,” he said softly, his gray eyes searching Harry’s. “Because I needed you to see me.”

Harry’s breath hitched. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Draco when Harry had been up to his eyeballs in compulsions and blocks.  Draco had told Harry that he had felt the need to be near Harry because of the Bond even before the Bond had solidified.  And it made Harry's heart ache to remember how he had looked straight through Draco as if he were nothing. It was something he wished he could erase from Draco’s memory, something he didn’t do but wished he could take back.

Harry didn’t know what to say—what could he say? So instead, he leaned up to kiss Draco. “I’m sorry I didn’t, but I do now,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. On instinct, Harry reached for the Bond between them, a fledgling beautiful little thing and showed Draco their night together from his memories. “I’m yours now. Only yours.”

Draco’s smirk softened into something softer, but his eyes darkened at the memories of the night before. He brushed his lips against Harry’s cheek before pulling back. “Good. Because I don’t share.”

Harry’s laugh bubbled up before he could stop it, his face flushed with warmth. “Possessive much?”

Draco leaned in again, this time whispering directly into Harry’s ear. “Only with you, love.”

That word again. It sent a shiver down Harry’s spine, and before he could fully process it, Draco had slipped an arm around his waist again, and pulled him close. “Good,” Harry whispered. “I don’t want to share you either.”

When the world suddenly filtered back into their consciousness and they turned back to the table, their friends were sitting there with varying degrees of playful exasperation and expectancy.

Aurora smirked as she fixed a cup of tea, “Good to have you both back.”

“But feel free to ignore us,” Fred said with a playful eye roll.

“Again,” Theo muttered.

It was Daphne who broke first, the pattern already all too familiar.  And her giggles made everyone burst into laughter until tears were threatening to spill from their eyes. 

George appeared on Fred’s other side.  “What’s so funny?”

They all made eye contact with each other, and they were at it again.  Another wave of laughter rolled through the group.  

Then through his laughter, Fred tried to explain but he only got four words out, “Well, Harry and Draco….”

George’s immediate, resigned “Oh” sent them all into a third wave of laughter, and everyone was holding their sides from the force of it.

Harry looked around grinning, as one by one, everyone calmed down.  This year would be a good year.  He could feel it in his bones.  It was already filled with more laughter and love than any year previous, in this life and his previous one. They would all be okay. If only he could make whatever was making him uneasy believe that, too.

The hall quieted as Dubmledore’s voice rang out, “Attention, students. I’m sure you all have realized by now that we didn’t introduce you to your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor for this year.  The ministry was supposed to send a representative to try the ministry’s new curriculum, but she never arrived, and the Board of Directors has been working all night to come up with a solution while Madame Umbridge is searched for.”  Dumbledore’s voice was its usual grandfatherly, rasp of a voice, but there was a sinister edge to it.  And Dumbeldore’s magic was furious. It was dark red and orange and spiky. It was spitting out of him like spears flying through the air.

Harry looked around at his friends, a question in his eyes.  Did they see it too?  How pissed off he was?  Everyone just gave him a questioning look; Draco’s eyes, though, narrowed in concern.  Harry’s brows furrowed and he shook his head at Draco.  He’d tell him later.

“So,” Dumbledore said, looking as if he swallowed a lemon, his magic all but lashing out, “to introduce you to the new teacher and to update you all about the tests conducted this summer, please welcome two Board members, Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy!”

Harry’s eyes lit up.  He clapped with everyone else, enthusiastically waving at his dad when they made eye contact, and Sirius just as enthusiastically waved back. 

“Hello, kids,” Sirius said.  “My name is Sirius Black, and I’m just here to see my son and nieces and nephews.  Lucius here will tell you everything you need to know. So give him another big round of applause.”  He made gestures for everyone to keep going and get louder until the applause was thunderous.

Harry smirked, seeing the red creeping up Lucius’s neck.  When everyone quieted, Lucius said,“Yes, thank you, Lord Black ,” the title very pointed, making many of the Purebloods snicker. “You all are aware that everyone was given a medical examination for vaccinations, blocks, and compulsions.  This will happen yearly, from now on.”  Lucius paused, his eyes searching until they landed on Draco, his face visibly relaxing only to those who knew him best, to his family. “I don’t want you all to be scared, but the results of these tests were deeply troubling.  There is no need for panic, but as you all know, blocks and compulsions are serious things that should never have happened to you or your classmates.  And the Board and the Ministry do not take what happened to you lightly. We are working with the DMLE to investigate and bring the culprit to justice.  In the meantime, please stay vigilant and be aware of any changes to you or your loved ones.  If you see anything of note, please don’t hesitate to tell your head of house.  There are protocols in place for us to deal with it straight away.  I can’t stress this enough. We would rather you report something you find suspicious six times and all six times have nothing be wrong than for you to fail to report because you’re afraid to be wrong.  Now, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to owl the Board.  You can address the letters to Hogwarts Board of Directors, and it’ll find me. The Board will also have a greater presence at Hogwarts this year, so you can also hand us your letters in person should you see us. We love getting letters from students, so I look forward to hearing from some of you.” He paused, and Harry saw his sharp glance move swiftly across the hall, making sure the students weren’t panicking but also still taking everything in.  

Seemingly satisfied with what he saw he continued, “Now late last night Professor Binns crossed over. I’m sure you all know that this is never planned; it just happens when our ghost friends are ready, and so we wish Professor Binns the very best. Because this was so sudden, we are working to get a new professor sorted within the week.  But for this week, all history classes are canceled and will serve as free periods.”

There was an excited intake of breath from all the students, but everyone barely refrained from clapping since the reason behind their new free time was so somber.  Lucius’s mouth twitched.  He knew nobody would miss Professor Binns; he’d overstayed his tenure by centuries. But the children had done well holding in their cheers.

“As for your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, we have found a wonderful replacement for the year. None other than cursebreaker and lawyer, Thomas Gideon Gaunt.”

Harry gasped, eyes wide.  He clapped along with everyone else, his magic vibrating excitedly across his skin.  He’d be safe.  He’d really be safe.  Between his Bonded, his friends, Severus, Hogwarts, and now Tom.  They were all safe.  The only thing that would make it better was if Moony would come home and he and Sirius were in the castle, too.

After they were dismissed to their first class, Harry hightailed it to the teacher’s platform and jumped up to give Sirius a big bear hug. “I missed you,” Harry mumbled into his father’s shoulder.  

“It’s only been three days, pup,” Sirius laughed.  But then he whispered, “I missed you, too.”  He let go of him and said, “Go to class. Lucius and I are going to be here all day, so I’ll see you soon”

At Harry’s raised eyebrow, Sirius said, “The Board is conducting an investigation; you’ll see me throughout the day and probably throughout the year, and Cissa is coming for dinner today.” Sirius ruffled his hair. “Don’t be late for Sev’s first class, Prongslet. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Harry nodded and ran to Draco and their friends and cousins who were waiting for him by the doors. They walked down the corridor together, the buzz of students’ chatter about these new developments all around them but eventually they dispersed. Aurora was once again in full student mode and was walking at least six feet in front of everyone. Pansy and Daphne got swept up in the middle of the pack, making sure to not lose each other in the chaos, and Theo, Blaise, and Fred had all splintered off in different directions, leaving Harry and Draco alone as they took the long way toward their first class. They still had time, and they were never in a particular rush to start the school year. 

“So that was a lot,” Draco said.  Harry hummed. “But most importantly, you do promise to go to tryouts on Thursday, right?”

Harry laughed.  “Most important?” But he knew what Draco meant.  It’s not like they could adequately discuss everything out in the open.

“I don’t know,” Harry teased. “I was looking forward to a break from Quidditch.”

“Liar,” Draco accused with absolutely no heat in his voice.  His tone turned cajoling, “Come on, Harry!  For me, love?” Draco said.  That word again.  The word that made butterflies swarm his chest and choke him up. “We’ll have identical schedules if you do.  I was looking forward to that, too, y’know.”

Harry looked down now, a blush overtaking his face.  He hadn’t realized he'd been so obvious about it.

“Okay,” Harry whispered as they stopped in the now empty corridor outside of the options classroom. “But only if you promise a reward like last night.”

Draco’s eyes darkened, but he kept his hands to himself. He would not be caught by their godfather and potions professor making out in the hallway. “Deal. Now let’s go, Potter, before Sev deducts points for us being late.”

Harry followed him inside, his cheeks still tinged pink and the butterflies still fluttering inside his chest.

-

Harry remembered Severus’s classroom as dark, gloomy, and drafty.  And while there was definitely a draft, it was actually very cozy.  The warm candlelight against the stone of the walls softened to the point where he forgot they were in what were a castle’s dungeons.  The fireplace was spelled so the fire gave warmth and light but the smoke went nowhere outside of the fireplace, staying far away from their potions. And the dried herbs and ingredients along the walls were a familiar sight that made it seem like the potions lab at home.

Harry took his usual seat beside Draco.  Aurora and Pansy were in front of him and Theo and Blaise were behind them.  Interestingly, Daphne went to sit with Padma Patil in the front of the classroom. Right on time, Severus swept into the room, his robes billowing behind him as he launched into his short instructions without preamble. “Ingredients are on the board. You have forty-five minutes to complete this potion. This is all review so it should be a walk in the park. Begin.”

Fifteen minutes later, Draco gently elbowed Harry who was studiously mincing his lavender and chopping his mullein.  “Look, this should be good,” Draco whispered.

Harry turned and saw Ron trying to sneak in but the only open seat was right at the front, directly in front of Severus’s desk next to Seamus.  Harry watched his former best friend inch his way towards the seat.  To Ron’s credit, he did cast a muffliato on his shoes, but then again over the summer, he’d forgotten how insanely creaky the potion room’s floor was.  A loud squeak of the floorboards had Severus saying without looking up from his notes, “Detention, Mr. Weasley and fifteen points from Gryffindor for tardiness to your first class of the year.”

Harry muffled his laugh. But Ron’s response baffled him. He said a quiet, “Yes, sir,” and moved to gather his ingredients.

“And let’s hope, Mr. Weasley,” Severus said, making Ron freeze in his tracks, “that you are able to complete this 45 minute potion in 30 minutes.”

Aurora smirked at that. Because there was a way to do that.  Ron just had to remember the recipe from the previous year or know a simple time dilation spell, the legal one for inanimate things like plants and potions and not the illegal one used on humans.

Harry worked in silence, hyper-aware of Snape’s presence. His potion was coming together well, but his thoughts kept drifting. It was so weird having one of his favorite people in the world be so close to him but having to put up this ridiculous charade.  Sure, Sev wasn’t being cruel anymore, but there was a deliberate coldness now, a wall that hadn’t been there when they were at Malfoy Manor. Every time Snape called him ‘Potter’ Harry had to bite back a laugh at the absurdity of the, albeit, necessary charade.

By the Harry had finished, his potion was a perfect shade of lilac, earning him an approving glance from Severus that only someone familiar with the man would notice. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep Harry sane for the rest of what remained of the class.  Because Harry had remembered both the faster recipe and the time dilation spell, so he had twenty minutes to read while everyone else finished up.

“You’re such a swot, Potter,” Theo muttered.  “How’d you do that?”

Harry just smirked over his shoulder at his friend and continued to read.  Draco and Aurora finished ten minutes later, both having remembered only the time dilation spell and not the faster recipe.  

Predictably, everyone but Ron finished the potion. He glumly bottled the sludge in his cauldron, knowing he’d failed for the day.  “It’s not my fault,” Harry heard him complaining to Seamus. “Dumbledore kept me longer than he said he would.”

Harry stiffened. He looked up at Draco. “Can you go tell your dad about that?” he whispered. “I’ll talk to Severus and Sirius.”  

Harry accepted the quick kiss on his lips and watched his Bonded leave. When the door had shut behind him, Harry was finally the last student in the classroom. 

“Is everything alright, Harry?” 

Upon finally hearing his godfather say his name, Harry collapsed against Severus.  No tears came.  He wasn’t sad.  He was just tired.

“What happened?” Severus asked, his tone more urgent.  He ushered Harry to his private office, and once Harry was seated, he let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“Ron was late because he was meeting with Dumbledore.”

Severus’ expression didn’t change, but his posture shifted, his focus sharpening. “Go on.”

Harry shrugged, suddenly feeling silly and melodramatic.  That was all.  That was all he knew.  Why did he feel so uneasy? Why was he so scared?

“I don’t know,” Harry said, voice small. “That’s all I know.”  He fidgeted with the fabric of his school robe. “Ummm well actually…I need to talk to you about something else. Can you get Sirius for this? And I don’t know Tom’s schedule but if he has a free period right now, him too?”

Severus nodded, eyes still filled with concern and went to floo call Tom and Sirius. 

Harry did the breathing exercises Dr. Singh had told him to do when he felt anxious. He didn’t think this was anxiety, but maybe it was. At any rate, it was only helping a little.

Within two minutes, Tom and Sirius stepped out of the fireplace, all but running into the room.

“Pup,” Sirius said, his face suddenly right in front of Harry’s.

“Dad,” Harry said, his voice cracking. “I need…I need to tell you all something.” 

The three men glanced around at each other, concerned. 

“Did something else happen?” Sev asked.

“Something else?” Tom asked, eyes bleeding red.

“Just Ron said that he was held up because he was meeting with Dumbledore,” Harry explained in a rush, suddenly feeling like he didn’t have the energy to sit upright. He pulled Sirius closer, leaning his forehead against his dad’s arm. “He was around ten minutes late to class. Draco’s telling Lucius to see if he can find anything out.”

“Okay,” Sirius said slowly.  He kind of wished Narcissa was with him right now.  Sirius could help Harry through his panic attacks, but Narcissa did it with an ease and grace he’d never be able to match.  And Harry positively glowed under her motherly affections.  “What did you want to talk to us about then?”

Harry paused, “I had a dream last night…well it wasn’t really a dream.  I met…Death.”

Sirius sucked in a breath that ended in a grunt when both Tom and Severus smacked him in the back of his shoulder so as not to disturb Harry.

In any other circumstances, Sirius’s affronted look would have made Harry laugh and tease his dad. But today he just let out a breath and then whispered, “I’m the Master of Death.”

“Do you know what that means?” Tom asked carefully.

“Not really.  I know it was on the Inheritance Test, but you had said not everything would manifest, they were just possibilities. I just know that I can talk to Death whenever I want to and he’s okay with it.  He said that he wants to meet Draco but that we can’t tell Draco I’m the Master of Death because it’s gonna trigger something in him.”

“Can you remember his words exactly, Harry?” Sirius asked.  A being as ancient as that chose their words very carefully.

“He said Draco’s not ready.  Once he knows, something will be triggered.  And once it’s triggered, there’s no going back.”  Harry around at his parents.  Severus and Tom were standing in front of him.  Severus was turned slightly towards Tom, grasping Tom’s hand with both of his.  Tom’s eyes were red and his stance was strong as if ready to fight at any second.  Sirius had moved to sit next to Harry with his arm wrapped tightly around his son, holding him like he was a lifeline.  When Harry looked up at him, Siri…Gods, Siri looked distraught.  His eyes glistened with tears, and he was looking at Harry as if he were afraid he’d disappear.

“He can’t have you,” Sirius choked out. “Not yet, please.”

Realizing what this could sound like to Sirius who lived for twelve years in a hell hole not knowing what had happened to him, Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius and hugged him back just as fiercely. “I’m not dying, dad,” Harry huffed out, laughing lightly. “I’m sorry I know that sounded weird, like I could be.  I didn’t realize.”  Harry blew out a breath.  “Death said that Time, Fate, and Lady magic are on my side and I am currently living the life they had originally planned for me.” He grimaced, “With a few ‘adjustments.’”

That knocked a surprised laugh out of Severus. “Okay, so you’re worried about Draco?”

Harry shook his head, “I think I know what it will trigger.  So many bloodlines are re-emerging, and Draco’s showing signs, at least to me, of a creature inheritance.”

This time it was Tom who sucked in a breath. “The Malfoy family has Veela blood.  They haven't had an inheritance in over a millenia.”

In the thick, dooming silence that followed, Harry said, “Yeah…ummm.  There’s something else.  I’ve been feeling….”

Sirius who’d caught himself clinging to Harry a little too much got up to crouch in front of his son and only had on hand rubbing Harry’s arm, well aware that while Harry needed touch to ground him, Harry thought best with the least amount of sensory input as possible. Sirius knew he had to fight his instinct to smother his son. It was one of the reasons that while he had guardianship of Harry on paper, Sirius allowed Tom, Severus and the Malfoys to have such an active parental role in Harry’s life.  If Sirius had it his way and he was too deep in an unhealthy mindset, he’d never let Harry leave his sight.  It was the toughest pill to swallow, that just as Harry was reaching the age most kids spread their wings and left home, that was when Sirius had finally gotten him back.  Thankfully, well maybe not thankfully–honestly what kind of father was he.  As it was, with Harry's background, Harry was much more open and affectionate than most boys his age and he wasn’t showing signs of leaving them anytime soon.  Harry’s easy, bright laughter and innocent nature that contrasted his mischievous and sarcastic streaks were a balm to all of the scars on his heart.  His friends lived on in Harry’s kindness, his joy– even as Harry was becoming his own person.

So Sirius eventually removed his hand and took a seat in the chair next to Harry’s and said, “Take your time, Prongslet.”

“My feelings don’t match what I know,” Harry finally said. “I know we’re going to be fine.  I know me and my friends are safe, especially with Sev and now Tom here.  Like Hogwarts would never let anything happen to us.”

“What do you mean that Hogwarts would let it happen, Harry?” Sirius asked, looking to Severus and Tom to see if they knew.  They both shrugged.  

“I can feel her,” Harry whispered. “She’s strong.  And she’s on our side.”

Tom jerked forward, “Harry, can you feel Hogwarts’ wards?”

“Not now, love,” Severus murmured, thinking Tom wanted to experiment for the sake of it.

“No,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I mean…the Headmaster is keyed into the wards. Can your uneasiness be due to your…sensitivity to the Heart of Hogwarts?”

Harry tilted his head to the side; he hadn’t considered that.  Could he feel the headmaster’s presence because he could feel the wards? Harry concentrated on the room, centered his mind, and reached out to his core. An influx of magic flooded his mind, and the wards emerged, sigils woven together with bright glowing gold strands onto a wall of black mist. As he scanned them, he said the faintest red thread weaving between some of the sigils and even in the sigils. 

Harry sat back, “I think I found his presence in the Wards. Would that be what is making me feel this uneasy?”

Sirius, though, had watched Harry enough to know his son, know what every expression, microexpression, and gesture meant. Harry hadn’t been feeling his magic as he did with his healing. He was seeing something. It also helped that Sirius was a Black and had read Harry’s inheritance test. Maniacal glee threatened to overtake him.  “How’d you find it, Harry?”

“What?” Severus and Tom asked, looking at him incredulously.  

Sirius ignored them. “How’d you find the headmaster’s presence in the wards?”

Severus scowled. “By feeling it, like we all do with wards, you dolt,” he said, barely refraining from smacking Sirius in the back of his head.  Honestly, Sev loved the man like a brother but sometimes he made Sev want to scream.

It was now Harry’s turn to say, “What?”

“You felt it, right, Harry?” Tom asked. “The headmaster’s presence in the wards, and it’s making you feel uneasy?”

Harry shook his head, confused. “No, I saw it.”

Harry couldn’t help the genuine laugh that escaped him as his two godparents went slack-jawed.

Sirius though started laughing maniacally, grabbing Harry into a big bear hug.  “You’re my heir!” he crowed.  “Just wait until I tell Reggie you brought the Sight back to our family! He’s never going to leave you alone.”

“That didn’t show up on his inheritance test, did it?” Severus asked, frowning, even as Tom waved his hand to conjure the results.

They both looked it over and then almost as one looked up at Sirius and Harry.

“Mage Sight is a Black family trait?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Sirius said proudly. “Dropped off sometime in the 1670’s, though. Our boy can see magic!”  He turned to Harry, “That’s why you’re uneasy, you’re not used to being around so many foreign strands of magic.  I’ll go to the Black vaults today and find the necklace the last Black with Sight had. It dampens the influx of magic” He looked at the dragon necklace currently placed carefully over Harry’s green and silver tie.  “And I’ll have it fashioned into a cuff or some earrings, wouldn’t want to cover Draco’s dragon.”  Sirius grinned, at Harry’s flush. “And I’ll see if I can find some journals from Blacks who had the Sight.”

Harry blew out a breath, “Thank you,” he said, looking up at his father, sincere gratitude shining in his eyes.  “That makes…god..I didn’t even know it was something not…n-” He cut himself off.  Freak was still a trigger word for him as was the word normal. Freak might always be on the trigger list. Sometimes, though, he tried to use the word normal, though, because it was a nice vague word to have in his vocabulary.  But today he couldn’t do it, so he said, “Common.”

“Yes, it’s very rare even amongst the family’s that are known for them,” Severus said, barely refraining from pouring himself whiskey as it was only 10:30 in the morning. 

“We’ll add another to your growing list,” Tom said wryly.

Harry laughed, knowing Tom was both impressed and jealous.  

“If I put my memories in a pensieve, do you think you guys would see what I see? Because Dumbledore’s magic was going insane during the re-sorting. And when he introduced Sirius and Tom.”

Sirius’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and though more subdued, Harry could tell the idea excited Tom and Sev, as well. 

“Perhaps another time, though,” Sirius said, reluctantly being a responsible adult.  “We only have twenty minutes left before your next class.”

“How mature of you, Black,” Severus drawled.  “And besides, we should save that for when Reggie, Narcissa, and Lucius are present. They’d hate to miss that fun.”

The four sat quietly for a moment until Severus broke the silence, his sharp eyes meeting Harry’s. “You’ll need to work on controlling your reaction to seeing magic. Dumbledore wants me to get closer to you,” Severus rolled his eyes before continuing, “so I’ll give you remedial potions classes and we can work on your Occlumency. If Dumbledore suspects you can see the wards, he’ll move to block or manipulate them before you even really know what’s going on.”

Sirius growled. He hated Dumbledick. “Agreed. He can’t know that we know so much about him and what he’s done, and he can’t know what you’re capable of.”

“Yes,” Severus said, massaging his temples.  “Especially since he plans to call you up to his office soon.  Get me, of course, but you’ll need to show him what he expects to see—nothing more and nothing less.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, thinking he knew where they were going with this. “Like I can be myself but not show what I can do and I still need to believe that the Dark is sketchy and responsible for my parents’ death?”

“And Voldemort,” Tom said, spitting the V-word out like it was poison.  Honestly, as if he would ever come up with a name so pedestrian. 

“I would just play up how much you love your family, Hadrian,” Severus said.  “Because you do and you can fill all the time he has with you about us.”  It was something they all loved about Harry; how much he loved them and bragged about them. He didn’t have to fake it and he was so adorable when he got going most people didn’t have the heart to interrupt.  If Dumbledore fell in line with what ‘most people did,’ it was a safe bet.

“Which means lots of time with me,” Sirius added with a grin, ruffling Harry’s hair. “We’ll practice shielding your emotions and controlling your reactions when I bring the stone and the journals.  The Blacks have a particular meditation method developed by our ancestors with the Sight. Hopefully, this weekend or next weekend.  

“Or you could owl him like every other parent,” Severus muttered, though he was fighting a smile.  He knew how far Sirius had come in his treatment.  He was proud of him, not that he’d ever say anything. 

Sirius just rolled his eyes good naturedly and pressed on, “Me, you, and the Black cousins can even go to Hogsmeade for lunch when I come.  Draco’s included in that.”

Harry made a face, “ Please do not lump my Bonded in with my cousins.”

Tom grinned, a sight that Harry didn’t do a double take for anymore but was certainly rare enough that it was a treat, “Come now, Harry, you know most pureblood families—”

Harry covered his ears. “Lalalalalalalala,” he sang.

Tom smirked but decided to lay off Harry for now. “While they’re doing that, I’ll research ways to amplify Harry’s Sight when he needs it. If we’re careful, it could become a significant advantage.”

Harry nodded, liking this. They had a plan—or the start of one, at least. He looked at each of them in turn, taking in their smiles and love. These were his people, his family. He wasn’t in this alone. Never again.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly. “For all of this.”

“Always, pup,” Sirius said, pulling him into another quick hug. “We’ve got you.”

Severus tone softened. “You’ve done well, Harry. More than well. But don’t forget to enjoy your time here. You’re allowed to be happy and be ‘just Harry.’”

“Speaking of which,” Sirius said. “I heard Quidditch tryouts are this Thursday. Will I finally be able to come to a Hogwarts game as an alum to cheer you on?”

“Would you root for the right team when Slytherin plays Gryffindor?” Sev asked, skeptically.

“I,” Sirius said dramatically, “look good in all colors.  And I will always match whatever colors my son is wearing.

Warmth bloomed in his chest.  He loved his parents so much. “Yes, I’m trying out for seeker this Thursday.”

Sirius clapped his hands, knowing Harry was a shoe-in. “Great, I’ll buy my tickets on my way out today.”

Harry hugged each of his parents, saving his father for last. “I should get to class before Draco comes looking for me.”

“Or worse,” Sirius teased, “before he recruits an entire search party.”

Harry grinned. “See you all at dinner?”

“Of course,” Tom said. “Stay out of trouble until then.”

“No promises,” Harry quipped as he slipped out of the room, his spirits lighter than they had been all morning.

As he walked back toward the dungeons, the castle seemed to hum with life around him. The wards, now that he’d seen them once were now easily visible to him, glowed faintly along the walls, like veins carrying the lifeblood of Hogwarts. 

When he reached Draco, waiting impatiently outside their next class, Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry I’m late.”

Draco arched a single, regal eyebrow, but his lips curved into a soft smile. “I was starting to think I’d have to come drag you back myself.”

“Nah,” Harry teased, leaning in for a quick kiss. “You’d enjoy that too much.”

Draco smirked. “You know me so well.”

As they walked into the classroom together, Harry felt a flicker of excitement.  He couldn’t wait to tell Death everything. 

Chapter Text

Remus, my love,

I hope this letter finds you, though I’ve lost count of the times I’ve tried to contact you– only to be met with silence. I can’t even begin to describe the crushing weight of your absence, of your unwillingness or inability to even read my letters. I will keep trying, though—forever, if that’s what it takes. Black Manor has ceased being home to me; without Harry and the hope of your presence, it's nothing but an empty shell, meaningless without my pup and my mate. 

I’ve been staying at Malfoy Manor.  I spent the summer here with Hadrian, our brilliant godson. Oh, Remus, you would adore him. He’s a wonder, and knowing you, you’d love him so deeply it would actually hurt your heart a little– at least that’s what’s happened with me, and you were always the deeper feeler of the two of us. I can already imagine the two of you, heads bowed together, talking about creature rights or recreating Jamie’s great-grandmother’s old Indian recipes in our kitchen, your laughter filling the air. There’s so much he needs to learn from you, so much you two could explore together. In just three short months, Harry has turned my world upside down in the best way. I don’t want you to miss a moment more.

Harry’s magic is breathtaking, casting circles around both Tom and me, yet I know there’s an irreplaceable wisdom you were meant to share with him. You’d have been so proud of his growth, his resilience. There’s an empty space waiting for you, waiting for the lessons only you can offer.

In the meantime, I’ve begun the renovations at Black Manor, breathing life into the dreams you once whispered to me. I’ve focused on the structure for now, saving the colors and furnishings for you and Harry to choose together. There’s a special surprise I’ve started, something you once told me you wanted in a home of your own. Do you remember that evening by the Black Lake? We were seventeen, walking beneath the stars on the eve of the full moon. I’ll never forget the way you looked, calm and serene, as you said you didn’t fear the moon when I was by your side. It was that night we first said “I love you.”

I carry those memories with me always; they are like lanterns in the dark, leading my way even as I struggle with your absence.  But even still, their light is dimming.  And I’m slipping, Moony.  I hate to admit it but I must tell you the truth.  My footing on my sanity is getting more and more precarious and I need you.  Like the earth needs rain. Like a man needs air.  I need you by my side.  Maybe it’s selfish, we both know you could do far better than me.  But I promise I will make our life worth losing whatever is holding you back.  I will work my hands raw to see you happy and healthy and thriving. 

I miss you, my Moony, my mate.

I hope to Merlin that whatever barriers are in our way, yet unknown and unseen, that we can overcome them.

I love you, my beautiful Remus.  

Yours always,
Sirius

Sirius was re-reading his letter for the hundredth time, not even a little embarrassed by how desperate he sounded– mostly because however desperate he sounded in the mushiest letter he’d ever penned, he was in reality infinitely more desperate to hold his beloved Remus again.

A sharp tapping at the window made Sirius look up, his already sour mood darkening even more when he saw his pitch black owl, Nox, perched on the sill, waiting patiently with his last letter to Remus still tied to his leg. Unopened.

It’d been building for quite some time– since the first returned letter. Sirius had tried for Hadrian’s sake to not let that initial devastation– and the many more that followed– derail his healing.  He’d tried coping in healthy ways.  Merlin, it was his mind healer’s suggestion he start renovating Black Manor for Hadrian and Remus as a coping strategy.  But he’d felt his control slipping for days, almost as soon as Hadrian and the Black Cousins and Draco had gone back to Hogwarts.  He’d known that it was just a matter of time.  His magic was feeling….heavier, spikier.  God, it felt dangerous to everyone around him and even himself. Everyone in Malfoy Manor now knew this; to his immense regret, even the house elves were starting to give him a wide berth.

Seeing another unopened letter now, he snapped.  

And yes, everyone at Malfoy Manor had expected it, and yes, Sirius had known he was close, had been wondering for days how much more he could take before breaking.  

He just hadn’t expected it’d be something so small and so goddamned routine that would make him snap.

But snap he did, and Sirius was a Black, and Blacks didn’t do things by halves.  He felt like someone had carved his heart out of his chest and just left a gaping wound behind. His fury was apocalyptic, shattering his sense of self and his tether to his sanity.  And his sorrow was turning his magic an inky black, the aura billowing around Sirius.  His magic was shoring up his defenses and readying Sirius for battle even as it beckoned the darkness closer.

A firestorm of fiendfyre unbidden, unspoken unleashed erupted from Sirius’s body.  His magic barely had to even try, the Black madness clouding his mind and glazing over his eyes.

He’d been trying, waiting patiently for over three months.  He’d written letters, trying every tactic in the book.  Anger. Coaxing. Bargaining. Promises. Love.  But it didn’t matter what and how Sirius wrote.  Because Remus hadn’t opened a single one. 

What had he done?

The tears Sirius had been holding in since his release from Azkaban bubbled to the surface.  To Sirius his tears were a sign of weakness.  Because it meant he was losing hope and giving up.  Crying meant Remus wasn’t coming home. And even as Sirius knew that view was a little backwards and the unfortunate result of the upbringing his parents had given him and Regulus, he couldn’t help but try to choke them back, but as hard as he tried, the tears fell and eventually the silent tears grew to body-wracking sobs. 

Sirius looked to the window where Nox was still patiently waiting for his treat, unperturbed by the fiendfyre, his round eery eyes reflecting the light of the fire still flickering around the room. His breath caught as he saw the moonlight hit Nox’s body and each feather looked like it was dipped in silver and his beautiful loyal bird let out a soft, lilting hoot.  Nox was a Lunaris owl, a rare breed who literally glowed under the moonlight and whose strength and hunting abilities ebbed and flowed with the moon phases.  He bought the absurdly expensive owl because he reminded him of Remus, and he’d wanted to give Nox as a gift to his wolf as a reminder of the strength the moon gave him. It brought Sirius back enough to cancel the fiendfyre.  No damage was done.  This fiendfyre was a part of Sirius, it was an extension of his magic and his will.  So the fire knew there was no physical threat; it hadn’t damaged a thing. It had just raged as Sirius wanted to rage.  

Sirius still wanted to let the rage wash over him and permeate his entire being but he was fighting it with all he had, knowing he needed to maintain a shred of sanity–and dignity– so he could find his wolf, that internal war making the air around him crackle with danger. So Nox, who knew he was utterly adored, hesitated a bit in accepting the treat Sirius held out for him.  

“You’re doing so good, Noxie,” Sirius said softly, forcing his magic in check. “I’m sorry I scared you. It’s not your fault my mate is ignoring me.”

After taking the letter and coaxing Nox into eating a few more treats, Sirius turned his gaze to his letter and sent his magic like a knife to both that letter and the one in his hand, banishing them to the fireplace.

Sirius waved his wand to conjure his patronus, a giant wolf, the spitting image of his Remus, another little stab to his heart. “Find both Severus and Tom and tell them to meet me in the Black library now.”

His mate was going to come home whether he liked it or not. Alpha werewolf or not. 

Enough was enough. 

Remus was his, and Sirius had always been a selfish sort of person. 

-

Sirius apparated into the Black library. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and delicious, dark magic. Sirius had spent his childhood in this library; knew it like the back of his hand.  He’d helped Regulus re-sort it and catalog it when he’d inherited the title and the house. He knew exactly where he needed to go to find answers.  

When he and Regulus were kids, they would hide in the Black library, a three story, massive room in the house that housed secret passageways, hidden bookshelves, and the most ancient of secrets.  When his parents were fighting, which was often, he and Regulus would go into the library and explore, which was how they’d found a cabinet in the back of the second floor, one of a set of six, that opened not to shelves but a staircase that led to a room.  There was an entire summer when Sirius was eight and Regulus was six where they basically lived out of that room. Kreacher was the only one who they told about it and he’d bring their meals to them.  They spent the time reading, telling each other stories, and wishing for a better, happier life. 

He’d been the closest to having that life with James, Remus, and Lily.  And Harry when he’d been born. And he’d been pretty close to finding it again recently at Malfoy Manor with Harry. But Remus was a crucial puzzle piece to his happiness.  He didn’t even feel bad for not pretending like Harry, his blood-adopted son , was not enough to complete his life. Hell, he knew Harry would understand better than anyone; Sirius knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Draco ranked number one with Harry, as it should be.  Sirius was probably the best parent to cope with their child finding their life partner so young.  Because he had, too.

He’d run out of time and now his desperation demanded equally desperate measures.

He made his way towards the east end of the third floor and found the trick bookshelf that opened into a small room with the Black Grimoire and all books written by the Black bloodline.  He’d need to bring out the best his family line had to offer, and nobody did blood magic like the Blacks.  

Sirius buried himself in the books he quickly pulled from the shelves, and not long after, a soft pop signaled the arrival of Tom and Severus. The two stood in the doorway, their expressions cautious as they took in the sight of Sirius—wild-eyed, tense, his movements jerky with pent-up frustration, and covered in soot. 

“Sirius,” Tom said carefully, his voice low and measured. “What’s happened?”

Sirius didn’t look up, his hands rifling through the current books in front of him, The Veinkeeper’s Grimoire and Blades that Bind . 

“I’ve been without him too long,” Sirius said without looking up, his voice tight. “For Harry’s sake, I’ve held it together. But I…” He stopped, his hand clenching into a fist as a surge of magic flared around him, making the candles flicker. “I need him. I can’t wait anymore.”

Severus exchanged a glance with Tom. “We’ll help you,” Severus said quietly, though there was a wary edge to his tone. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, as if approaching a cornered animal. “But you need to keep your magic in check. It won’t do us any good if you bring the house down.”

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He nodded, though the tension in his body didn’t abate. Together, the three men set to work, sifting through the library’s collection of knowledge. More than once, Tom took a book and asked Sirius if he could take it back with him, and the answer was a distracted ‘yes, of course’ each time.  Time stretched on, marked only by the occasional thud of a book hitting the table or a frustrated growl from Sirius when they reached yet another dead end.

Finally, Tom’s voice broke the silence. “Here,” he said, holding up a heavy tome with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “A location ritual. It’s blood magic and it’ll only work with Black blood and for Black blood, but Remus being your mate should be enough.”

Sirius nodded, voice grim.  “I’m the Black Lord, I can make it work.”

Severus paused a bit at those words but thought better about asking about it and joined his partner and best friend at the table.  He set a book down on top of the one Tom had shown. “And here is a spell to send a message. It’s limited, but it’ll suffice.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. “Get the ritual ready,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll handle the message.”

Tom and Severus nodded, setting to work with methodical precision, while Sirius took the book with the message spell. He apparated so he was standing in the center of the library, his magic humming in the air like a live wire. Closing his eyes, he focused on the words he needed to send. There was no room for hesitation, no time for second guesses.

He gathered his magic around him, wrapping it around his body like a cloak and called upon the magic of his predecessors, the blood still living on in the halls of his ancestral home.

He lifted his ritual blade–a blade of pure silver with a handle of onyx and opal– and cut his palm, letting the blood fall to the floor where it was absorbed by the magic of the house. 

“Remus,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the storm within him. “Our cub needs you. Love always, Sirius.”

The spell surged through him, a burst of energy that left him momentarily breathless. He opened his eyes, his heart pounding. The message was gone, cast into the void. 

Sirius hoped to Merlin he was a strong enough Lord and a good enough Black for it to work.

-

Remus rose with the first light of dawn, his movements unhurried and familiar. The stillness of the morning was comforting. He began his routine as he always did: a half hour of meditation to center himself, breathing deeply and letting the quiet seep into his bones.

Next came breakfast. He moved around the small kitchen with ease, cracking eggs into a pan and slicing bread for toast. The kettle began its familiar whistle, signaling the start of his favorite part of the morning. Tea in hand, he usually sat by the shop window, the morning paper unfolded on the table, allowing himself a moment of calm before the day’s work.

But today, as he stood over the kettle, pouring the steaming water into his cup, the words hit him.

“Remus, our cub needs you.”

The voice was clear, unyielding, and it reverberated through him like the aftershocks of an earthquake. He froze, his hand gripping the handle of the kettle. The words seemed to resonate not just in his mind, but in every fiber of his being. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Imagination,” and forced himself to move on.

Yet the words lingered, an echo that refused to fade. He carried his tea and the paper to the shop, but his usual routine felt hollow. Diminished somehow. The voice haunted him as he opened the doors, greeted by the familiar scent of wood and varnish, and set about his work. He repaired a cracked chair, restored the shine to an old mirror, and began crafting a new table, his hands moving mechanically. Customers came and went, and he exchanged pleasantries, but the words were there, thrumming in the back of his mind.

“Remus, our cub needs you.”

The day passed in a blur. Lunch came and went, the alarm signaling the shop’s closing rang as usual, and dinner followed. But the routine he usually found grounding now felt oppressive. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. That something about the routine and quiet of his home was wrong, that something…somebody was waiting.

As he stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of stew, the words filled his mind again, louder and more insistent. The ladle clattered against the edge of the pot as he froze, his hackles rising and Moony crouching for an attack. And then—a crack.

Remus turned sharply, and there he was. Sirius Black, standing in his kitchen, looking as disheveled and haunted as the day he walked away.

The sight of him sent a surge of anger through Remus, sharp and visceral. “You,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here?”

A flicker of relief then confusion then fury then sorrow flitted across Sirius’s face in a fraction of a second. “Remus, my love,” he croaked out.

But Remus was having none of it.  Was he behind that ominous message he’d heard in his mind all day? The nerve of this posh ponce of a fucker. “Don’t you dare call me that, Sirius Black. You do not ever get to call me that after you took Harry from me and then left me .” Completely alone was how he wanted to finish that sentence, but for some reason, the words caught in his throat. 

Sirius flinched but didn’t look away. Instead, he, like the madman he was, grinned.  Somehow finding relief in those words.  Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial of powder. Without a word and with no hesitation, he blew it in Remus’s direction. The world tilted, and then everything went black.

-

Remus stirred, the first thing he registered was the softness of the bed beneath him—far too comfortable to be his own. He blinked slowly, the haze of sleep still trying to pull him under.  But then like a switch was flipped he remembered the only important thing from his last memories. 

Sirius.

Sirius had come for him.

His eyes flew open and he sat up, already trying to get out of bed.

Large hands gripped his shoulders, soft but firm, pushing him gently back onto the bed.  He followed the motion, he ended up on his back, and in his new position his eyes could finally land on Sirius.  Sirius looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his eyes were tired and ringed red, and his hair was a mess of curls hanging dead around his face.  And yet, he was the most beautiful thing Remus had ever seen.  And Sirius’s smile was glorious. It was the secret, dopey smile he saved just for Remus. Sirius leaned over him to place a quick kiss on his lips before taking a seat at his bedside 

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, his voice thick with emotion, breathing the name reverently, like a prayer.

At the sound, Sirius’s smile dropped. His face crumpled and silent tears fell in steady streams, he leaned down and carefully placed his head on Remus’s stomach.  His body was trembling from the effort it was taking to not just grab Remus who was finally in front of him and scent him, kiss him, hold him, take him back to their den and never ever ever let him leave again.

Sirius forced his instincts back and inhaled deeply, his chest heaving as he soaked in the familiar, grounding scent of  his mate.

“Don’t ever disappear like that again,” Sirius sobbed, his voice muffled and broken.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Remus murmured over and over, his own voice trembling as he  cradled Sirius’s head to him. His fingers threaded through Sirius’s thick curls, a soothing motion that anchored them both.

They stayed like that until Sirius’s sobs quieted into soft, uneven breaths. When Sirius finally lifted his head, his red-rimmed eyes met Remus’s, filled with both relief and guilt. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.  “I didn't mean to…I should have given you more time to…” Sirius cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what came over me.”

Remus shook his head. “No need to be sorry, my love,” Remus murmured.  He sat up and reached a hand out and cupped Sirius’s cheek.  “Thank you for saving me.”

A laugh forced its way out of Sirius, sounding more like a garbled sob. He smiled for Remus, for his precious, beautiful mate. “No need to thank me, my love,” he responded, a hint of the brat he was peeking out in his tone.

Before Remus could respond, they were interrupted by two Goblins entering the room. They cast stern glances at Sirius, clearly disapproving of his emotional outburst so soon after Remus had been healed, but they said nothing.

“He’s ready to go home,” one of them said not unkindly but curtly, gesturing toward a stack of paperwork. Sirius nodded, carefully retrieving the documents and tucking them under his arm. He turned back to Remus, his expression softening again as he reached out a hand.

“Let’s go home,” Sirius said softly, eyes downcast.

Remus didn’t like his mate avoiding his gaze, but he said nothing.  Instead, he grasped Sirius’s hand firmly so Sirius could apparate them to their bedroom in Black Manor.

The room was warm and familiar, the scent of old wood and faint traces of Sirius’s scent wrapping around Remus like a comforting embrace. They settled on the sofa together, Sirius sitting close, their knees brushing as he began to speak.

“There were compulsions,” Sirius said, his voice low but steady. “Something dark, something old. It forced you to stay away—from Britain, from the Blacks, from Harry. And you…” His voice faltered, and Remus’s hand tightened around his own. “You had a mind warp placed on you, too. After Harry’s third year. It made you think I’d rejected you after Lily and James died.”

Remus’s breath hitched, but Sirius pressed on. “That wasn’t the first one. The first was weaker, planted to make you believe Dumbledore’s fictions and thought I was the traitor who—who sold out Lily and James to ‘Voldemort.’” He paused, a flicker of pride flashing through his tear-filled eyes.  “But it broke the moment you saw me.” 

Remus exhaled a shaky laugh, though the movement just squeezed more tears out. “ This entire time, I just went through the motions of life, dull and lonely, but it never felt real. Just…empty.” Remus paused. “Anytime I thought about the past, I could only ever think about how you left me.  How you took Harry from me and then took my mate from me. It was like… watching myself from behind soundproof glass.”

Remus cried in earnest now, the years of numbness and loneliness spilling out in his quiet sobs. Sirius held Remus to him, wishing he could take all of the pain from him and fill up his head with only good memories of love and Sirius and Harry.  He carded his fingers through Remus’s hair just like how he knew his wolf liked, and peppered kisses on his temple. Remus’s hand stroked over Sirius’s back, his body pressing in as close as he could.

They both sat up as one, their bodies and minds and actions melding together as if they hadn’t spent a day apart since that Halloween night. They both quickly showered, and Sirius called Kreacher for some dinner. After they’d eaten a quick meal, they settled on some cushions by the fireplace, wrapped in a warm blanket. The firelight danced across their faces as they talked, their hands never straying far from each other. Remus told Sirius about his shop, about how he’d enjoyed the work and the people.  He also mentioned that they should take a holiday in Brussels, that he knew some of the best bakeries the city had to offer. Sirius told him about his recovery, hinted some more about his surprise for Remus who, to his delight, had not been able to remember what he’d said by the lake. He told him about Harry and how extraordinary he is. He told him about everything good their cub had brought to his life and everything he hoped for their future together. He didn’t touch on his time in Azkaban or his slip into the Black Madness or the fact that Dumbledore was the mastermind behind all of this and a war was looming with their cub at the center of it.  Just as Remus didn’t touch anymore on the bad effects of the mind warp.

They had time for that later.  

They’d earned this time together.

When the words finally ran out, Sirius leaned in, his lips brushing against Remus’s. The kiss was tender and slow, filled with the weight of everything they’d lost and the hope of everything they still had to gain.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Sirius said, yawning despite his words.

Remus’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “You sure?”

Sirius looked down again, but Remus caught his chin. He couldn’t bear for Sirius to hide from him in any way, not now that they’d found a way back to each other. 

“What is it, Padfoot?”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Sirius murmured, gaze still down. “I just…I need to be awake, to make sure…” Sirius didn’t want to finish the sentence, to admit to the depth of fear he was still feeling even with his mate returned to him. But that was it wasn’t it.  Remus was his mate. He could tell him anything. “I’m scared,” Sirius whispered, voice barely audible.

Remus moved then with the speed of his wolf, rolling them over so Sirius was pinned beneath him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing some stray curls out of Sirius’s face. “What can I do to make it better?”  

A beautiful blush spread on Sirius’s cheeks. Remus lifted an eyebrow.  Sirius did not blush easily. 

Then, Sirius bared his neck and Remus’s nose twitched at the musky scent of his mate’s arousal. Growling, he nuzzled into Sirius’s neck and began sucking and marking the long column of flesh. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

“You know I did,” Sirius gasped, arching up into Remus’s mouth. “Please,” he whined when Remus stopped.

“Please, what?” Remus asked, teasing. He braced himself over Sirius with his left hand, giving himself just enough room to slide his right down Sirius’s chest and to the waistband of his trousers.

Sirius propped himself up on his elbows. “Please, Sir?” Sirius tried.

Remus laughed. He played with Sirius’s waistband some more, his fingers ghosting over the sensitive flesh of his belly. “I do love it when you call me that in bed,” Remus said. “But I think tonight I’d like to hear you say my name, is that alright?”

Sirius nodded, his black eyes glued to Remus’s hand and the teasing motions. “Then what?”

Remus pushed gently at Sirius’s chest so he was on his back again and bent his head so his lips were against Sirius’s ear.  Being so close with Sirius beneath him, he could feel the shiver that moved through him.“Tell me what you want me to do,” Remus whispered, his voice low, just on this side of a growl..

Sirius’s brow furrowed and he kept averting his gaze, and Remus hated it.  Sirius’s attention should be on him.  He was Sirius’s mate. Sirius should be looking at him, only at him. Unable to resist the urge to claim, Remus took his mate’s mouth, his hand finally moving to cup Sirius’s full erection through his trousers. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Sirius’s heartbeat quickened as he tried to lift his hips but Remus removed his hand and pinned his hips with his own. Sirius moaned, his face falling to the side, exposing his neck again.  

Instead of answering, Sirius gasped, glassy eyes meeting–finally–Remus’s. Sirius’s breath hitched. “Hi, Moony,” he whispered reverently.

In response, Remus nipped Sirius’s lip insistently. “Tell me, baby,” he whispered. “What do you want?”

Sirius’s eyes watered as he made his body go limp under his mate’s, letting his hands and mind still. “Make me yours,” he whispered.

There was so much to discuss, the coming war with Dumbledore, their plans for the future, and the job Remus didn’t know was waiting for him. But tonight, all of that could wait. 

Here, suspended in this moment, they were just two lovers reunited, and Remus was more than happy to fulfill his mate’s request. 

“You’ve always been mine,” Remus whispered. “Just as I’ve always been yours.”

Chapter Text

The first day of classes passed in a golden autumn rush, the castle buzzing with excitement and friendly chatter, Hogwarts herself humming in contentment at housing future generations of magic. Her magic was beautiful; Harry caught it throughout the morning and into the afternoon shimmering faintly in the air, like dust motes catching light, and he felt it stir beneath his skin—the kind of quiet, living magic that hummed when a place had been unseen for too long.

The classes were all review for Harry and not just because he’d lived through fifth year curriculum before but because Sirius, Tom, Severus, Lucius and even Narcissa had Harry, Draco and his cousins on strict educational regimes to give them the best education possible. Aurora never one to waste time that could be spent learning oscillated between being present for the review lecture and reading an advanced book on magical theory Sirius had given her which balanced nicely with the book on familial dark magic her parents had given to her after arming the book with protection, anti-detection, and anti-theft charms for her to sneak it in. It was, in fact, in that behemoth of a book that Harry found the Midas Touch charm. He was saving it for a surprise gift for Draco, no occasion needed—just love, and the way the flowers reminded Harry of him.. 

He moved through the day half-dreaming, lulled by the rhythm of returned routines and the quiet intimacy of shared glances and soft touches with Draco. In Charms, they sat close, shoulders brushing, fingers just touching beneath the desk. Flitwick’s lecture on wandless augmentation washed over Harry, half-heard and half-ignored. All he could feel was the low, constant tug of Draco’s presence, Draco’s magic reaching for Harry’s, Harry’s reaching for his.

In Runes, Draco lazily doodled runes in the margins of his parchment, occasionally sending dry thoughts through their bond. Harry didn’t answer, just smiled like someone carrying a secret. And in Herbology, Harry gently guided Draco’s hands through the dirt as they repotted Star-Latch Ivy– a dove grey vine with filaments in the stalk that glow, making it look like a pattern of fireflies suspended in the dark. The vine itself could store sunlight and release it at night– if coaxed right.  The plant was famously temperamental, though, and not anybody’s first choice for a light source.

Replanting it required soft touches and sweet words, and Harry took great pleasure in guiding Draco’s long, slender fingers in the dirt and over the vines.  The vines seemed to like their combination of magic, or maybe just the love that saturated the air wherever they went, but unbidden it released a light beam strong enough to be noticeable even in broad daylight.

Professor Sprout had been incredibly impressed, giving them ten points to Slytherin each. Neville had demanded to know how they’d done that! The Star-Latch Ivy at Hogwarts was infamous for withholding its light, almost as if it was in a conspiracy to make students fail. And the rest of the Slytherin boys had wolf whistled, making Aurora feign ignorance. 

Harry found himself getting pulled back more and more into the hazy memories of that first life, making him even more grateful than he already was for this second chance at his life. Throughout the day, he was able to see glimpses of Lucius and Sirius walking with other finely dressed witches and wizards with concern deepening the lines of their faces. Lucius and Sirius always had a smile for Harry and Draco and their cousins, but Harry could feel the concern and anger rolling off of them in waves. 

The only downside to the whole day was the incessant, ache in Harry’s temples and the back of his head. Harry had endured far worse headaches when an angry piece of soul possessed him, and now he couldn’t really blame that piece of Tom for being so pissy– the soul shard had probably been livid watching Harry be manipulated by the old goat against someone who by blood was his great grandfather however many times removed but by choice– his mother’s choice– could have been his godfather, his family. So the headache wasn’t bad, it was almost nonexistent, it was so small. But Harry knew it was there, could feel the small throbs, the little aches. Mostly he felt it in how tired he was after the last of the day’s classes. 

At dinner, the Great Hall roared with back-to-school chaos—timetable swaps, gossip, house pride—but everything slowed when Narcissa Black Malfoy entered.

She moved like the room belonged to her. Dressed in deep green silk that rippled like serpent scales, her hair twisted into something regal, she drew silence in her wake. She stopped first at the Slytherin table, laying a hand gently on Draco’s shoulder and kissing his cheek, then trailing her fingers down Harry’s arm.

“You’ve grown again,” she murmured to Harry. “And have gotten darker. Good.”

He blinked, uncertain, unused to such feminine concern and approval. “It’s…good?”

“It suits you. It means you're getting enough fresh air,” she said, her expression softening only around the edges for him. She discreetly placed a potion vial in his hand. “Draco said you might need this.”

From there, she greeted the others—Aurora with a quick hug, the twins with an amused nod, Luna with a soft hand on her shoulder, and Neville with a quiet grace that made his spine straighten when she spoke of how his parents were doing.

As quickly as she’d come through, she swept away towards the teacher’s table and joined Lucius who led her through a door in the back corner that students were not able to use and about which they were never given a straight answer.

Harry looked down at the vial; it was a headache potion. He bumped his shoulder with Draco’s in thanks before downing it. Only when he was finished did he feel the message carved into the glass. Runes for ‘meeting,’ ‘tonight,’ and ‘godfather.’  Harry held in a giggle, he was full to overflowing with godfathers, if it was anybody other than a Black, he would have needed more details. But all Blacks would consider Sirius his father and Harry Sirius’s heir– it was just as well. Harry considered Sirius his father, too. And his father had appointed only one godfather officially.

The buzz of the Great Hall was winding down, and as students began to get up to leave, Dumbledore stood, sending out a firm pulse of magic to quiet the students. Harry’s magic rebelled at the touch of Dumbledore’s magic against his, hissing and crouching down ready to fight.  He pushed his fatigue to the side and sat up straighter, his focus, so sharp it was practically lethal, now on the headmaster

“Attention, please, students,” Dumbledore began. He spoke quietly, his voice heard only due to magical interference. He looked tired, Harry noted. Almost defeated, and yet there was still that red hot razer edge to his magic that spoke of deep anger and disdain. “I have an exciting announcement about your new history professor. In their great dedication, the school board has found a replacement in less than a day.” 

His eyes, somehow both twinkling and void of emotion, said this was anything but an exciting development. “You will still have a free period in lieu of history class this week to give the new teacher time to prepare for the year.  Many will remember Professor Remus Lupin as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher a few years ago. He has graciously agreed to return to teach history.”

Remus Lupin stepped into the Hall—calm and composed with a small smile—and beside him, Sirius Black walked with a grin that threatened to split his face it was so big. His hand rested low on Remus’s back, a silent, though not so subtle, claim which was wholly unnecessary considering Remus wore the Black Consort ring on his left ring finger. A note that every pureblood in the room made.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and Hogwarts, bless her, responded to his excitement with equal enthusiasm. The lights the castle released that only Harry could see rivaled the charmed night sky in the Great Hall.

Remus met his eyes across the Hall and smiled, steady and soft. Sirius winked. And at the head table, Dumbledore’s face soured like he’d just swallowed vinegar.

“I am pleased,” Dumbledore intoned, voice flat, “to welcome Professor Remus Lupin back to Hogwarts as our new History of Magic Professor.”

Thunderous applause followed. Excited murmurs of how Remus had been the best DADA teacher ever. Hope that maybe history won’t be so damn boring now. 

Harry shook with joy. Not just because his family was at Hogwarts with him– he was safe and in turn they were safe. Not just because between Tom and Remus classes would be brilliant this year. And not just because of the mended relationship and impending nuptials the Black Consort ring was evidence of.

But because Remus had finally come home.

And a part of Harry couldn’t help but feel it—not just the comfort of being surrounded by his bonded, his cousins, his godfathers, and soon-to-be-in-laws—but something deeper, older, humming in his bones.

Hogwarts wasn’t just their home now . It had always been. He could feel it.

A guardianship and bond that existed long before Britain. Long before English had ever been spoken. When the land was wild and the stars told stories to empty mountains and valleys, this place had belonged to them. The stones knew their names. The wards recognized their magic. The castle had simply been waiting.

Hogwarts was theirs.

And they were hers.

-

After dinner, he tried to make his way to the teacher’s table to say hello to Remus, but almost every student 5th year and above wanted to greet Remus and tell them how excited they were he was back, and then the Headmaster hurried both Remus and Sirius away through that mysterious teacher’s door. He hadn’t even been able to make eye contact with either of them.

Light laughter drew his attention, and he turned to Lucius and Narcissa.  Narcissa smoothed his hair down and said quietly, “Tonight, Hadrian. Bring your cousins.”

Harry kissed her cheek and gave Lucius a light hug before making his way back to the common room.  He couldn’t help his pout as he dropped down dramatically beside Draco who was in an intense game of Wizard’s chess with Theo.

“How’s Remus?” Draco asked without looking up.

“Didn’t get to talk to him,” Harry grumped. “Everyone and their mother went up to him after and then Dumbledore whisked him and Sirius away through that stupid teacher’s door.”

Draco snaked an arm around Harry’s waist without losing focus. Harry laid his head on Draco’s shoulders and patiently waited for Draco to win. Not much patience was needed, though, because four moves later, Draco won, and ever the gracious gentleman, Theo shook Draco’s hand in congratulations and winked at Harry.

Draco nuzzled into Harry’s neck and murmured, “Had to hurry that along. You feel sad, my love.” 

Harry sighed, more out of contentment for the moment than any lingering frustration. “I just wanted to see Remus again. But your mom said we need to go to Severus’s rooms tonight with the cousins.”

That night, after everyone else was in bed and Fred had gotten George to meet them by the kitchens and Aurora had told Neville and Luna through the mirrors she shared with them to do the same, Harry draped the invisibility cloak around them all and led everyone through the enchanted door in the Slytherin common room. The secret passageway brought them to an old dungeon corridor that let out right in front of a warded door to Severus’s quarters.

They paused just around the corner, hidden in shadow.

A few feet away, in an alcove along the corridor, they could hear Albus Dumbledore hissing. “You know that’s Voldemort, Severus.”

“I know no such thing, Albus,” Severus retorted, voice quiet and calm but with a cold fury Harry could feel from across the hallway. “And that is not an accusation to make so lightly.”

“Nor do I,” Dumbledore said. “I know what I say, and I mean it, Severus. Please for Harry–”

“With what evidence,” Severus demanded, voice still hushed, “do you say such things? And leave my godson out of this.”

“I understand your closeness to Harry,” the headmaster said, smooth as oil. “The boy has Lily’s eyes. But I do wonder what clouds your judgment. Surely, Severus, you don’t let old animosity toward James Potter blind you to the danger Tom poses. He is Lord Voldemort.”

Nothing showed on Severus’s face, just an eerie calm and a cold calculating gaze.

Harry froze, breath catching in his throat.  This was a standoff, and both had just shown the other they neither liked nor trusted the other. Draco grabbed his hand and squeezed gently, trying to calm the white-hot anger that threatened to erupt from his body. The twins’ magic twined together before reaching out to pet his magic into calm even as Aurora rested her chin on his shoulder, silent gestures of support.

Then Severus’s voice, cold and clean as steel, “What animosity, Dumbledore?”  A pause. “Do you forget the kinship I shared with James, Sirius, and Remus?”  Another considering pause. Harry could see the angry glint in Severus’s eyes even from under the cloak. “Perhaps, you should lie down, Albus, if you are forgetting a friendship so deep and profound that the gossip rags were talking of us as if we were a polycule even as teenagers. Something most definitely on your radar as deputy headmaster since it was your job to keep reporters away, reporters who somehow made it through the wards to spy on us.”

“Perhaps, you’re right,” Dumbledore said stiffly. Though, Harry shivered, able to see the magic spikes of Dumbledore’s fury. “It’s been a busy day.”

“Yes, I wish you a good rest, Headmaster,” Severus said evenly. “Sleep will undoubtedly jog your memory.”

“Memory of what?” Dumbledore asked.

“Only you know that,” Severus said, allowing a hint of amusement in his tone. 

Half turned away, Dumbledore said. “I know when you’re fishing, Severus.”

Severus opened his door and took one step inside, not bothering to turn around, “And I know when you’re lying, Albus.”

Once Harry and his cousins were absolutely sure Dumbledore was gone and far enough away for it to be safe to move again, Harry threw off the cloak and ran with his cousins to the door. He knocked, and Sirius immediately opened the door.

“You lot took your time,” he said, smiling.  Sirius’s smile dropped as he saw the fear on the kids’ faces, the tears shining in Harry’s eyes, matching the slight tremor to Aurora’s lips.

He ushered them to come fully into the room quickly.  The adults could feel the tension and between the kids’ entrance and Severus’s swearing when he came in just moments before them, they put two and two together.

The adults paired off with the kids to offer comfort. Narcissa and Lucius gathered Aurora and Draco into their arms, gently patting away any lingering fear. Draco stood straight, eyes alert and on his Bonded even as he accepted his mother’s comfort, and Aurora let Lucius hold her in a loose embrace as her intelligent mind raced with the implications of what they’d heard. Tom and Severus took the twins, offering shoulder squeezes and soft words and quiet answers to whatever questions they had. Barty and Regulus took Luna and Neville to the window, so they could see the stars.  Barty clapped Neville on the back lightly, telling him his father’s favorite pun joke and Regulus listened to Luna talk to him about constellations that didn’t exist.

And Harry let his father steer him to a corner of the room where Remus was waiting for him– his first anchor to his parents in this life and his previous. Remus opened his arms, and Harry went to him instantly, clinging like a stubborn memory.

“You’re back,” Harry whispered.

“For good,” Remus promised. Harry never wanted to let go, and Remus seemed to be in agreement, his embrace a steel wall, protecting Harry.  No tears fell, this wasn’t sad or even so happy tears were the only answer.

This was relief. Like he could exhale. Like he could breathe again. Like the ground was once more solid.

Merlin, Remus was here and alive and ok. This was it. The hard part was done. The family Dumbledore had sought to destroy for Merlin knows why was finally block and compulsion free and together. His meddling was undone, and the chaos Dumbledore had hoped for was tamed. The fight was far from over, but the foundations Dumbledore had spent over a decade laying had finally crumbled.

Whatever was to come was nothing Dumbledore planned. And that in and of itself was a comforting thought.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Draco drawled, his tone overly formal but his eyes lit up with joy. “Lord Black and Consort Black.”

And just like that, the moment– fraught with tension and drenched in fear– broke. Tom waved his wand and the room had transformed to accommodate their numbers—warm fire, conjured chairs, and snacks courtesy of the newly hired House Slytherin house elves. 

Excited chatter about all the stories the kids had gathered in their first day of classes and talk of the impending weddings– three future celebrations of family, love, and togetherness– erupted.

When there was a lull in the conversations, Aurora called out, voice soft and questioning, “Uncle Remus?”  Remus smiled in encouragement. “How’d you…I mean where have…”

Remus, taking pity on her, ignored the half formed question and answered, recounting how Sirius had swept in like a knight in shining armor ( Don’t give him a bigger head than he already has , Regulus had called out from his spot on Barty’s lap) and how he’d refused the job opportunity at first, worried about being fired the last time ( As if we don’t already control most of the Ministry, Tom had grumped) and not wanting to add to Severus’s workload with the need for monthly wolfsbane potions ( Like I’d ever let you go without, Severus had cried, sending a stinging hex at Remus for his doubt) and that it was actually Narcissa who’d talked him into taking the job over a game of Wizards’ Chess ( My cunning love , Lucius had crooned making Draco wrinkle his nose slightly though he was laughing with everyone else) and that Sirius’s puppy dog eyes had sealed the deal.

“You loooove me,” Sirius sing-songed with a dopey smile.

“Yes, I do,” Remus said sincerely, leaning over to peck his soon-to-be-husband on the lips.

“I love weddings,” Luna said, dreamily. “Such good endings, but even better beginnings.”

“Is there a date for any of them?” George asked. “We have three in the family to plan now.”

“I can help plan, Narcissa,” Hermione offered eagerly. “I love weddings, too.”

“That would be wonderful, dear. I think all three couples are waiting to set a date, though.”

“For what?” Neville asked. He had been part of the cousins’ club for only a short time but long enough he knew it was almost criminal just how in love Severus and Tom and Barty and Regulus were. If the trend kept and it was looking more and more like it would, Sirius and Remus would be just as insufferably, adorably in love. And presumably just as impatient to belong to each other in every way their mortal forms knew how. 

“We’re waiting for our friends to be able to join us,” Sirius said softly, catching Neville’s gaze. “We’re waiting for your parents.”

Neville’s breath hitched, Regulus and Barty immediately pulling him into an embrace, grounding him. 

“And we’re waiting for some family, too,” Severus said, smiling at Aurora.  Aurora smiled back. Her parents were doing good, much better according to their letters but they hadn’t been given the go ahead to return to society and most definitely hadn’t gotten the okay from the mind healer yet to be considered safe guardians for Aurora. They were impatient and unhappy with how long it was taking but were determined to be what Aurora needed. And Aurora had unknowingly waited her whole life for them, she can wait a few months more. Maybe by Yule, they’d all—every single one of them— be together.

Lucius waved his wand and flutes of champagne appeared in the adults’ hands, sparkling cider in everyone else’s. He raised his glass. “A toast to our family.”

Narcissa raised hers, “And a welcome to the new couples.”

The room echoed with clinks and murmurs of agreement. Harry let himself sink into the moment.  He mentally gathered all of the small pieces that made up the moment and hid them away in his heart, committing everything to memory.  They were home.

Hogwarts’ magic rippled across Harry’s face, a gentle caress.  

Home.

-

Later, in the quiet of the dorm, Draco curled around Harry like a shield.

Their room was dim, the only light a soft green shimmer from the Black Lake and the dim patterns of light passing through water dancing on the walls. They made the room feel suspended, hazy like the most comforting dreamscape.

Harry burrowed under the covers, face pressing into Draco’s chest.

He remembered, fleetingly, the moment he’d first stepped inside their room. How his breath had caught at the sight of it—not just the elegant simplicity of the carved dark wood, the thick emerald curtains, and the gently glowing sconces—but the shock and delight at seeing only two beds. Two. And one had his name on the footboard, the other Draco’s.

It hadn’t been a request. It had simply been . Like the castle already knew what they were.

He’d touched the bedpost then, grounding himself in the reality of it. He and Draco had a room of their own. A space that was theirs. That no one could intrude on. Immediately, he had begun to move the beds to the same wall, pressing them side by side, so excited he forgot he could have used magic, but Draco had laughed, just as happy with the arrangement, and helped Harry move the furniture the muggle way.

Now, wrapped in Draco’s arms beneath the heavy velvet quilt, Harry sighed softly in contentment.

“You okay?” Draco whispered against the shell of his ear.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured. He kept his cheek firmly against Draco’s chest, his voice muddling slightly because of it. “Love cuddling with you.”

Draco pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Mine.”

The word curled through Harry’s chest like a charm, steadying him. He let it hold him together, let it push back the edge of something nameless and strange that tugged at his senses.

Because even here—safe, warm, loved—he could feel the ripple threatening to fracture his world.

-

Harry woke just a second after sleep had claimed him, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. His magic buzzed inside him in warning but even that felt wrong, like the magic was out of tune. Harry glanced around, not daring to move lest Draco move from his position so close to him.  Memories from the previous day, all the good news he’d received. But even so—safe, warm, loved—Harry felt it. That ripple beneath the surface. Not danger exactly, but a distortion. Like reality was stretched too far and it’d snapped against Harry’s skin.

The walls of the dorm shimmered faintly, like heat on stone, and a pulsing ache throbbed behind his eyes. His breath caught but before he could do more than inhale, he wasn’t in bed or even in his dorm anymore.

The transition was seamless, between one microsecond and the next, his surroundings had dissolved and reconstructed into a forest clearing, a single tent, and an unfamiliar night sky. The fabric of the tent looked handmade, like stars woven together and patterned by hand with cosmic dust. And the tent itself was simple enough yet stood against the velvet blackness of the sky sprinkled with unfamiliar stars like a ghost straight from Barty’s gothic tales. The tent’s fabric rippled gently, like it was breathing, though there was no breeze that Harry could feel.

Inside, Death was waiting.

He sat at a small table set for two, dressed simply in loose black cotton pants and matching shirt with a hood carefully draped over his head to obscure his features. Those mesmerizing hands were carefully pouring tea, the movements of him adding milk and sugar making the cosmos in his skin articulate in a way that made Harry want to leave a trail of soft kisses there. 

“You’re not sick, Harry,” Death said softly in lieu of greeting, with a familiarity that made Harry’s chest ache. “You’re remembering. And maybe forgetting, too. They’re the same act, really, if you think about it.”

Harry stepped inside without hesitation and took his seat across from Death, accepting the offered cup. The tea was hot—Earl Grey, just the way he liked it.

“Remembering what?” Harry asked. “Forgetting what?”

“The weight of where you came from. The war. The ending you carried before this beginning.” Death’s voice was quiet, fond. “Time isn’t linear for you anymore. It bends to accommodate you. And when it snaps back into place, it leaves a mark.”

Harry took a slow sip, warmth blooming through him. “Why is it always me?” he muttered. 

Death’s smile was small and unguarded. “Because you always choose love, even when it costs you. Because in every life I’ve watched you live—and there have been many—you reach for others before yourself. That’s what time remembers. That’s what I remember. You are always meant to be who you become, Harry.”

In truth, Harry had just been kidding. It was more of a private joke he had with himself. And small headaches or dull body aches were a small price to pay for the life he’d received. But he hadn’t expected Death to answer him. He chewed over what Death said and decided he could wait to see what he was destined to become until he became it. So he asked about the time symptoms he’d been experiencing, worried it’d get in the way of everything that needed to be done.

“Will it get worse? The…time sickness?”

“No, not worse, though maybe stranger,” Death said before taking a small sip of his tea. His lips—dark skin that matched the velvet of the sky sprinkled with stardust—quirked. His master was truly a delight. “The potions the goblins gave you have helped stave it off but there was a great shift. Until another one occurs, you won’t feel anything.”

A silence settled between them, not quite comfortable but not awkward. As if a part of Harry knew the being in front of him, loved him in fact, and it was just a matter of remembering.  Or maybe it was forgetting, Harry thought wryly, remembering Death’s words from before. 

When Harry was done with his first cup and Death began pouring the second round, Harry told Death about his first day, about how it went with his parents when he told them about the whole Master of Death thing, and about the conversation between Severus and the headmaster.  Death listened, reacted when appropriate, and offered his own quiet, steady advice and support. He also told Harry about his days spent ushering souls along the realms and a particular argument between his sisters, Fate and Magic, that he had found funny.

“They like to fight over you,” he said, voice filled with amusement and haunting echoes of affection and love. 

A laugh bubbled out of Harry. “Me?” he asked incredulously. “I’m nothing compared to them.”

Though his eyes were obscured, Harry could feel the intenseness of the gaze Death pinned him with. “You are not nothing. Never ever nothing,” he said passionately. “You are their favorite.  You are our favorite.” Death swallowed, gathering his courage, “But you are mine. ”

Harry positively glowed, pleased by the declaration. “And you are mine,” he said softly, rising from his seat to go towards Death. He placed soft hands on Death’s shoulders. “Is this okay, Death Mine?” Harry whispered.

A shudder passed through Death’s frame, how long had it been since he’d been touched with such care.  Since the last time our own came back, he answered himself. “Yes, Master. May I…”

Harry waited patiently, standing between Death’s legs, Death still seated. Unable to say it out loud, though, Death rose, making Harry step back but Death’s hands caught his robes, tugging just an infinitesimal amount but Harry noticed, felt it.

Without hesitation, Harry opened his arms and embraced Death.  His head only came up to the being’s shoulder and though lanky with lithe muscle they were bigger than Harry, yet it was Harry doing the holding.  It was Harry anchoring Death in gentle touches and a warm embrace.  And Harry was more than happy to.

Too soon, Harry could feel the tug of his realm, and he sighed. “I wish I could stay longer,” Harry said quietly.

“I wish I could let you,” Death replied, his voice tinged with a sadness that broke Harry’s heart. “Your reactions to the timeline shifts will continue, if it ever gets very bad, visit me in your sleep, a visit to my realm will help alleviate the pain.”

Harry nodded, smoothing his hand over Death’s shoulder, the thin fabric letting Harry see the light of the galaxies and stars he carried in his skin. “And can I visit even if I just…miss you?” Harry asked.

Death’s breath hitched, their arms around Harry tightening just a fraction. “You…miss me?” he asked, voice filled with awe.

“Always,” Harry whispered, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of Death’s shirt.

“Please,” Death said, the word falling from their lips unbidden.

Harry nodded, smiling softly. “Always, Death Mine,” he murmured. “Always.” Suddenly tired, he leaned more fully against Death’s bigger form. His realm was so close, all he needed to do was exhale.

“Before you go,” Death said quickly, urgently, effectively tugging Harry back for just a few moments more. “I have something to give you.”

He reached into the space between them, his hand trembling, and held something out to Harry.

A flower.

Its petals shimmered like opals, streaked with silver and midnight blue. It pulsed faintly in Harry’s palm, alive with magic not of his realm.

“It only grows where something ends and something else begins. It’s from this realm…..my um….my realm,” Death said, ducking their head. A blush rose up the column of his neck, dusting the stars and galaxies in his skin with a faint rose color. “Um, it’s for Draco.”

Harry cradled it carefully. “For Draco?” he asked, petting the soft petals with reverence.

“To go with the gift you’re planning, the Midas Touch,” Death murmured. “I just… ummmm I wanted him to have a piece of me even if he doesn’t know about me yet. So I can be with him.” 

Harry continued to admire the flower, the beautiful colors, the velvet soft petals, the glow that was reminiscent of Death’s skin.

“Ummm if you want. If you’re okay with…,” Death’s quiet, sorrow-filled voice interrupted Harry’s reverie.

Harry looked up, his throat tight. “It’s perfect.”

Death perked back up, his happiness making the stars in his skin shine brighter. Adorable, Harry thought

To Death, he said, “It’s so beautiful, he’ll love it.”  He’ll love you. Harry kept those words to himself, though. Death wasn't ready to hear them, to accept them. Harry would happily spend however long it took to lay the groundwork for the beautiful being before him to accept his and Draco's love. Now Harry grasped Death’s hands, bringing their knuckles up for a kiss. “It’ll go perfectly right at the front of the crown, a place of honor and protection.”

A deeper blush overtook what was visible of Death’s skin, and he ducked his head again to hide.  He was so very good at that.  Too good.  However long it takes, Harry promised himself and the universe. He will coax Death to Draco, and then he and Draco would coax Death out of his self-imposed isolation.

Harry felt the wave of magic before a disembodied feminine voice whispered, So mote it be. Harry hid his grin, Lady Magic, Death's older sister seemed to be in agreement with him.

Harry kissed Death's knuckles again, savoring the warmth of their skin, the eerie, entrancing light from the cosmos in their skin lighting up the darkness around them.

“Good night, Death Mine,” Harry whispered.

“Good night, Harry Mine,” Death muttered in reply. He leaned down to kiss Harry's temple letting his lips linger against his master's skin, savoring the softness.

And then Harry was back in bed, the air cool against his skin, Draco’s arm draped loosely over his waist. The room was still, the lake casting soft ripples of light across the stone walls.

In his hand, the flower remained.

Unblemished. Real.

And Harry—safe, warm, loved—curled deeper into Draco’s warmth, the flower cradled to his chest, a promise of bonds to come.

Chapter Text

“Lemon Drops,” Harry said dully and maybe even a little aggressively.  He did not want to waste his time right before quidditch trials talking to Dumblefuck.  Yet, here he was.

The missive had come at breakfast, a short message with little more than the time and the password, and now in his break between his last class and quidditch trials, Harry had to talk to the headmaster without his guardians. He, of course, could insist his head of house accompany him but it would just make the headmaster try again, harder and sneakier. So Harry decided to bite the bullet today, much to Draco’s annoyance.

The stone gargoyle sprung to life, and Harry thought he caught the gargoyle’s beak quirk as if in apology. Shaking his head, Harry stepped onto it and rode the spiral up to the headmaster’s office. 

“Harry, my boy,” Albus said as soon as Harry was through the door. “Come in, come in!”

Harry stiffened. His thoughts spun a million miles a minute, and he silently cursed himself for not at least coming up with an answer to this very predictable predicament. He couldn’t get away with Mr. Potter-Black without making Dumbledore even more suspicious, and Heir Potter-Black was out of the question. 

Harry lifted his lips into a small smile and said softly, “Please call me Hadrian, Headmaster. I learned over the summer that’s what my parents named me.”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. “Yes, of  course, Hadrian. Come, sit. Can I get you anything? Tea? Lemon drops?”

Fuck those lemon drops. 

 “No, thank you, sir. I’m still full from lunch.”  Harry took his seat, reigning his magic in tightly.  He forced his body to relax, he hid his anger and hatred to the man in front of him meticulously behind his occlumency shields, and waited.

After a few seconds of silence, Harry smiled at the headmaster, forcing a friendly laugh out, and met the old man’s gaze unafraid. His legilimency, however powerful, was no match for Heir Hadrian James Potter-Black. “What did you want to talk about, Headmaster?”

Dumbeldore’s eyes glazed a bit, hidden behind yet another twinkle , no doubt the old man trying to force his way into Hadrian’s mind, but his shields held firm. “Yes, Hadrian, I wanted to check in and see how you and Sirius are getting on.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Things have been great!” Better than great. Of course , they had. His father was amazing. Though, Harry checked that thought and reminded himself he couldn’t refer to Sirius as such. 

“Padfoot is amazing!” Harry gushed, leaning forward. “He took me and Draco flying over the Black estate and showed us where he used to hang out with my dad. It’s this cave thing in the middle of lavender fields!”  And Harry was off. He talked about how cool magical homes were and how adorable and helpful the house elves were, he relayed the tales he’d learned about his dad and mom, and he also talked about how amazing it was that he had cousins now who actually liked him. He also made sure to remark how strange it was they just turned up in muggle London, wandering with no memory of where they'd been or what had happened to them but that they'd all bonded over the summer, all of them in a new and strange place. It was part of the, albeit flimsy, cover story they'd quickly come up with the night before they left for Hogwarts when Tom received some piece of intel that made him almost bring the manor down. Once he was calm enough to speak without hissing, he was adamant nobody, except those already brought in, could know anything about Harry, his cousins, or the Longbottoms. 

Throughout his spiel, he could see the headmaster relax some, happy to hear his little pawn hadn’t been learning too much except for acceptable subjects like his parents and ‘insignificant’ magics like family magics and house elves. When he ran out of anecdotes on those subjects he tilted his head to the side and said, “What’s the time, Professor? Not that I don’t like our chats, but I don’t want to be late to quidditch trials.”

Dumbledore’s face took on grandfatherly rebuke, and he peered over his half-moon spectacles. “Harry, don’t you think it’s a little disloyal to try to play against your former team?” he chided. “Speaking of which, is everything okay in Slytherin for you? I’m sure there was a mistake with the re-sorting. We can have you back in Gryffindor with just a letter from Sirius.”

Harry forced every shred of emotion he was feeling at those words behind his mask and behind his shields. He’d deal with them when he was free from the headmaster. “My former teammates are sad that I’m not playing with them, as am I.  But we’re not eleven, headmaster. We’re all disappointed, but nobody is truly angry.  Plus, I think we’ve all got a healthy enough competitive streak to make this fun.”

The headmaster nodded sagely. “Very good sportsmanship,” he replied, stroking his beard. He wisely didn’t push this thread and moved on to his second question. “And Slytherin?”

Harry laughed. “My Bonded is in Slytherin. Even if everyone wasn’t as friendly as they are, Draco would brook no disrespect to or attacks on me. And it’s nice, not having the animosity of the previous years.”  Harry laughed lightheartedly, projecting carefree innocence and ignorance. “I daresay you can tell Professor McGonagall and Mr. Filch that they’ll have fewer problems this year.”

Dumbledore’s brows furrowed just a smidgeon but Harry caught it.  And he hid his responding smirk. Gods, Siri was right, this was fun. 

“If that’s all, Professor,” Harry said politely, getting up slowly.

“Actually, Hadrian,” Dumbledore said quickly, his magic rolling off of him in jerky, agitated waves. “There was one more thing I wished to discuss with you.”

Harry resettled himself in his seat and looked at the old goat expectantly, projecting nothing but friendliness and respect. 

“I have to say, Hadrian, I’ve been a bit disappointed in you.”

Harry imagined Sirius saying that to him and let himself startle, hurt and fear rippling over his features. “Why?” he asked softly.

“I’m surprised you are not being supportive of your friend, Ron. He’s had a hard summer, y’know. His brothers were whisked away by ministry officials and never heard from again.  And I’m even more surprised you haven’t asked about the absence of Hermione who’s also been missing since the summer.”

Harry’s nose scrunched. “Ron and I had a fight last year,” Harry said simply, guilelessly. “Our friendship never recovered, and Hermione took his side. They both were unsupportive during the tournament and turned their back on me. We haven’t exchanged letters all summer.” 

He imagined his cousins actually going missing, and Harry’s eyes welled with tears. “But…um…the twins and Hermione are missing?” Harry’s voice cracked. “Do we…Are there any….” Harry let a tear slip. “Do you have any idea what’s happening, sir?”

Dumbledore fully relaxed, and in doing so, he couldn’t help the smug look that flitted across his face. “We don’t know much, Hadrian,” he said gently, and Harry wanted to curse the ground that let the old goat walk on it. How did he do that? How was he so damned good at projecting goodness and kindness when he was anything but?

“All we know,” Dumbledore continued, “is that the Board was coerced into testing every student, and Fred, George, and Hermione were the only ones who were taken to the ministry and never heard from again.”

Harry let another tear slip out if only to distract the headmaster enough to think quickly. That means he mostly likely didn’t know that they knew about Aurora, George, and Fred. George and Fred had been going by their middle names. For safety reasons, Marcus, Pansy, Theo, and Blaise were the only non-family who remained knowledgable about the whole truth.  This also meant Dumbledore probably didn’t know about Neville and his parents, which didn’t surprise him. Augusta Longbottom had been livid when she’d woken from the cleansing. She’d stormed into Malfoy Manor and hugged Neville to her as if she’d never let him go. Then, as if that’d never happened, she stood straighter, told Neville to go “play with his friends” and demanded that the Malfoys, Severus, and Tom (the literal Dark Lord) tell her what was going on, what they knew, and what they were going to do about it. 

Yeah, Dumbledore wouldn’t know about the Longbottoms until Frank and Alice were well enough to storm the castle themselves.

“Truly? You know nothing? Is there an investigation? I can get Sirius to start an investigation. We can get the wizengamot on this immediately; I’m sure everything is a giant misunderstanding with the Board and the Wizengamot, but three students missing is serious. Why hasn’t the Daily Prophet reported on this?”

Dumbledore’s magic was positively gleeful, though his face remained in that grandfatherly, gentle smile, the one that promised understanding and unconditional support. Harry wanted to vomit. “That would be helpful, Harry. There hasn’t been much action. Probably due to Miss Granger’s status as a Muggleborn and Mr. Weasley’s lack of wealth.”

Got you.  

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How could the three children Dumbledore had kidnapped, compelled, and glamoured vanish – only for those same three children with no glamorous or compulsions to reappear at Hogwarts after having been found wandering London with their memories conveniently wiped – and he still hadn’t pieced it together? Just because the man was powerful didn’t mean he was smart. Or maybe he was so used to pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes he couldn’t fathom his plans and magic failing. Arrogant bastard.

Harry huffed, indignant. “That’s terrible.”  He softened his voice, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to Ron,” he promised.

Dumbledore smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, Hadrian. Good luck at trials.”

Harry waved at the headmaster, his smile dropping immediately once he was out of sight. 

Harry took a deep breath in, tucked all the memories away behind his shield, then made his way to the quidditch pitch.

Ron stepped out of an alcove and called softly, “Harry?”

Harry turned around and took a good look at his former best friend. There were dark circles around his eyes and he’d lost some weight which did not bode well. The only thing Ron loved more than Quidditch was food, good, hearty food that his mom cooked only once in a while due to budget constraints. Not eating for Ron meant things were very, very bad. 

“Ron,” Harry said just as softly. He still didn’t trust him. His name had been amongst those stealing from him. Then again, so much had not been as it seemed that Harry was willing to admit he didn’t really know anything concerning Ron yet. Or Ginny for that matter. “I’m sorry I just heard about Fred and George.”

Ron’s face crumpled. “The idiots just pranked me and bullied me, but I miss them, y’know?” He wiped his eyes quickly with his sleeve. “I mean, I deserved some of them, like last year. Honestly, Harry, I don't even know what came over me. I’m sorry I deserted you when you needed me most.”

Harry could only stare, stunned. Genuinely flabbergasted. Ron was many things but an actor was not one of them and the boy had never met the concept of subtle in his life. And no matter how good an actor, Magic never lied, and Ron’s was a soulful, melancholic blue. It was subdued, barely moving, and tense.

Harry wanted so badly to have Ron back, for there to be an explanation. So he said point blank, “I’m on my way to Slytherin quidditch trials.”

Ron’s face lifted into a grin, though it was less radiant than it usually was. “You’re a shoe-in for Seeker.” Ron’s chest puffed up a little in pride. “I made Beater on the Gryffindor Team.” He deflated again a bit. “Fred and George would have been better, but I think they’d like me keeping it in the Weasley family, y’know?”

Harry’s face softened. He reached over and squeezed Ron’s shoulder, and Ron absolutely crumbled in his arms, sobbing. “I want them back. Ginny doesn’t even care, and Percy disappeared to gods know where and Bill and Charlie haven’t responded to my letters. Hermione would have known what to do.”

Harry continued to hold his former friend, a knot forming in his gut, as his thoughts spun. What in Merlin’s name was going on? 

“I need to go,” Harry said. “But maybe you can come have dinner with me at the Slytherin table?”

Ron stiffened and for a second, Harry thought he’d hear about ‘slimy snakes.’  

“Do you think they’d like…let me?” Ron asked, his cheeks turning red. “I’ve been pretty awful to them.”

Harry huffed. “You could try apologizing?” he suggested. “I did and they accepted it. I was awful to them, too.”

Ron nodded, obviously mulling it over. “I’d like that. And again, Harry, I’m sorry. I swear…it’s like a haze of red overtook my brain. I don’t even….I hate how I treated you. And the summer…after Fred and George dis….y’know. The haze was back but purple.”  Ron deflated. “I don’t even know what that means. I know, I sound crazy, don’t I? I’m worried I have magical dementia or something, that’s how my dad’s parents died.”

Harry was shocked. He hadn’t known that, but he tucked away all of that for later. Blocks generally didn’t haze someone’s mind like that. But other magics possibly could. Though truthfully, Harry was already planning to kidnap Ron and get him tested…maybe even, if he really was a Weasley and his mother and Dumbledore had wronged him, adopt him into the Black family to get him away from Molly Weasley. IF this all checked out.

“You don’t sound crazy, Ron,” Harry said, patting his friend on the back. “You’re grieving. Why don’t you come to trials? You can meet my cousins. These ones actually like me.”

Ron perked up but said sheepishly. “Let’s do that at dinner? I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Harry nodded and waved goodbye.  

When Ron was out of sight, he couldn’t help but let some smugness into his magic. Because he just found out way more than Dumbledore got out of him.

-

The first thing Harry noticed as he mounted his broom was the quiet hum beneath the noise. Like he was feeling the deep structure of the magic that surrounded the castle. There were still shouts from older students organizing drills, the crackle of broom polishers, the excited chatter of hopefuls on the sidelines—but under it all was something deeper. A steady beat in his bones, rhythmic and low. He tightened his grip and kicked off, rising smoothly into the sky. His body remembered this—the way his lungs opened wider with each breath, how the cold wind kissed his cheeks. Up here, he didn’t have to think. He just felt, and reacted. And then his magic made him move. It was the simplest, most beautiful expression of his magic.

On the sidelines, Draco leaned against the railing, arms crossed, trying to look impassive. He was failing spectacularly.

“Stop looking like you’re about to combust,” Blaise muttered. “It’s unseemly.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” Blaise deadpanned. “If you stare any harder, you’re going to combust. And not from fire.”

Draco ignored him, eyes locked on Harry as he looped once, tucked into a flawless dive, and caught the Snitch with a clean snap of his fingers. Several Slytherin Seeker hopefuls groaned. They’d known before that their only shot until Harry’s graduation to make it onto the team was as an alternate, but within Harry’s first five minutes on a broom the last vestiges of their hope snapped like twigs.

Harry landed looking perfectly at home here, wind-swept, flushed, golden skin glowing in the afternoon light. And when he looked around, his gaze found Draco immediately. A quiet little smile tugged at his lips, and Draco’s stomach flipped traitorously.

“He’s showing off,” Draco muttered.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Blaise drawled, tossing a peanut into his mouth. “And you’re making the same face you did in fourth year when Krum looked at him for more than two seconds.”

Draco scowled. “He’s not even trying. Merlin, he’s flying like—”

“A sex dream in motion?”

Draco didn’t dignify that with a response.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Harry pushed off again, flying thirty feet into the air in a few seconds and then rolled into a shallow arc, pulling up into a tight spiral, hair wild in the sunlit wind. He spotted the Snitch again before anyone else, veered right with a burst of speed, and caught it cleanly. 

Effortless.

When he landed, he glanced at Draco, eyes glinting with quiet triumph.  Draco clapped with everyone else mouthing, Show off , at him  which just made Harry’s smirk widen.

Later, as they walked across the pitch, brooms in hand, Harry grinned over at his Bonded, cheeks still pink. “That was so much fun. I love flying.”

“And I loved watching you,” Draco said, kissing Harry’s flushed cheek.

Harry laughed, a bright sound that made Draco’s chest ache. They walked in silence for a while, Draco’s gaze catching on Harry’s damp hair curling against his neck, on his sure stride and warm magic.

“I saw you watching,” Harry murmured.

Draco smirked. “You were hard to miss.”

Harry turned, that small, devastating smile playing at his lips. “You looked proud.”

“I am proud,” Draco said quietly, leaning in until their noses brushed. “Though, maybe not as proud as Flint.”

Flint had almost cried from how good Harry was on a  broom.

Harry’s eyes lit with mischief. “You also looked turned on.”

Draco flushed hot, shoving his bonded gently. “Shut up.”

Harry laughed again, soft and teasing. Draco reached for his hand without thinking, and Harry twined their fingers together.

He had so much to catch his bonded up on. And their parents. But for now, he was happy to be back where he’d found his first scrap of happiness.

“I know trials are over, but wanna fly a bit? For fun?” 

Draco released the snitch he’d been hiding at his side, and laughed. "Thought you’d never ask. First one to get the snitch wins.”

Harry snorted. “That’s how the game works, idiot,” he teased. But he was intrigued. “Wins what?”

Draco leaned in close, his lips brushing Harry’s ear as he whispered, “Whatever they want.”

Harry’s heart skipped, heat curling low in his stomach. “You’re on.”

And with that, Draco kicked off hard, shooting into the sky, his laughter echoing back to Harry, who grinned and flew after him without a second thought. For a moment, there was no war, no Dumbledore, no plotting—just two boys and the open sky.

-

After Harry won, they made their way to the dungeons, but Draco couldn’t take how turned on he was at Harry’s flying. And yes watching him fly had gotten him going, but flying with him? The only thing stopping Draco from tackling Harry to the ground after he'd won was the crowd that had formed while they played their Seeker’s game. 

Now he shoved Harry against the cold stone wall just outside the entrance to the common room, pressing close enough that Harry felt every inch of him. The Snitch was cold between them where Harry clutched it triumphantly, his other hand still gripping his broom.

“You’re so hot,” Draco muttered, eyes flicking between Harry’s flushed face and the Snitch. “Even if you are a show-off.”

Harry tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, wicked grin. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

Draco huffed and made to grab the Snitch, but Harry tucked it into his robes with deliberate slowness, sliding his free hand down to grip Draco’s hip and pull him closer. Their bodies pressed flush, and Draco’s breath caught.

“Don’t forget,” Harry murmured, voice low and teasing, “winner gets whatever they want.”

Draco inhaled sharply, eyes darkening. “And what exactly does the winner want?”

Harry’s smile turned feral. He leaned up, lips brushing Draco’s ear as he whispered, “You. On your knees. Later.”

A shiver ran visibly down Draco’s spine, his hands clenching in Harry’s robes. Before he could retort, Harry pressed a quick, biting kiss to his mouth and pulled back just enough to smirk. "And then me under you in bed after.

Draco’s answering grin was dark and devastating. “Greedy snake.”

“Damn right,” Harry shot back, stepping around him to enter the common room.

Conveniently, he found all of his cousins, including Neville and Luna, talking on the sofas. 

When they entered, the chatter stopped and everyone turned to look at them. They took in their kiss bitten lips and messy robes. Fred raised an unimpressed eyebrow, George looked amused, Neville flushed and avoided their gaze while Luna just smiled up at the ceiling, and Aurora wore that sharp, assessing expression that told Harry she'd already moved on from the Bonded pair's antics and had sensed something was wrong.

He straightened his robes and grabbed Draco's hand. “We need to talk before dinner.”

Neville flicked his wand to move his stack of books and his bag from the couch beside him and Aurora “Is it Ron?”

At Harry's nod, Draco asked sharply. "He talked to you? And you let him?"

Harry nodded.

"What'd he say, Harry?" Luna asked, eyes drifting around the room and then back up to the ceiling, following something even though there was nothing anywhere she looked.

Harry sank into the sofa across from her, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension of the day. “More than he should have, actually. According to him--and Dumblefuck, mind you-- Fred, George, and Hermione – are missing . Taken after ministry testing.” Harry’s jaw tightened. “Ron also mentioned a haze. Red last year. Purple this summer.”

Aurora frowned, sharp and thoughtful. “Not Weasley magic. Definitely not blocks. Could be layered compulsions. Or possession. Maybe a combination of all three with a curse layered in?”

Harry nodded grimly. “Yeah, jury’s still out on that one. But he’s coming to dinner with us. I told him to apologize to the Slytherins and that I’d introduce him to my cousins, and I need you all to play along. He’s sincere – or I think he is – but he’s been used before. He’s also been awful to all of us, so whatever is happening, I want to know.”

Harry looked up at his Bonded and melted into his side, warming at the love he saw there for him. "Can you talk to the rest of our friends? Ron isn't off the hook yet, but I need them to play nice so we can figure out what's going on.”

Draco murmured into his hair, "As you wish, Winner."

Aurora crossed her legs, drumming her fingers lightly on the sofa arm. “You want us to be nice to him?”

“I want us to be strategic,” Harry corrected, gaze flicking to Raphael, who had perched on the armrest beside Luna, who was still looking up at the ceiling, one hand stroking idly over her hair.

Harry stopped talking and pointedly stared at Raphael, who, to his credit, didn't flinch like a lesser being would, and simply kept stroking Luna's hair.  Only once Luna's gaze cleared and her attention was back on the group did he turn not to the group or to Harry but to George, "Heir Prewett," he said, standing and bowing slightly. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend. I can make reservations at Thystle and Thorn for us."

Raphael's piercing blue eyes never left George, who blushed a deep crimson that clashed with the yellow of his tie. His eyes stayed on George even as Fred exclaimed, "You have the nerve to ask my brother out, after whatever that was with Luna! I should hex you now. And if you don’t scuttle back to the gutter you came from, I’ll tell Pansy what you tried and make sure she hexes you to Hades and back."

Luna just smiled dreamily, drifting over to Fred and George, scooting in between them until George took the hint and got up. She patted Fred’s head, it was quite the stretch for her but she was able to- barely. "Don't worry, Freddie. Raph helps bring me back gently. Otherwise, I get tangled up with the Whimwraiths on my way home."

Fred's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as his arm slipped around Luna who was humming a tune and looking at George expectantly. 

George, still getting used to Luna's eccentricities and trying to figure out what the bloody hell that meant, startled back to reality as Raphael took his hand and bowed over it, kissing the back it. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me this weekend, Heir Prewett?"

Harry grinned as George's face flushed yet again. "The honor is mine, Heir Slewyn."

Though nothing showed in his face-- or magic, Harry noted-- his voice warmed considerably. "I can't wait." And with another shallow bow and kiss to George's hand, he was gone.

George fled, though everyone was hot on his heels as they made their way to dinner. Aurora threw up a silencing ward, and Neville threw up a privacy ward and the questions burst from the group.

As they hurried down the corridor toward the Great Hall, Aurora elbowed George lightly. “So, when’s the wedding?”

“Shut up,” George muttered, his ears already turning red.

“I love first dates,” Luna commented dreamily, skipping down the halls to keep up with everyone.

George’s blush spread. “Ummm this won’t be our first date. Just the first public date.”

The group halted and everyone’s heads whipped to George who just shrugged sheepishly. 

“What?” Draco shrieked, the impropriety of it all having him actually clutching his chest. 

George glared at everyone and started walking quickly to the Great Hall, his cousins jogging to keep up.

Fred snickered. “How’d he ask you out? Did he write you a poem or something? Swear fealty to your impressive collection of cauldron burns?”

“Fred!” George hissed, rubbing at the burns. Harry knew Sev was helping George as much as he could with potions and while George was a genius at theory, he had a little too much ADHD for actually brewing the potions. That’s why he and Fred made such a good team, Fred didn’t like theory or calculations. He liked action.

“Raph just…”

“Raph?” Harry asked, grinning wide.

“ He just asked me out the first time, okay?”

Neville laughed. “Just asked? Mate, he kissed your hand . And that was in public. How’d he really ask you in private?”

Harry burst out laughing at the way Draco pursed his lips in perfect imitation of his mother. “Have you kissed him yet?” Harry asked.

“No!” George squeaked, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Aurora laughed, looping her arm through his. “Well, you better brush up on your kissing technique before Saturday, Dear Cousin. Thystle and Thorn is basically a make-out spot. Every guest gets their one private room”

Draco’s eye twitched but he said nothing. Mostly because he had no ground to stand on. Harry patted his Bonded’s arm, unable to stop his laughter.

“Can you not ?” George hissed as Fred ruffled his hair.

“Just saying,” Fred teased. “If he tries anything, remember to breathe through your nose.”

George groaned as they pushed through the doors into the Great Hall, their laughter echoing around him. “I hate you all,” he muttered.

“No you don’t,” Harry said cheerily, looping his arm on George’s other side.

They all made their way to the table and Draco was barely able to get a quick word with his friends before Ron was slowly walking over, his gaze darting nervously around the green-and-silver filled table before landing on Harry.

“Er… hi,” he mumbled, giving a small wave.

“Ron,” Harry said good-naturedly, gesturing him over. “Come sit.”

Ron shuffled over, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bench, and glanced at Draco and the others before clearing his throat. “I… wanted to say sorry. To all of you. For… everything. I’ve been a right git.”

Silence followed, thick and tense. Finally, Pansy inclined her head slightly. “Apology noted.”

Theo and Blaise's gaze remained cool, but they nodded at Ron and echoed Pansy. "Noted," they said, before turning back to each other and continuing their own private conversation.

Ron exhaled shakily, shoulders dropping a fraction. The conversation that ensued was stilted and awkward but surprisingly civil. Ron asked about Quidditch trials, and Harry proudly said he's the new Slytherin Seeker. Ron kept his tone friendly and curious as he asked if Draco had a new position, and Draco told him about the new makeup of the team. No point in keeping it a secret when the whole school would see the new roster in the morning.  Aurora introduced herself, and Fred and George introduced themselves using their middle names (Castor and Atlas, respectively). And they made small talk, Ron asking Aurora and Castor and Atlas more about themselves. Though she gave nothing away, Harry could tell from her magic that Aurora was happy to finally be using the backstory they’d come up with for the long lost trio.

After a lull, Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “This is… uh… it’s quieter here than I expected.” He smiled ruefully.  "Quieter than the Gryffindor table at least."

Harry smirked . “Not hard to be.”

Ron laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”  He cast a quick Tempus and said. "Umm I’ve got detention with Snape now… but… thanks. For letting me sit here.”

Harry smiled faintly. “See you tomorrow.”

As soon as Ron was gone, Aurora let out a quiet breath. “That was… awkward.”

“But useful,” Blaise added, eyes sharp on Harry. “He’ll be easy to manipulate into giving us information.”

Harry’s lips lifted into a satisfied smile. “That’s the plan.” At least at first.

Fred and George stiffened, though. Old protective instincts towards their brother of 15 years rising to the surface.

"He's not acting, " Fred said quietly.

George nodded, sorrow filling his gaze. "We know him better than anyone here. I’m so sure, Harry.” George’s eyes were pleading, and Harry’s heart broke. “Something's...off."

Harry's face softened. "Don’t worry, Georgie. I think that, too. But we can't let him in. Not until we know for sure."

George deflated a bit but nodded. He understood what was at stake. They had to be absolutely sure.

"What's the plan?" Theo asked. "What do we do now?"

Harry smiled at Theo. "Just keep your eyes and ears open for any information that’s useful. I'll let the 'rents know about all the new discoveries tonight."

Draco leaned down, lips brushing his ear again, voice low and husky. “And what’s your plan for me, winner?”

Harry turned just enough to meet his gaze, eyes glittering with dark promise. “You’ll find out soon.”

And with that, he stood, flicked the Snitch back to Draco , a surprise hidden inside, and strode out, Draco hot on his heels once he found the message.

-

After an evening of Draco chasing him through all the abandoned hallways of the Castle and then letting Draco catch him, Harry wanted to spend more time with his Bonded. He didn’t want to do anything serious or heavy. Not yet. As important as it was, he figured he could have a couple more hours before coming back down to reality. He wanted to extend his break so he decided to visit Amir. With the help of the house elves, he packed leftover roast lamb from dinner and a few fat rats into an enchanted basket and called for Selene.

"Let's go visit your grandpa," Harry cooed at her. Selene, who'd slithered down from her blankets to wrap herself around Harry’s shoulders, flicked her tongue out happily at the mention of seeing her grandfather.

Draco walked in quiet companionship beside him, bumping their hands together every so often. Harry hummed under his breath as they descended into the cool stone tunnels beneath the castle. Amir greeted them with a low, rumbling hiss of welcome, and Harry smiled softly as Selene slipped from his shoulders to coil beside her grandfather. Once the basket was emptied and both basilisks were curled up in contentment, hissing their pleasure, Harry told Amir about the jungle he made for him but that to enter it, Harry would have to shrink him. Then, he could be unshrunk.

Consent given, Harry did just that and situated Amir and Selene in the jungle he'd made with Tom and Sirius, giving them a tour, proudly showing the cave and river he'd made for them, activating the runes he’d worked on meticulously to emulate sunshine, rain, and wind so they’d be comfortable. And when they assured him they loved it and they'd be okay, he climbed out, tapped the trunk to shrink it, and pocketed it.

“Ready to head back up?” Draco asked.

Harry hesitated. Something tugged at his magic, deep and insistent. “Let’s walk for a bit. I want to look around.”

Draco shrugged with an indulgent smile. “Lead the way, love.”

They wandered deeper into the abandoned passages. The walls here were slick with moisture, carved with faded runes Harry couldn’t read. And then he saw it: a shimmer in the stone ahead, like heat rippling above summer pavement.

“Do you see that?” Harry asked, his voice hushed.

Draco squinted. “Barely.”

Harry reached out, and the stone melted away under his touch, revealing a hidden chamber.

Harry's breath caught. They'd found it. Well, more like stumbled on it. He huffed out a laugh. He couldn’t wait to tell Tom, Mr. Heir of Slytherin, that he'd stumbled upon Slytherin's study by accident. 

They stepped inside. Shelves towered around them, lined with tomes bound in cracked dragonhide and serpent scale. Scrolls lay coiled in silver holders, Harry could see runes dancing faintly across their surfaces and swirling along the walls. Jars glowed softly with ingredients preserved in stasis – roots long extinct, slivers of crystal, vials of black-gold sap, phoenix tears turned dark with age. Glass orbs floated near the ceiling, glowing like captive moons.

“Merlin,” Draco whispered, awe and reverence lacing every syllable. “This is incredible.”

Harry felt it too. The power thrummed under his skin, alive and heavy. Draco and Harry glanced at each other, both giddy with excitement.  Suddenly he felt like a toddler let loose in a candy store.  His Bonded, as in love with knowledge as him, began to explore with equal enthusiasm.  Harry made a beeline to the books and Draco began examining the potions ingredients with reverence. Harry pretended not to notice how many ingredients Draco pocketed, knowing some might be for Sev but most were for him.  Draco was like a dragon for potions ingredients, hoarding only the best, most ancient, most exotic ones. 

Harry, though, was no better with books. He shrunk down almost three dozen, some in Parseltongue, others in Old English, many in Latin.  All on obscure magics pertaining to battle, strategy, and healing. 

Done with the shelves, Harry made his way over to the desk, and his eyes fell on a cracked book, half-hidden behind an ancient ledger. He pulled it free and opened it, only to find a torn scrap of parchment tucked between its pages.

The castle pulsed around him the moment he touched it. His magic surged, rattling through his bones like thunder.

The Shadowed Weaver whose eyes behold the dying light,

And Death, who weeps for his own and all he cannot rewrite.

His knees gave out, and he grabbed the edge of the desk to keep himself upright. 

“Harry!” Draco was at his side in an instant, arms around his waist and shoulders. “Harry, what is it? What happened? Did the book hurt you?”

Harry’s eyes were wide and tear-filled. “It’s ...nothing” he whispered, voice shaking.  

Draco’s heart lurched. He cupped Harry’s face in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Liar," he whispered.

Harry looked down. "I don't know what this is, Draco," Harry said, not able to lie to his Bonded again, not truly. It felt wrong, it felt like it stole his joy.  He handed the scrap of paper to Draco and let him read it. When Draco stared back at him, Harry whispered, "But I think...it's about us.  Or at least me?" And Death. His dear, dear Death. Well, hopefully their Death. Soon. “And my magic reacted strangely to it,” Harry continued. 

"Hey. Breathe, my love" Draco murmured, drawing Harry into his arms. He pressed Harry against his chest and exaggerated his inhales and exhales so Harry could follow his lead. "It’s okay. You’re okay. We’ll figure this out. Let’s go to our parents, they’ll know—”

But Harry shook his head, shutting his eyes tight. “No. Tomorrow. Please, I just… I just want to rest now.” He needed time to digest whatever this was. To come to terms that there was another damned prophecy, but this one was real if Hogwarts’ and his magic’s reactions were anything to go by.

Draco pressed his forehead to Harry’s, voice trembling with worry and love. “Okay. Rest, it is then. I’ll be right there next to you. Always.”

Harry smiled up at his Bonded, forcing the worry over what he’d found and what he’d felt to drain away. He had survived a whole timeline based on a half heard prophecy. He would not make that same mistake. The battle was a ways out yet, both sides still tip-toeing around each other.  There was still much to learn and strategize, and they still had time. He’d show their parents in the morning and then they’d go from there.

Harry glanced up at his Bonded through his lashes in faux innocence. "Maybe I could still have my winnings first, though, before we go to bed?"

Draco laughed, the tension draining. "Anything for my darling winner."

Harry smiled but the movement just squeezed tears out of his eyes. But not because of that scrap of prophecy or the stress and overwhelming emotions of the day. No, because his heart was full to overflowing with love and devotion for the incredible man in front of him, who he knew would walk into fiendfyre with him if that’s what was needed.

Draco wiped them away, “What’s all this, my darling?” Draco asked gently.

Unable to keep it in any longer, Harry said quickly, almost soundlessly, “I love you.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. They’d been skirting around that word for so long. They both felt it, the whole castle knew. And though they were Bonded, it was still a scary step in any relationship.

Harry raised up on his tip toes, to plant a soft kiss on the corner of Draco’s mouth. “You’re my home, Draco. I love you so much,” Harry whispered, breath catching. Nobody, not Lady Magic or Lady Fate themselves could get him to give up Draco. Not that they’d ask. Draco was part of whatever this was, too, he was sure of it. His choice was not either or. It was both. Both of his loves.

Draco’s smile softened, his eyes lit with devotion and the giddiness that comes with young love. “I love you too, my darling. More than there are stars in the sky or atoms in the galaxies. I am yours fully.”

“As am I,” Harry whispered. A ripple of magic washed over them, pleased at the promise, yet there was an expectation there too that Harry could feel.  And he knew exactly what she wanted. Soon, he promised. As soon as he could convince that stubborn primordial being who he knew already loved them both that they loved him right back.

Harry could almost laugh at how far he was getting ahead of himself. Draco and Death hadn’t even met yet.  But he knew in his very bones, in every shred of his magic. They, the three of them, were endgame.

Another ripple of magic, lighter, happier. 

Lady Magic agreed. 

Chapter Text

Draco’s day had been the absolute worst. But that just kept with the trend of the past 10 days. And on the days Draco felt particularly dramatic which was often– thank you Malfoy genes– he’d even venture to say that his entire life had gone to shit since they’d found that stupid scrap of prophecy. 

When he and Harry had finally told their parents, the reactions had varied from mild academic interest (Tom and Regulus) to frank concern (Barty and Narcissa) to complete doom and gloom– that last one had been courtesy of the Malfoy and Black Lords exclusively who’d both gone pale at the words and had proceeded to retreat into their respective studies and had all but disappeared. Harry said that Remus said that Sirius was muttering to himself and writing on the walls and in the air, reading books he’d warned Remus not to even touch because only “those of the blood” could. 

The worst part, though, was Harry’s silence.

Oh, he and Harry still talked. They still spent most waking and sleeping moments by each other’s side. But there was a distance that Draco didn’t like. Every morning, Harry would wake more and more frustrated. More and more often, Harry was retreating somewhere in his head, staring off randomly into space, eyes open but unseeing. And recently, Harry had taken to spending time by himself either in their room or in the Chamber of Secrets.

Draco had no idea what was going on. He had no idea what Harry was trying to do or what was going wrong. But the more time went on, the more anxious and sadder Harry got. Draco’d do anything to make his Bonded happy, to make his worries disappear. He’d fight any battle, slay any enemy. But being so helpless and ignorant was driving Draco mad. He hated the circles under Harry’s eyes. Hated the exhausted melancholy blanketing Harry’s magic.

Draco was even beginning to hate how much his happiness hinged on Harry. It was as if Harry were the spring rain—without him, Draco’s world turned to ash and dust. He was a Malfoy for Hekate’s sake. Malfoys wore their pride like armor and forged their silence as sharp as a sword. That’s how he’d been raised. That’s who he had been.

But Harry had shattered all of that, and Draco was a better man for it. 

Draco had tried to ask, of course. But no matter how he asked, how many times, when, where. None of it mattered. Harry tensed every time and chose silence. Or tried to play it off. But Draco wasn’t buying any of the distractions or half truths/half lies Harry was spouting these days. 

Draco was fluent in Harry’s every expression. He’d studied him, memorized him. The way his jaw clenched when he was about to refuse something, the way his shoulders curled inward when guilt pressed too heavily, the flicker of humor that always softened his green eyes no matter how dark the day. Even the small nose scrunches that meant Harry didn’t necessarily like what was happening.  Harry was a language Draco had meticulously studied with an obsession born out of love and had become fluent in. But right now, the syntax didn’t line up.

Today, though, seemed to be a culmination of every bad moment, feeling and thought since finding that stupid prophecy. It had started before breakfast, when he’d barely stepped into the Slytherin corridor prompting a group of younger years from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor to scatter, whispering behind their hands like he couldn’t hear them. He caught fragments— Death Eater in Training, manipulated the bond, traitor —the sort of barbed gossip he was used to. Dumbledore’s followers believed the insane theory that Bonds were forged for Dark wizards to leech a Light wizard’s power. Despite having evidence to the contrary. It was insane and an insult to Lady Magic. But some were just Pan’s flock, following every note Dumbledore’s pipe sounded with no critical thought. 

Usually, Draco silenced such vitriol with a single look and let it roll off of him like water off a mermaid’s tale, or he ignored it entirely because who cared? He had been blessed by Lady Magic, he had Harry, and nobody else did. Who cared about stupid gossip from stupid people? Today, though, Harry had disappeared before sunrise and had left a note on his pillow saying he would be skipping all classes today. Draco’s day was worse before he’d even woken up, and he hadn’t had the energy for a proper sneer. His temples already throbbed, a dull, persistent ache from too many nights spent pushing his magic past breaking.

Gods, and then there’d been that letter. A fat roll of correspondence from his father, dropped unceremoniously on his lunch plate by the family owl who’d never taken to Draco just as he reached for dessert. The scent of Malfoy and Black ink still clinging to the parchment, mingling together into something sharp, expensive, metallic– a little like blood. His father and Sirius had been trying to help, of course; all of the adults in his life– all miraculously well-adjusted, competent and sound of mind– had been trying to help. That parchment, though, had detailed every bit of progress Lucius and Sirius had made in their self-exile to their studies in excruciating detail about the prophecy and Harry’s and Draco’s role in it. But it all amounted to the conclusion: we don’t know anything more about the prophecy specifically, yet. 

And because the universe wasn’t done with him yet, his mother had cornered him that night before dinner for a lecture on posture. “You are slouching again,” she murmured, eyes cool but not unkind. “A Malfoy never stoops, Draco.” She adjusted his shoulders with careful fingers as if he were a wayward portrait frame rather than a boy with a migraine. He bit down on the urge to flinch away. Her eyes softened, “You must never show the weight of the burdens you carry, my dragon.” 

She meant well, Draco knew. The lecture wasn’t solely about posture but more a reminder that their family was scrutinized every second of every day. Draco couldn’t afford to wear his problems in his body language. It showed weakness. And a weakness in Draco was a threat to Harry’s safety.

By the time he sat at the Slytherin Table that evening, the weight of the day had settled across his back like a lead cloak. He continued to smile, to make Harry’s plates, to go through the motions of the life they’d only begun to carve for themselves while at school. But his eyes wandered restlessly, looking for threats; his magic swept the room trying to find traps that weren’t there– or worse yet, were too clever for his magic to pick up. 

He reigned his magic in, brushing it against Harry’s who despite the weary edge to it welcomed him with open arms. Harry was beside him, close enough their shoulders touched, but despite his magic’s reception of Draco’s, he wasn’t really there. His eyes had that distant, glazed quality again, fixed on something far past the Great Hall, as though every laugh and scrape of cutlery wasn’t real. And again as he’d done all day, after dinner, Harry disappeared again.

The last time Harry had been like this, he had disappeared entirely from Draco’s life. Not seen or heard for three weeks. But then, at least, there had been a reason, a timeline. Draco had understood what was happening that time. This time, Draco had nothing but silence and his own insecurities.

So he dragged Theo and Blaise into a training room in the dungeons. Theo went first and quickly began to flag under Draco’s thunderous mood.

“Stop making it so easy,” Draco snarled. He didn’t wait for Theo’s stance to settle before snapping out a hex that cracked against Theo’s hastily conjured shield and sent the boy staggering.

Theo scowled, sweat dripping off his jaw, hissing, “Bloody hell, Malfoy, you’re trying to take my head off or—”

“Maybe I am.” Draco’s magic coiled hot and tight under his skin, begging for release. He needed to burn it out of himself before it burned through him. Before it unleashed and burned the world. He slashed his wand again, sending a whip of white hot light that skimmed past Theo’s shoulder close enough to scorch the fabric.

“You’re cracked,” Theo choked out.

“Again,” Draco snapped, sweat already slicking his temples as he raised his wand.

Theo groaned, rolling his shoulders. “You’ve had me on the ground three times already.”

“Then get up and stop embarrassing yourself.” Draco’s spell hit him square in the chest before he’d even found his footing.

“For Merlin’s Sake, Malfoy!” Blaise snapped, walking swiftly to Theo. He pulled his boyfriend up gently and helped him sit outside the dueling wards and then slipped through to take his place, his glare at Draco a challenge. 

Draco smirked. Challenge met.

Sparks flew. Each threw out hexes and spells like their lives depended on it. Draco batted away Blaise’s spells almost lazily, except there was nothing lazy about the way his magic surged, white-hot and reckless.

By the end of the first hour, Blaise had to tap out and Marcus and Aurora were roped in. Marcus went first; his style was more measured, more defensive, which only sharpened Draco’s frustration. He wanted chaos, wanted force, wanted someone to hit him hard enough to quiet the storm under his skin. When Marcus kept dodging every spell Draco hurled instead of striking back, Draco snarled, “For Merlin’s sake, fight me .”

“You’re insufferable when you’re brooding,” Marcus shot back, ducking behind a conjured dummy. “Go duel your reflection if you want someone who can keep up with you.”

Marcus knew just how powerful Draco was, younger than him or not. It’d been a point of contention in Slytherin house since Draco had been a first year. While, yes he’d been a bratty eleven-year-old; there’d never been any doubt about the insane amount of power he’d always had. It wasn’t something the Malfoys ever bragged about at parties, they simply didn’t need to. Draco was a lot like the Dark Lord in that the depth and darkness of his power could just be felt. If the Slytherin Court was still upheld, Draco would easily have made King as a first year. At this point, the only one who had any hope in magic to give Draco a proper duel was Harry, and Draco would never raise his wand to his Bonded, even in a controlled duel. Especially not feeling like this.

“Or maybe you should just grow a pair,” Draco retorted, wand flashing. Marcus yelped as the flagstones under his boots turned to quicksand, sucking him ankle-deep. He sent a quick spell to get solid ground back and sent a bombarda but Draco sent a bombarda too that met Marcus’s spell in the air, the two exploding together sending Marcus and the practice dummies flying, splinters skittering across the floor..

“Rein it in, Draco,” Aurora snapped from the sidelines, braid whipping as she stepped forward. “You’re going to kill someone at this rate.”

“Then get in here and see if you fare better,” Draco shot back. His chest rose and fell too fast, his hair plastered to his forehead. He could feel his magic sparking under his skin, aching for more.

Aurora arched a perfect brow, muttered something sharp in French, and drew her wand. Marcus groaned, already backing toward the door. “I’ll go get the salves then,” he muttered.

They clashed for another hour. Aurora was sharper than the others, her hexes slicing close enough to sting, but Draco still fought like a man possessed. Each time he raised his wand, he imagined he was carving through the silence between himself and Harry. Each time he blocked, he imagined he was holding off whatever shadow haunted Harry’s eyes. He could feel his Bond pulsing faintly, and the not-knowing made every muscle in his body ache.

“Draco, for Circe’s sake!” she barked after his latest Blasting Curse shattered a dueling dummy behind her. “You’re not training anymore, you’re just trying to murder us.”

“Maybe I just need someone who doesn’t fold after a few rounds,” he shot back, chest heaving, robes clinging damp to his skin.

“You need to talk to Harry,” Aurora said flatly, wiping blood from a shallow cut on her cheek. “Or a nap. Or both.”

Draco didn’t answer. He felt like a bowstring drawn too tight, one more pull away from snapping. His hands ached from gripping his wand, his knuckles still split from the morning’s letter. But none of it- fucking none of it- shook the cold weight in his chest.

He wanted Harry to look at him. He wanted Harry to say something . Instead, Harry sat by himself in their room, in his favorite spot on the windowseat, staring out the window into the Black Lake.

He shook the image of Harry sitting there, eyes vacant at his head and raised his wand. “Again,” he snapped to Aurora.

All in all, Aurora lasted the longest. But eventually the three wizards– his best friends– on the sidelines cursed him into the wall just to make him stop , and only then did Draco stay down, chest heaving, sliding against the stone wall to sit down for the first time in hours. His knuckles throbbed, split and bleeding.

Above him, Blaise leaned over his knees, saying softly. “You done punishing yourself, or do you want us to drag in Snape for the next round?”

Theo sat down on one side, and Aurora dropped onto the flagstones on his other side, breathing hard but still composed enough to glare. “This isn’t good for you, Draco. Don’t make a habit out of it . ” Unsaid was the ‘or we’ll tell Harry’ but Draco heard it nonetheless. 

Draco closed his eyes, jaw tight, and said nothing.

Because she was right.

But still, Draco fought harder. It was the only language he had left.

When Draco finally told them they could go, Draco stood alone in the center of the room, the space still buzzing with leftover magic. Draco conjured more dummies, and went at them. Again. And again. And again.

Until he didn’t have enough energy to even raise his wand arm. 

Draco lay flat on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, the silence pressing down harder than any spell. He dragged himself upright, wincing as his palm left a smear of red on the flagstones, and made for the wash basin in the corner. The water was icy, biting into the cracks across his skin, and he hissed but didn’t pull away. He scrubbed harder than necessary, until the sting lit up every nerve in his fingers. 

He could do pain. Pain was easy. Pain was honest.

His reflection in the warped brass mirror above the basin looked like a stranger: pale hair plastered flat, circles under his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He touched the corner of his mouth and found a thin line of dried blood he hadn’t noticed, probably from one of Aurora’s hexes. He left it there. Let everyone see it in the morning, maybe then they’d stop whispering about the Dark’s darling in the corridors and realize that he bled just as much as anyone else.

But the thought brought no satisfaction.

What made his chest twist wasn’t the bruises or the whispers. It was Harry. Harry, who should’ve been pacing the edge of the dueling circle with his jaw set, snapping at him to stop showing off, to stop breaking things, to be nicer to their friends. Harry, who should’ve been rolling his eyes and pulling him down onto a bench with a murmured drink your water, asshole.

Instead, he stayed away from him, in a different area of the castle entirely. Choosing for the first time since their Bond to be away from him, to close himself off to him. That was worse than any curse, worse than any pain. Draco could fight an enemy. He couldn’t fight ghosts.

He pressed a damp cloth to his bleeding knuckles, watching the water swirl pink in the basin. His magic still pressed against his ribs, restless, unsatisfied. It wanted action. He wanted answers. But Harry…Harry wanted nothing but distance.

Draco shut his eyes, breathed once, twice, and promised himself he’d drag the truth out of him soon. Malfoys didn’t beg, his father had said many times when Draco would beg for something silly like the latest broom model. But for Harry, he’d beg on his knees if that’s what it took for Harry to be honest with him. He couldn’t survive another vanishing act. Not again.

—

For the twelfth day in a row, Harry woke with the bitter taste of disappointment and failure in his mouth. Sleep, for Harry, had recently turned into a restless, anxiety riddled song and dance of Harry showing up and being left alone. For the first time since he’d come back in time, Death hadn’t been in that clearing under those strange unfamiliar constellations when he called. Before Harry had barely needed to think a tangible thought about Death, and Death would show up– in his dreams, in his daydreams. Night or day. Whether it was for help and guidance or simply because Harry wanted to tell him something just to hear him laugh. But Harry had called out for Death in his thoughts and in the clearing, had carved sigils and runes into the trunks with his blood, pleading Death to visit him. But he’d been met with nothing but silence and an emptiness that had stretched and stretched until it pressed against his chest like a fist, and when he opened his eyes in the dormitory, weariness sat there, heavy and cold. The kind of weariness that sank deep, past bone and blood, into the marrow of his magic.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Death wasn’t bound to him in the way Draco was. Not yet, anyway. And Death had work that spanned across worlds, responsibilities Harry couldn’t even comprehend. He knew that. He did. But still, it stung. The absence felt personal. A door closed in his face.

Harry told himself it wasn’t personal, there were things beyond his understanding. Death, after all, was primordial, infinite. Harry couldn’t even begin to understand Death’s existence let alone his work. 

Death was busy. It wasn’t the end of the world.

But the truth clung to him like spiderwebs. Something had changed. In the deepest part of himself that was still an abused child all alone at Privet Drive, Harry thought that maybe Death realized he could do better than two mortals. What could he and Draco possibly give Death that he didn’t already have? The longer Death stayed away, the more Harry was sure: Death had changed his mind. Every night before bed, he’d rehearse a speech meant to give him and Draco another chance, but then he’d get to the clearing, and he’d be alone. He’d stand there until his eyes ached from scanning the shadows, until the silence was so loud it felt like it might split him apart, and still, he woke with nothing but emptiness. The absence pressed heavier each morning, like he was losing Death all over again.

The days only worsened. Draco had been at his side the whole time, steady and unyielding, making sure Harry ate, pressing their shoulders together at every meal, sending his magic brushing against Harry’s like an anchor. And Harry wanted to lean into it. Merlin, he ached to fold into it and tell Draco everything, but the words stayed locked behind his teeth. Every time Draco’s voice dropped soft with concern, Harry’s throat closed. How much was he even allowed to say? How much of Death belonged to him, and how much would telling become betrayal? What would Draco think? Would he be angry? Would Draco feel betrayed?

Draco noticed his hesitation. Of course, Draco noticed. He always did. Still, he’d make Harry’s toast at breakfast, pass him extra slices of treacle tart at lunch, tuck himself close at dinner so their shoulders brushed with every movement. Each touch was a wordless reassurance: I’m here. I’ve got you.

Harry tried to return the sentiment, pressing back faintly through the Bond, but it felt dishonest when the truth was a storm of questions he wasn’t sure he was allowed to voice building in his chest. How much could he tell Draco about Death? About the prophecy?  About Harry’s own aching silence? It was all so jumbled up together that the only path to anything passed where they were was the whole truth.

But the whole truth included Death’s truth. And he didn’t know if he was allowed to voice it, and the not-knowing kept him quiet. Which only made Draco more restless, more brittle. Harry could feel the frustration sparking across their bond like static. Every time Draco asked him what was wrong, Harry’s throat locked up tighter.

The silence between them grew heavier with every hour. Harry felt it in the way Draco’s eyes kept flicking to him, searching for signs he refused to give. He felt it in the frustration surging through their bond like static. He wanted to reach across, to confess everything, but instead he hunched over his plate, forcing down the food Draco had pushed toward him, trying to smile like it was all fine.

And then there was Ron and Ginny. They were the cherry on top of the shittiest sundae in the world.

They were confusing the fuck out of Harry. And pissing off Draco and the rest of their friends and cousins. Nothing about the circumstances surrounding the two and their behavior made any sense.

Ron had begun the slow process of bridging the gap between him and Harry’s friends during the first week of classes. But ever since then both he and Ginny had gone hot and cold to the point that Harry had to tell Lucius that something had to be influencing them both. They needed to be tested.

Annoyingly, those tests had come back negative for any compulsions.

Which didn’t make any fucking sense.

Their behavior was too erratic. Too cartoonish .

Between one interaction and the next, they’d flip a switch. Like before one class, Ginny would slow down in the hallway to fall in step beside him, lips tilted into a flirtatious grin, fingers brushing his wrist as she whispered something that was half-flirt, half-dare. His stomach had turned, not with the heat she probably expected but with unease and a gentle but firm rebuff. And then by lunch of the same day, she’d shove her tray across the Gryffindor table as he walked past and hissed, “Enjoy your snakes, Potter. You’ve always liked slithering, haven’t you?” The words rang louder for how abruptly they’d followed her smile. By dinner, she was all soft-eyed again, asking if he’d heard anything from Fred and George, voice pitched with real worry. And then, hours later in the library, she glared at him like he was a stranger and muttered something foul under her breath as she passed him.

Ron wasn’t any steadier. Sometimes he sat with Harry and Draco in the library, restless but kind, sharing chocolate frogs, asking questions about Harry’s twin cousins, even sheepishly asking if his cousins would mind it if he hanged out with them since they reminded him of Fred and George and it made him feel more hopeful. Other times, his jaw would tighten, his eyes narrowing at the green on Draco’s robes, and he’d shoulder-check Harry hard enough into the wall that it left bruises. Slimy snake , he’d spat once when Harry refused to even consider letting the Hat re-sort him. Fred and George had erupted at Ron in front of the whole school, and Draco had been two seconds away from hexing Ron three inches from death. But then, two mornings later, Ron was back at his side, chewing toast and asking softly if Harry was all right. As if nothing had happened.

It was maddening. And somewhere beneath his exhaustion, Harry couldn’t shake the crawling suspicion that none of this was really them at all. No matter what the tests said. It was too sudden, too jagged, too much like strings being tugged by unseen fingers. He could almost feel the threads of magic twisting through the castle, could almost see Dumbledore’s signature all over this- testing, nudging, waiting.

Testing what, though? Harry’s patience? Draco’s loyalty? The strength of the compulsions on Harry maybe. Harry couldn’t think clearly. But something was off. He was the only one so far who thought so. Everyone else had written off the remaining Weasley kids as crazy. It was like the entire world had been tipped on its side. 

By the time Harry sat at the Slytherin table that evening, he was worn thin as parchment. He let Draco make his plate again, forced down mouthfuls of stew that tasted of nothing, and tried not to notice the way Draco’s eyes kept flicking toward him in quiet, worried demand. He wanted to explain everything. He wanted to say I think Dumbledore is pulling strings in people’s heads. He wanted to admit that Death had vanished from him (from them! ), that he felt like a limb had been torn away. But the words wouldn’t come. His chest locked up, his throat burned, and silence won again.

That night he sat at the window seat, forehead pressed to the cold glass, watching the Black Lake roll and shift in the moonlight. Draco’s presence hummed around him courtesy of the Bond- solid, protective, waiting. But Harry didn’t turn to look at Draco who was getting ready for bed. If he looked into those silver eyes and saw hurt, he didn’t know if he’d be able to breathe.

Eventually his body loosened, his eyelids closed, and he sank down into sleep. 

And when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in their room.

The forest had returned.

Moss cushioned his bare feet. The trees here were ancient and wrong, their bark still carved with symbols that shifted like ink on skin. Normally the place hummed with quiet life Harry could sense but not see or hear, but tonight it felt stilled, as if the world itself were waiting for a verdict. Even the air had forgotten how to move.

And there, at the far edge of the glade, stood Death.

Tall as always, the hood of his Black sweatshirt drawn low, black jeans torn at the knee, shadows curling around him like smoke. The breeze that normally stirred the edges of his robes had stilled, leaving the black fabric to hang unnervingly still. Even half in silver light, Death looked less like the figure who had once cupped Harry’s face in steady hands, and more like what the old stories whispered: the shapeless being that comes for kings and beggars alike, the end no one escapes.

For a heartbeat, Harry thought Death might not move at all.

He stepped forward anyway, because he couldn’t not. His bare feet made no sound on the moss. His chest ached with the weight of too many unsaid words, and for once even his Bond with Draco, usually a steady tether, gave him no comfort, feeling like a fraying rope pulled taut between worlds.

When he was a few feet from Death, Harry stopped. Not wanting to invade Death’s personal space, pushing down his yearning to jump into the being’s arms and feel the warmth of the cosmos in their skin. 

“You didn’t come,” he said at last. 

A small incline of Death’s head. No apology. No explanation.

Harry wet his lips. He tried to remember the countless speeches he’d written in his head over the last twelve days, tried to remember how he had planned to fight for another chance with Death. “If you’re…reconsidering, I’ll understand.” He forced a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You are what you are. I’m mortal. Even with Draco, what could either of us possibly offer you, compared to…everything?”

“That isn’t it,” Death said, voice quiet like falling ash.

“Then what is it?” Harry asked, softer. “Because I’m obviously guessing wrong and I can’t keep guessing. But something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Death said quickly.

Harry quirked an eyebrow and gestured to both of them and to everything around them. “Isn’t it?”

After a long pause, Death inclined their head. “No, you are right, Master,” he said at last.”  Death took a half step closer. “But it isn’t doubt of….”  Death sighed. 

Harry’s heart was in his throat as he waited. But he waited happily, just being here and talking to Death again was enough.

Finally, Death said, “I haven’t changed my mind, Master.”

That should have been amazing news after his twelve days of hellish silence. But none of Harry’s worry or fear had eased with Death’s words. Harry was missing something. He still wasn’t understanding something crucial.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “So then is it danger? Has Dumbledore done something else? Is Draco in danger?”

“Danger is constant,” Death murmured, shaking his head. “This is something else.”

“What something?” Harry pressed. He tried to be as gentle as possible as respectful of Death’s boundaries as ever, but fear was making him blunt. 

“You wouldn’t understand, Master.  You couldn’t.”

“Try me,” Harry replied. It was more pleading than a challenge, though.

Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

“This has happened once before,” Death said at last. “Long ago. I let two mortals close. Close enough to see me. Close enough to matter. When the moment came, they asked me to release them.”

Harry frowned. He couldn’t imagine that, having the chance to be with Death and saying no. “Because they didn’t want the triad?”

“Because they didn’t want me .” A shudder passed through Death’s frame. “They wanted only each other. I honored what they asked. It did not…leave me unchanged.”

Harry stood very still even as his heart splintered into a million jagged pieces. His beloved Death sounded so broken, so sad. Harry knew that if he could see Death’s face, he’d find tears streaking their cheeks. No wonder his Death was constantly waiting to be left. Maybe this was the part he was missing; he could work with this knowledge, show Death he and Draco would be different. Their dragon had such a big heart, had such powerful magic that was as dark as they came. Draco would have the strength to embrace Death. He knew it. 

Now Harry needed Death to trust that and for Draco to follow through.  The first step, though, is getting the all clear to tell Draco about Death. To introduce him to their Death. Although, if they were working with or against or around a prophecy maybe there was much more to this than just them. Maybe Death’s siblings also came into play and had to be considered.

“If the problem isn’t me and Draco,” he tried, gentler, “and it isn’t about danger…is it timing? Or maybe a pattern we’re meant to follow?” 

Death’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. “Not timing. Not a pattern.”

“Okay, what about your siblings? Do they need to do something or are they waiting for something?”

Death sighed. “No, it’s about choice.”

“Whose?”

“Yours,” Death said after a beat. “Plural.”

The word landed heavy. Harry’s chest ached at the loneliness as old as the universe echoing in Death’s voice. “So we need to tell Draco then. Sooner rather than later, right? That’s the hold up. That Draco doesn’t know.”

“Not yet,” Death said, voice strained. 

“Please, we should do what we can. Not telling Draco is hurting us. He feels me pulling away. I can feel him fraying around it. I need to tell him. Keeping this from him is—”

Death flinched like Harry had struck him.

Harry went quiet. Assessing his words before taking one more step closer to Death. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you don’t stand between us.”

“I will not.” The answer came fast, a knife of sound.

“But Draco,” Harry said hesitantly, “he needs to know.” Death said nothing. So Harry continued. “That is the only step available to us. And I know for absolute certain that no matter how much the Bond strains, it won’t snap,” Harry offered. “So you don’t need to worry that the triad is in.…”

Death stood, inches from Harry but whole worlds away. Silent and unmoving.

Harry’s breath hitched. The truth coalescing all at once in his mind. “No,” he breathed.  “You think because he chooses me, he won’t….” 

Like before. Whoever they were, Harry wanted to burn them, to punch them, to make them hurt a fraction of what Death had felt for eons because of their choice.

Harry’s mind raced, looking at the situation from Death’s point of view. He knew what it was to fear existing, to find solace and safety only in being alone.  

“My darling,” Harry whispered, lowering his gaze. “I…you’re right. I don’t understand what that choice did to you, what it broke for you. But I do know my Bonded. Our bond was a gift from you and your siblings. I know him. I trust him.  But I understand that you can’t take my word for it.  But please….just please let me tell him about you. We can even do it together if you want.”  Harry reached out but let an inch of space stay between him and Death, wanting the deity to bridge the gap. But Death stayed put. “Please, let me tell him.”

“Not yet.”

Harry’s eyes watered. “All right. Then when? A couple of days? Weeks? Months? Tell me what you need from me so I don’t keep hurting him by keeping him in the dark. And maybe…” Harry cocked his head to the side. “Maybe if you tell me what you’re waiting for, I can wait with you? And then I’d have more of an idea of how to explain everything to Draco.”

“Just a little longer.”

“How long is ‘a little longer’?”

“Harry.”

“Is there a date? A condition? Do we wait for the prophecy to—”

“Just a little longer.”

Something brittle in Harry gave way. And when he spoke, his voice was rough and wet and broken. Gods, he was so tired and so confused and so… fucking desperate to have his Bonded and Death. Maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he needed to come to terms with the fact that this would be the miracle of all miracles and he’d set his heart on something not meant for mere mortals.

“A little longer for what?” he demanded.

“For you to keep choosing me,” Death shouted, his voice holding the echoing power of eons and a loneliness as vast and empty as the cosmos. At those words, his realm shook with Death’s anger, a wondrous cosmic storm.  A low thunder rolled from the roots of the trees to the constellations in the sky; light stitched itself in thin, angry seams across the sky.

Harry stared, wide-eyed at Death, rooted to his spot, still close yet excruciatingly just out of reach to Death's touch. Harry could finally feel the realm. Could feel the crackling magic in the air that was Death’s magic. For all the storm and thunder, this wasn’t wrath. It was a plea big enough to wear wrath’s shape.

Death finally closed the space between them and knelt before Harry. His arms circled Harry’s waist and Death whispered desperately into Harry’s abdomen. “Please just let me keep us a little while longer.”

Harry’s heart leapt to his throat, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. And then, then he was sobbing. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in Death’s shoulder. “Dear one, you have me” he said, the words rough and rushed and honest. “For as long as you want. Forever if you ask it.”

Harry clung to Death’s arms that were holding him tight, letting him breathe again. “I know I keep saying Draco is ours and that it doesn’t feel like the truth coming from just me. But please give us the chance to choose you. Give Draco that chance.”

They sat there, clinging onto each other as the storm dimmed without quite ending. The light behind the branches softened and Death moved to sit with his back to a tree. It was one of the trees that Harry had carved a sigil in with his blood. Death rested his cheek against the top of Harry’s head. Harry played with Death’s hand, stroking the length of their fingers, brushing his lips over the constellations in his skin. 

“Okay,” Death said quietly, breaking the silence.

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Finally, permission. A narrow door cracked open. “Soon?”

Death nodded. “Soon.”

Harry didn’t push further. He just snuggled deeper into Death’s embrace. 

“Just a little longer,” Death whispered. 

“Okay,” Harry said. “I’m just glad to be talking to you again. However you want to do this, that’s what we’ll do.” 

Death’s breath hitched. And to Harry’s immense shock, Death said. “You can tell Draco about me, Master. Tonight.”

Harry stilled. He looked up at Death. “Are you sure?” Death nodded. And Harry brought one of Death’s beautiful hands to his lips, brushing the cosmos articulated in his darling’s skin. He placed Death’s hand on his cheek and turned to kiss the palm, his lips brushing against his skin as he whispered, “Thank you, my darling.”

Death settled his head atop Harry’s again and said quietly, a question disguised as a statement. “But maybe I can meet him later.” 

Harry closed his eyes, savoring the embrace of Death. “Of course. You set the pace, Dear One.”

The words hung between them, fragile as glass, and for the first time in twelve days Harry let himself hope. The storm had still not ended, not really. But for now, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Harry’s voice was thick with barely restrained emotion as he read from the old book balanced in his lap. Winky had brought it to him, her ears drooping as she looked forlornly at her beloved master who she’d seen grow up. The Tale of the Three Brothers, she’d said, had always been one of Draco’s favorites.

“There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…”

The words blurred sometimes, his vision stinging. His voice would catch on words that reminded him of Draco too, words like “strong” and “beautiful” and “love.” But no matter how his body betrayed his emotions, he continued to read them for Draco, even if Draco couldn’t hear him. 

Especially because Draco couldn’t hear him.

Harry hadn’t meant for it to go so wrong. He hadn’t meant to fail both Draco and Death in one fell swoop before they’d even begun. 

He’d tried his best, had been so careful to love Draco thoroughly while telling him the truth. He started with his rebirth and his first conversation with Death. He told Draco about Lady Magic’s blessing and how the bond had been a gift from Death and his siblings, that Death championed them, favored them. And then he told Draco about the triad, how he thought they were meant to belong together. He’d spoken of his love for Death with enthusiasm, hiding absolutely nothing. He wanted Draco to know that his loyalty to him hadn’t wavered in the slightest. He spoke of Death's laugh, his smile, his blushes, and Harry had made sure that with every word he sent a steady stream of his devotion and love for Draco down their Bond, making it clear that it wasn’t either/or, it was both/always. 

Them. 

Forever.

He’d made a mistake, though. He’d forgotten how unique his situation was regarding Death. Funnily enough, it wasn’t the master of death plot twist that would have been a lot for anybody to handle. No, Harry had forgotten how unique his perspective of Death had always been, before he’d ever met the entity.  Before he’d even known Death was a person, Harry had seen Death as his protector, maybe even his savior. He’d seen death itself as a relief, something that could save him. Of course, he had. All of those cold, lonely nights he’d spent in the cupboard, condemned to the darkness, hungry and shivering– Harry had never before the age of eleven looked at the end of his life as a bad or tragic thing but as a gift, a reprieve. Maybe if he was lucky, even a new beginning. He’d wished for it, at his lowest, most broken place, he’d begged every deity he’d learned about to be saved from his life by the gentle embrace of Death. He’d never wanted to die per se. He’d just wanted rest. Harry’s childhood had primed him to greet Death as a savior in his own right, as a welcome friend. 

Draco in stark contrast had never met Death, and most importantly, had never had reason to want to. He’d also, like all of humanity already had a vision of what and who Death was and it was not even close to how Harry saw him- kind and lonely, a being who ached to give rather than take. He’d forgotten that Draco’s only knowledge of Death was what all mortals carried: loss. A childhood pet kneazle buried under the apple tree. A grandmother taken too soon. A beloved house elf who’d lived a long life and would be missed by many, human and elf alike. An adventuring uncle caught in a storm at sea. A friendship cut off by illness. To Draco, Death wasn’t a person. Death was the thief that had haunted his life since he was small.

So when Harry spoke- hopeful and soft- Draco didn’t hear a promise. He heard a threat.

Harry had felt Draco’s magic sparking dangerously against his skin, snapping at invisible threats. “He can’t have you,” he’d hissed angrily, much like Sirius had. But where Sirius had responded with pleas, Draco had responded with violence and aggression, unable to comprehend the death of his Bonded.

He hadn’t lashed out at Harry. Never at Harry. He’d raged against the thought- even the slightest hint- that something as hideous as Death would want Harry. His arms had wrapped around Harry’s small frame like iron bands, his magic sparking hot and wild. His voice had broken on snarls, on hisses, as he whispered over and over that Death would not take him, not yet. Harry could feel the jagged rage and white hot fear along the bonds, Draco’s emotions raging along the Bond that Death could not have him, nothing would take Harry from him. His skin had burned with fever, his grip growing more desperate.

Harry had wanted to beg him to understand. But all he could think about was calming Draco and his magic down and promising that he’d take no less than a thousand years with Draco. And Harry knew in the shadows of his heart that Draco could not comprehend who Death was without meeting him. Just like how he couldn’t make Death trust the bond without hearing it from Draco, too. So he’d tried to soothe Draco, blanketing his beloved in his own magic, pulling Draco to his chest so that his ear laid over his heart, steadily beating. And thought it’d worked to keep the magical outburst at bay, his body had finally had enough and - breath stuttering- he’d collapsed.

Now he lay motionless in the hospital bed, his white blond hair combed and styled just how he’d liked. He’d taught Harry over the summer after a particularly exhausting tutoring session with Tom and Lucius left him too tired to even raise his arms. So after Harry had helped him shower, he’d talked Harry through his hair routine, all twelve steps. Harry had laughed and teased him all night, but now he loved that he could do that for him. Now Draco lay pale against even the white hospital sheets, the hazy glow of the medically induced coma covering his skin in sticky patches and some runes to cool the fever that for- for some reason- magic alone could not quell.

Harry had tried every night since to reach Death, to beg for guidance, but the realm would not open to him. He couldn’t find the path. Couldn’t even feel the familiar pulse of shadows that usually whispered at the edge of his thoughts.

So he stayed.

He stayed by Draco’s side, reading aloud until his voice cracked, sending steady waves of love down the Bond like a lifeline. And when he wasn’t reading, he bent over the flower crown he was crafting, piecing together every rune and matrix, every enchantment, every bloom of meaning for the gift he was making, the Midas Touch.

Sometimes he thought maybe he was being selfish. He had a Bonded partner, a rare gift for anyone. Did he truly think himself worthy of a bond with an immortal being? Not even a year ago, he’d been up to his eyeballs in compulsions and alone in a new timeline. Now, he had real friends, parents, and a family. And he had Draco, his safe place and champion. The endless well he drew his strength from, the only one whose touch and companionship he’d ever needed like he needed water. 

But then he remembered Death’s tentative touches, the way his shoulders hunched inward, the way he’d held onto him like a lifeline, his face pressing into Harry’s stomach. And he knew he had to try, just one more time. He couldn’t lose faith. Not in Draco, who had more than enough strength to hold Harry and Death both. Not in Death, who had strength enough to let himself be held. And not in Lady Magic, who had already blessed his Bond and his intentions.

He had failed the telling. But he would not let that be their ending. He’d apologize, and then, if Draco let him, he’d try again. 

-

From the darkness, Draco appeared in a forest that hummed with silence. The air was cool and sharp, the moss beneath his feet damp as though it had rained just moments before, even though the air remained dry and still. He turned in a slow circle, heart thudding. He knew, instinctively, where he was. Everything was as Harry had described it. The forest full of life he couldn’t feel, the air still but an unfamiliar magic just below the surface of the space anything he’d ever felt. The tent that was as thin and delicate as spider silk, looking like it’d been woven from stardust and moss with a table set for two. 

And then he saw him.

Lord Death.

He stood at the far edge of the glade, shadows clinging to his frame like Harry’s animals clung to his robes. His hood was drawn low, obscuring his face, but Draco could see the skin of his hands- dark and threaded with light like galaxies folded into flesh. His lips were ink dark with faint stardust sprinkled in mesmerizing patterns. And yet, for all the vastness he held in his skin and for all the power he commanded, his posture was neither regal nor menacing. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, shoulders a little hunched, as though embarrassed to be caught standing there.

Draco froze. His mind caught between too many things at once. He remembered Harry’s soft smile. Remembered white Lillie’s from his grandmother’s funeral. At the forefront, though, he remembered Hugo, the boy who’d sworn they’d take Hogwarts by storm together. He remembered being a child pressing his forehead to the cold lifeless hands of his best friend, promising that if he ever met Death he’d punch him for daring to take his best friend before he’d even gotten his first wand.

Then like light in the darkness as always, he heard Harry’s voice whispering in his mind, steady and sure even in memory: He’s lonely. He’s beautiful. He’s not what you think. He’s ours. 

Draco forced those images away and thought of Harry’s face when he spoke of Death, the unguarded softness there. He blew out a breath. He could never hurt someone Harry loved. But he wasn’t ready to forgive all the loss either. Or accept the entity as Draco’s.

So he stood, suspicion and awe warring in his chest, and said tightly, “Lord Death?”

Death tilted his head to the side, the faint starlight shining from the skin around his mouth lit up the recess of the hood enough that Draco could make out a tentative smile quirking those beautiful lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Sire.”

Draco blinked. “Sire?”

The entity’s lip pulled into a smirk so small it might’ve been imagined. “Our Harry spilled enough of my secrets already. Let me keep this one a smidge longer.”

Something in Draco’s chest stumbled. He hadn’t expected humor. He hadn’t expected… fragility. Death’s presence filled the glade, yes, but the spirit behind it felt almost shy, almost begging to be allowed to stay.

They continued to speak, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily, but both still on opposite ends of the glade. Draco was sizing up the entity, but Death kept surprising him. His humor when he pointed out how very unlike a pureblood it was to not have shoes on and offered some boots- vegan leather surprisingly. He’d laughed- almost giddy- when Draco bit out he thought he’d have animal carcasses and skins to spare and had just said with put upon patience, “The animals need their skin here too, Sire. Can you imagine them without it?” Death clutched invisible pearls. “The horror.”

The longer they talked the more Draco allowed himself to draw nearer to the entity. It wasn’t just the humor. It was…him.  He was not what Draco had expected. It also helped that every time Death mentioned Harry, it was with a reverence Draco recognized- Harry the way Draco saw him: perfect, radiant, more than either of them could ever deserve. “The best parts of both of us and more,” Death said softly, almost to himself. Draco’s walls cracked another inch.

Draco asked if Harry was alright. And Death’s shoulders drooped as if Harry’s grief was a burden he must also carry. “Harry is worried. And he’s sorry…he regrets how much he hurt you.”

Draco scowled, “He has nothing to apologize for.” Harry never had to apologize to him. His darling felt everything so deeply, loved so openly. Standing face-to-face with Death he understood how much self control Harry’d had to not scoop up Death into his robes pocket and bring him home to them. “I’m the one who hurt him. I’m the one that brui—“ Draco looked down, ashamed how he’d lost control with his Bonded so close. He looked back up and smiled wryly at Death. “And besides, he was right.”

“About what?”

Draco blushed and turned slightly away. Clearing his throat he asked his own question instead of answering Death’s, “Do you know what’s wrong with my magic?” He’d never felt so…angry and violent and out of control. So on edge and dangerous. Even to himself. Even to Harry. He’d carve out his own heart before hurting Harry but he hadn’t been in his right mind, and he’d been holding Harry so fucking tight.  It terrified him how out of control he’d been.

Draco was pulled out of his spiral though by the sound of Death’s giggles. He froze; Death had just giggled, the sound making a warmth and surprising fondness bloom in his chest. He was so enchanted by the sound he couldn’t even be mad that Death didn’t answer. Not really. He only assured him. “You could never hurt Harry. This isn’t a bad thing. And besides, you would never.”  

Draco was surprised at the absolute faith in the being’s voice in Draco’s inability to harm Harry. Draco, of course, knew he would never intentionally do anything that would even make Harry upset let alone hurt him, but this new fury boiling just below the surface in his magic was making him doubt the self control his father had drummed into him since childhood. It warmed him more than he wanted to admit that Death had such confidence in him.

At some point, there was tea. A handmade set of a teapot and mismatched cups. Draco couldn’t have said how it appeared, but the steam rose warm and fragrant. Death poured with careful hands, as though the ritual of it mattered. Like he was savoring serving Draco tea. He seemed pleased to have Draco at his table, his movements slower because of the giddy joy trying to make his movements jerky. Draco wanted so badly to hate him. He wanted to rage. To spit the names of all he’d lost to this entity in his face with the venom he’d let build up. But it was impossible to hate someone who poured tea like every movement might shatter the world and treated Draco’s presence and attention as a luxury, a gift he was pleased with.

Death made small talk and was excellent at it. Draco had been raised to be a polite person, so he answered when he was supposed to, asked the questions Death set up in the conversation. At one point, Draco commented on the beautiful tea set and mismatched cups, unique and obviously handmade. Death perked up at the words, the dim light of the stars in his skin glowing brighter, and he enthusiastically began to tell Draco how he’d made the teacups, how he made each cup special for each person that was able to visit him here.

“I very rarely get to have visitors here, so it’s easier than it sounds,” he said, laughing nervously. He nodded at the shelf against one wall of the tent– exactly six other cups, all mismatched, sat on the shelf. 

Draco’s eyes snagged on a cup that was midnight purple with a silver moon, so real it looked like it was floating in the cup.  And…dancing radishes creating a border at the bottom and rim of the cup.  “My friend Luna would love that,” he noted. It looked like it’d been made for her, actually. 

Death smirked but said nothing, instead taking a sip of tea. Draco hoped he’d remember to ask Luna about that.

Draco glanced down at the cup in his hands. “So…” he said slowly. “You made this cup specifically for me?”

Death nodded, looking down into his tea. Without looking up, he said, “I made it after my first conversation with Harry in this timeline. I wanted to be ready.”

Throat thick, Draco inspected his cup more closely. Carved into the clay were dragon scales, sparkling white and faintly pearlescent. The handle had delicately placed flower petals, black as obsidian. And when Draco drank the last drop, he saw, carved at the bottom in Death’s elegant script, For my King. 

Later, Death lay in the grass, gesturing for Draco to join him.  Death gestured upward. “The constellations here are different.”

Draco lay down next to Death and tipped his head back. Being a Black, Draco loved astronomy, it was in his blood. He listened to Death, fascinated, as he explained the constellations and pointed out one of his favorites, a radish. These were the ancient stars of a strange sky, and yet, there was a familiarity settling over Draco’s being that refused to leave him. As if he’d actually been a stranger in the mortal realm, and here, he was finally home.  He glanced across the sky, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Does your realm and mine share skies sometimes?” Draco asked.

“No, why?” Death asked, confusion coloring his soft voice.

Draco turned his head to Death but pointed to where the Draconis and Hadrian constellations were, side by side, apparently pulled out of place. 

Though the hood hid much of his face, Draco saw the faintest blush creep over his shadowed cheeks.

Adorable. The thought, unbidden. But Draco couldn’t deny it. Death was adorable.

“I wanted you close,” Death admitted softly. “Both of you.”

Draco’s throat tightened. He didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t know what to say to that so he turned his gaze back to the sky.  They stayed like that for what could have been a few minutes, or maybe a few hundred years. Time was strange here. But eventually, Death said, “I think it’s time you go back, Sire. Harry needs you.”

The words should have been simple. They weren’t. Draco’s chest clenched. “What about you?”

Death smiled. It was small, sad. “I’ll be fine.”

Something in Draco didn’t like that answer, a deep, immutable protective streak blooming in his chest. But Draco didn’t know the rules here, he was out of his depth, and he trusted that if Death said he should go back, it was the best course of action. So he scooted over to Death and knelt between his outstretched legs. He couldn’t see the entity’s eyes, but he could feel the heat of them, steady as fire. Slowly, Draco reached for his hand, curling long fingers around it. He brushed his thumb across the constellations written into Death’s skin.

“Thank you for letting me meet you, Lord Death,” he said formally, voice steady.

Then, after a pause, he lifted his other hand, stopping just short of Death’s cheek. He didn’t touch. He let the small space between his skin and Death’s ask his question.

Death answered by leaning into it, pressed his half-obscured cheek against Draco’s waiting palm. When his skin met Death’s, Death’s skin came alive. His beautiful skin, dark as the depths of the night sky, lit up with stars and galaxies, with the faint pink stardust that spoke of a blush. He was beautiful. Harry’d been right.

“You are as wonderful as Harry said,” Draco whispered.

And then the forest fell away, and Draco made the long trek back to consciousness. 

-

He waded slowly through the darkness, carrying starlight in his chest. The constellations had long faded, but their afterimage clung to Draco’s vision like a brand. The heat of Death’s cheek against his palm lingered, too, but the feeling of the cool moss under his feet was giving way to stiff sheets. He could hear sobs echoing and whispers in French. He dragged himself to consciousness, and opened his eyes to the harsh white glow of the infirmary. The first thing he noticed was the smell: astringent potions, lavender, and the faint burn of charmed air cleansed too many times. Then came the sounds again, louder this time, a cacophonous assault on his already fragile nervous system.

For one disorienting heartbeat he thought the gentle fingers carding through his hair belonged to Death, until his vision cleared and revealed his mother’s pale hands. She leaned close as if to hug him, but she froze, her breath caught when his eyes met hers. Before he could ask though, his father had his wand out. Draco turned wide eyes to his father. Seriously? He’d woken up in the hospital after Godric knew how long. What was he going to do– hex his own mother? His father, a disheveled mess despite the practiced mask of control and precision, lowered his wand but still held it in his hand.

Winky was beside herself, sitting cross-legged on the bed near his elbow, shoulders shaking, tears spilling freely into the hem of her apron. Draco put a gentle arm around her and licked dry lips. His voice rasped. “How long?”

“9 days,” Narcissa said quietly, voice brittle from the long days of worry.

He tried to sit up, but the moment his weight shifted, the diagnostic charms stitched into the air around his bed flared to life. Runes spiraled across his skin, glowing a deep warning red. His heart spiked, his magic answering sharp and hot, and the fever that had driven him under surged again in his blood.

“Lie back, darling,” Narcissa urged softly, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re still recovering—”

“I’m fine.” His magic snapped against hers, unsteady, too bright. Draco reigned his magic in with a harsh grip and forced himself to breathe, dragging his gaze down to the diagnostic overlay. The runes shuddered, rearranging themselves in unstable loops. He could see it clearly written there- the fever, the volatility, the fractures in his magical core. It was like staring at a map of his own ruin.

“You are not fine,” Lucius said, clipped and low. He stepped back so that Madame Pomfrey had space to work, to flick her wand in precise arcs layering another stabilizing charm into the weave. The light dimmed slightly, the runes retreating from crimson to amber. Draco forced himself to still beneath the weight of it, though every instinct screamed to push back. He hated this helplessness, hated the way his magic prickled under his skin, unpredictable, dangerous.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, the name slipping out before it was even a realized thought. His pulse kicked, the Bond tugging faintly at the edge of his awareness. 

Narcissa’s lips pressed together. For a heartbeat nobody said anything. 

Draco could read his parents like an open book. They were hiding something. “Where is Harry?” he all but demanded, sitting up again.

Reluctantly, Narcissa answered, “He hasn’t been here.”

Draco’s head snapped toward her. “What?”

Her gaze faltered. Lucius pulled his wife close and said evenly, “Not since dinner last night. Aurora said she saw him slip away after he ate and left the castle. No one has seen him since.”

“Sirius can feel him through the family magic, though,” Narcissa tried to reassure him. “He’s safe, but he doesn’t want to be found right now.”

The diagnostic flared again, red searing across his skin. Pomfrey’s stabilizing charm sputtered under the sudden surge.

“Draco.” Lucius’s voice was iron. “Control yourself.” 

“I am controlling myself,” Draco seethed, though his hands trembled on the coverlet. The fever roared higher, his vision swimming. “You don’t understand—”

“We understand you nearly burned your own core out,” Lucius snapped, his own composure slipping now, voice tight with anger born of fear. “You’ll empty your core and kill your body chasing after him right now if you don’t stop to think.”

“Then so be it.” 

In a show of unprecedented magic, Draco tore the runic band from his wrist. The charm sparked, protesting, but he pulled it away from him and all but batted away the charms in the air- ones that modulated the temperature, administered certain potions, and even sounded alarms and warnings- as if they were little more than cobwebs. Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body protested, every muscle weak, but the Bond was pulling at him, insistent, relentless. Harry was out there, alone, and Draco’s chest felt hollow at the thought.

“Draco.” His mother’s voice was sharp now, desperate. She caught his wrist in both her hands. “Please. You’re not well enough—”

“I don’t care.” His voice broke on the words. He met her eyes, saw his own fear reflected back at him. “Maman, I can’t breathe in here without him.”

Her hands loosened instantly, and she nodded once, sharply.

The Bond tugged harder, an ache in his bones. He stood, swaying, the world tilting before righting itself with sheer force of his will. Lucius raised his wand again, a containment charm forming on his lips, but Draco met his father’s eyes and let the storm of his magic surge outward. Draco could feel his father’s magic as it ghosted over his skin- dark, rich, familiar. But Draco sent an instinctive pulse of his own magic out and unraveled his father’s spell mid-cast. The spell shattered into sparks.

For a heartbeat, the infirmary was silent.

Then Draco arched one perfect eyebrow at his father, the gesture a perfect imitation of Lucius himself, cool and unbending, even despite the fever burning him alive. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the doors, ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s sharp cry, ignoring the way his father’s magic hummed sharp with warning but didn’t rise to stop him.

He didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

The moment the infirmary doors closed behind him, he broke into a run. His body protested with every stride, but the Bond pulled like a lodestar, guiding him through empty corridors and echoing halls. His hands shook, his skin slick with fever, but he didn’t falter. He barreled down staircases, past portraits that whispered in alarm, past ghosts that scattered from the storm of his magic.

By the time he burst out into the night air, his breath was ragged and his shirt clung damp to his skin. He didn’t stop. The tug in his chest was a rope, pulling him across the clearing, into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

The fever broke into a cold sweat, but his mind was sharp now, every thought cut to a single point: Harry.

He followed the Bond without hesitation.

The scent of wet grass, flowers, and something uniquely Harry filled his nose. The must find Harry thoughts and maddening wrongness he’d felt at the lights and scents of the hospital wing had been a roaring in his ears but now his thoughts cleared and his breathing slowed as he took in his surroundings and found himself in a familiar clearing. In the mortal realm this time, he thought wryly.

Harry sat cross-legged on a conjured bench, the very same bench he had made for their first picnic in this place. Around him, the thestrals shifted quietly, their wings folding and unfolding like restless shadows and they leaned into him the way shadows clung to Death. Harry would usually stop what he was doing every now and then to pet them but today his brow was furrowed in intense concentration reading what looked like a diagnostic. The thestrals stamped gently not liking being ignored but seeming to understand, and Harry smiled at them fondly but kept reading. Draco understood, now, why Harry liked to be near them. They shared a connection to Death, were as gentle and sweet as the entity. 

Draco stepped closer, making a twig snap. The sound had Harry’s head jerking up, and in an instant, he was on his feet, running, leaping into Draco’s arms. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” he choked, apologies tumbling from his lips in a rush.

Draco hushed him. Held him close, tight, grounding. When he finally talked Harry into believing there was nothing to apologize for, he told him, “Death says hi, and that he’s sorry for having to shut you out of the tent but since I was there, you couldn’t be.”

Harry stilled, breath catching. Draco pressed his forehead to his and let the words be a promise. “He was as wonderful as you said he was, Harry.”

They walked back to the bench together, but Draco did not sit. He knelt in front of Harry, gaze soft and steady. “Where you go, I follow, Harry. I meant that. I still do. You were right. Death is ours, and we are his. If he’ll have me, then he has me.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears, and he rested his forehead against Draco’s. “I love you so much. Just when I think I’ve found the edges of our love, you keep making me love you more.” 

“And with Death,” Draco said, tone as solemn as a vow, “we’ll be complete.” Harry’s heart was near to bursting. He was almost scared by how happy he was, how full his heart was that Draco loved Death as much as he did. “Our love will bloom and be even stronger with him. 

Throat thick, Harry flicked his wrist, conjuring a small velvet box, the edges glowing faintly with his magic. 

“This was supposed to be a just-because-I-love-you gift,” Harry admitted, voice cracking. “But then it turned into an I’m-sorry-I-sprung-Death-on-you gift. And now—” he sniffed, trying to laugh and failing—“now it’s maybe also a thank-you-for-being-you gift.”

He pressed the box into Draco’s hands. “At any rate, I made this for you.”

Draco opened it reverently. Inside lay a crown of flowers, each bloom crafted with aching care. The crown of flowers glowed softly in the paling light of the setting sun, a circle of deep purples and midnight blues touched with white. Each bloom had been chosen carefully, each stem woven by Harry’s hand. 

Draco stared for a moment, taking in the beauty of the gift. A small smile ghosted across his face. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Yet his hand lingered above the blossoms, as though he could sense his touch would mean something different here.

Harry saw the hesitation, and so he spoke, gently, weaving the meaning of his gift like spell-threads. 

“Violet,” Harry said, pointing to petals the color of twilight, “for loyalty, and I added some ivy for lasting devotion. You can’t get rid of me, Malfoy. You’re stuck with me to the end.” 

Draco’s lips twitched but he remained silent. 

Harry’s fingers brushed pink petals edged in shadow. “Oak flowers for strength. I know you’ll stand against all that hunts us, and I’ll do the same.”

Harry moved on to a pale bloom, glowing faintly pearlescent as if it had been steeped in moonlight. “A Moonveil Bloom for faith, for believing in us and our family no matter how dark the night.”

Next, a blossom that seemed almost to shift between green and blue, like ocean depths caught in glass, a near mythic creation of the earth, known only to the oldest grimoires. “A Sea-glass flower. For balance,” Harry whispered. “So neither of us ever stands  alone.”

And then petals sharp as starlight, center bright as dawn next to peonies the color of lifeblood and midnight skies. “A windflower for prosperity. And peonies for joy. For all the days we have yet to claim.”

Draco leaned in for a kiss- quick, sweet, and heartfelt. “This is the most thoughtful, beautiful gift I’ve ever been given.” Draco met his gaze, eyes dancing with mischief, “Besides you, of course.”

“Such a smooth talker, I swear,” Harry murmured, laughing. “And you haven’t seen anything yet. Touch it,” Harry encouraged.

Draco’s hand, trembling now, brushed the circlet softly. The effect was immediate. The petals chimed like fairy bells and pulsed once before hardening. The soft blossoms turned to hammered, solid gold, veins of golden light racing across their surfaces. Draco’s breath hitched, wonder flaring in his eyes as the weight of the crown settled it more fully into the silk lining, solid and eternal.

Harry reached over and brushed his fingertips reverently on the large bloom at the center that had yet to turn. Its petals shimmered like opals and moonstone, streaked with silver and midnight blue. Harry’s voice trembled with love, with tears, with something older than time itself. “And this is from our Death. For protection. And a promise.”

Draco could feel it the moment Harry said the words. That bloom hummed with a magic he recognized, achingly familiar. The pulse of their Death, threaded through the crown. His hand shook as he reached for it. When his fingers brushed the petal, the enchantment flared to life.

The flower chimed, shimmered, hardened, and turned not to gold but to obsidian, delicate as lace, fragile-looking but unbreakable. The protection of the stone backed by the power of the magic that lay within.

Harry lifted the crown with both hands. Draco bowed his head instinctively. The crown settled against his hair, heavy and sure.

The minute the crown touched his head, the world responded. Waves of magic rolled into the clearing, through the trees. The stars shone brighter, and the wind picked up, sounding through the branches of the trees and over the streams and ponds of the Forbidden Forest. This wasn’t chaos or a harbinger of anything bad. The forest, the castle, was celebrating. Harry could feel the joy in the overload of magic. He could hear Hogwarts herself, whispering, warm and exultant, The King has returned.  

The words struck like a bell, and before Harry could register them fully, the world shattered. Light and darkness burst out from his and Draco’s bodies, shadows seeping through the seams of reality. Harry clutched his chest, agony sparking down his spine as the Bond stretched, expanded, unfurling past horizons he hadn’t known existed.

And as the ground gave way beneath him, as he heard Hogwarts whispering echoing- The King crowned in Petals- the last thing Harry heard was a dragon’s roar tear through the night.

Then the world went black.

-

Author's note: As promised, here is the first image I ever asked ChatGPT to generate of Death <3 I'm sorry I couldn't figure out how to add the image into the text or the note but I created a tumblr (what a throwback!!) to link the image:

Chapter Text

Harry was caught in that place between sleep and waking. He knew he should rise or at the very least try to claw his way back to consciousness.  However, something kept tugging at faraway memories, the ghosts of fear and pain, but the air was so gentle now and his body was so heavy, the large warm presence at his side so steady, that he lingered just at the edges of a path out of his dreams. He became aware of his body, foreign in its heaviness. Harry thought perhaps he should be alarmed that his body did not quite feel like his own; it was harder than it should have been, the shape and articulations unfamiliar.

The beginnings of awareness invaded his peace at this realization. But then like fog rolling in, a voice threaded through his too-loud heartbeat in his ears. The voice lilted, weaved through Harry’s dreams, gentle, ancient, beautiful. Harry settled, the warmth and the voice making him drift back, caught again between sleeping and waking: 

~Once upon a time, when magic still walked openly upon the British isle, there were three of us, bound by destiny. We met at the crossroad where sky met earth, where the world breathed against the rim of the cosmos and the veil grew thin. 

Each of us carried a fragment of the circle; when we joined, our power sang and the circle was whole.~

The words were both sound and not, filling Harry’s chest like tidewater. He instinctively reached for his bond and found warmth strong and sure at his side. And another presence, further away, still just as strong. But filled with a love that ached and questioned its place even as it reached out to cover him in warmth.

~We loved each other, not because fate demanded it, but because our bodies and minds and small careless mercies fit together. Arthur’s body fit against mine, his arms holding me tight. Merlin’s eyes caught the light from my body as if they had been made to hold it. 

Arthur gave strength, blazing and absolute.
Merlin gave the hope that steered us.
I gave the stillness that steadied them.

We laughed and loved and built. We rode through greenwood and battlefield alike. We built towers and carved law into stone, poured knowledge like water, wove spells that brushed the heavens. We called it Camelot, and for a while the dream was true, bright and tangible beneath our feet.~

The tale turned quiet, heavy as soil over a grave. Grief settled into the voice like dust on an old hymn.

~But golden harvests are fragile things. Doubt crept in, quiet as frost. Arthur’s light, which had once opened to me, began to dim. He held my hand, but his grip loosened and his smile waned. Merlin- my bridge, my friend- began to look away when I spoke, as if some new fear had taken root behind his eyes. 

I could feel them shifting, inch by inch, toward something neither of us had seen at first.

There was a Watcher, rare and terrible, risen too many times to remember what love was, a deceiver who whispered where the cracks lay. He fed them small, sensible fears: that a kingdom cannot flourish with Death at its heart; that hope cannot grow where shadow lingers. 

His words tasted like truth, because who among mortals does not dread the ending of things?
Not a mortal bone in their bodies. And yet, they listened.

Arthur turned his face elsewhere first; then Merlin followed where Arthur led. They did not stop to look back. I watched them go, each step pulling the circle tighter around themselves, tearing it out of me. The rupture was clean and merciless; something inside me splintered and never quite healed. I do not think they ceased to love me, but their love was not enough to overcome the new current that caught them and pulled them away.

The circle unmade itself. What we made of immortality was undone.

And in the silence that followed, I learned the cruelest untruth: I am not meant to be loved. I am not meant to be chosen. Souls come to me, yes, but they rest and pass back into the cycle- away from me, away from my touch. 

Perhaps I am the monster mortals paint me to be.
Perhaps I deserve the emptiness I have become.

In the vacancies left by them, the Watcher rose again and again. Each life he polished his lies until power cowered behind honeyed tones and hollow crowns. This light would rather burn the world in brilliance than let it stand whole in the circle, would rather see magic bow to shadow than let it flourish whole.

The living were left to choose between being lulled by masks or blinded by light. 

Neither path healed. Neither path mended.

My siblings- stubborn, uncompromising forces who do not bend for most things- saw the hollow where my laughter had been and they bent for me. 

They broke their rules, threaded the world with careful hands, and shaped a new beginning.

Time warped; Fate did what she does best. 

Together, they took a princeling and an orphan, and in secret and mercy, they blessed them, binding them to me with a slow, unbreakable stitch to reawaken our story and remake a timeline meant to heal what was broken.

For the world, yes. For Magic’s sake, of course. 

But also just for me, just for us. 

They did not return to me my Arthur and Merlin. They gave me new heirs to what they abandoned and lost to myth- not to pretend the old wounds had never been, but to call a new circle into being, whole in a way the old refused to be. Not Camelot as it had been, but Camelot as it might yet become.

And in return, I received more than perhaps I’m worthy of. My master’s gentle love. My King’s protective fire. Not echoes or apparitions but new potential for wholeness. A union opened to me.

In the secret of your slumber and the cover of night, I confess to my master and to my king:

I loved them then; I loved them even as they left me. I loved them across the ruin. I loved them in a way I thought could never be recaptured.

But now, when I look at what my siblings wrought, when I feel the warmth of the bond that has been risen- an orphan’s fierce love, a princeling’s steady strength- I find a dangerous, tender thing to be true again: I love.

Not because you are here to reawaken a chapter that closed long ago. I promise, I will not call the past to return to me because I no longer reach for it. I no longer want it. 

What my siblings shaped, what I hold now, is not the echo of what I lost. I carry the memory of what was, but I choose the living bond before me. 

I choose you both.
I choose this circle.

With a hope I guard like a newly kindled flame.
With the ferocity of the cosmos roaring as one.
My Master. My King. I love you both.~

And then whispered so faintly Harry had to strain his ears so hard he pulled himself up from his dreams:

Not the waking, but the rising.
Not the dream, but the dawn.

-

The voice had grown softer and softer, until it was barely audible, soft as mist. 

Death’s words clung to Harry, warm and sorrowful. His heart ached for his Death, for the sorrow threaded through every word of the tale. He tried to tear himself free from the dream, still blurring his mind, to wake fully and look upon the one who had spoken. 

As if drifting up on dandelion wisps, Harry slowly made his way to consciousness to feel the night-air sharp in his lungs and to find himself not on a bed of sheets but of moss soft and damp with morning dew beneath clawed feet. Harry stared at the claws, reached a hand forward to examine more closely but a wing of feathers as dark as night with faint stars glowing in them came into his vision.

Reality came crashing down around him, his last memories replaying over and over. The shards of light and darkness. The pain. The roar. It all came back at once. Harry looked around and he was surrounded by a forest that whispered with old magic, a pulse that felt strange yet achingly like home. A bright white shape, softly glittering in the moonlight, stirred beside him- Draco, vast and silent, scales catching stray starlight.  Through the Bond, Harry felt it all: wonder, reverence, devotion, fierce possessiveness pouring from Draco in steady waves. And then another presence: shy, gentle, hopeful.

Harry peered into the darkness just as he materialized, his beautiful Death. They were barefoot as always, dressed in dark linen pants and a matching linen vest with a hood drawn carefully up to hide their eyes. But his chest was on full display as was most of his face. The contours and lines of their body etched in starlight against skin dark as night.

Harry made his way to Death on unsteady feet, mystified with how much taller he was than them. Normally, Harry only came up to Death’s chest, but now he positively towered over them, so much so Death had to crane their neck to look at Harry. Harry reached out a wing and felt a deep satisfaction with how similar his feathers were to Death’s skin.

Death chuckled, low and warm. “We bear a unique resemblance now don’t we?”

Harry trilled, low and happy. It ended in an embarrassing squawk though when he realized the sound he was making. Death laughed softly again but ushered Harry to the clearing in the trees where he found a lake, still and luminescent in the moonlight. Harry gazed down and saw a phoenix with feathers the color of the night skies glowing faintly with stars and galaxies like silvered threads winding through him, like light woven in dark velvet. The feathers were broken up by scales on his most vulnerable parts- his chest, belly, and back. They were a dark charcoal that glowed faintly pearlescent in the moonlight just like Draco’s white dragon scales. A Phoenix, yes, but marked with a dragon’s strength and death’s vastness. The truth of his bonds written into his very body.

He was theirs.

A low rumbling sound announced Draco’s arrival. The dragon stepped into the moonlight, enormous and gleaming, eyes sharp and avada-green. He did not stalk or hunt; he moved toward them with a strange, reverent ease. A predator made gentle. At the lake, he sidled up to Harry and paused, drinking in his own reflection: the proud sweep of his horns, the shimmer of his scales. A pleased rumble rolled through his chest and into the Bond- pure, proud delight.

Harry fought to roll his eyes. Draco was beautiful even in this form, and the prick knew it. Harry’s feathers fluffed at the smugness and he felt the urge, sudden and ridiculous, to shove Draco straight into the water. He sent the thought like a spark through the Bond. Draco’s smoke-laugh hissed back, playful and amused. A quieter laughter rippled through the Bond though no sound was made.

Draco turned towards the pull of Death’s unvoiced laugh and crouched low to the ground, like a predator ready to pounce but only love and delight radiated from him through the Bond, his eyes honing in on Death. Draco wanted to play. Before Harry could react, Draco inched forward, toward their Death, who watched curiously as the predator moved toward him. To his credit, Draco went very slowly, as if asking for permission from the primordial being. 

Death stilled at Draco’s attention on him, his form still bore human shape, but it trembled, fragile around the edges, the light blurring as if to hide him from being perceived– as if he was so shy his very form became untenable. But Death nodded, and Draco pranced forward and pressed his snout into Death’s chest, scales rasping against black cloth, and then, with shocking tenderness, licked a sweep of tongue across the shadow-skin of Death’s chest.

A flush bloomed on Death’s cheeks, faint as dawn across snow. He stilled, wide-eyed.

Harry squawked indignantly, wings flaring, feathers sparking with white hot fire. He stepped between them, chest puffed, glaring up at Draco. He trilled again, sharper, like a scolding. They had to go slowly with their Death, be as gentle as someone so precious deserved.

Draco only huffed smoke, smug and pleased, tail curling lazily behind him. He pressed his nose to Death’s neck in apology and Death, for his part, just smiled shyly, quietly pleased. 

Though their blush dusted the galaxies in their cheeks pink, he put a placating hand on Harry’s wing. “It’s okay, Master. Yours and Draco’s touch is always welcome to me.”

Harry ignored the arrogant triumph in his Dragon’s eyes and brushed his wingtip gently across Death’s cheek.   

“May I…?” The blush deepened, the stars and galaxies dimming under a wash of color as bright as sunrise. “May I…pet you?” He hunched his shoulders up in heavy embarrassment, as if asking a favor he was sure would be denied.

Refusal, though, didn’t even cross Harry’s mind. The words ignited in Harry, a flare of devotion and want searing all the way down to his core. The idea that this beautiful, ancient being, this constant presence at the edge of all things, had been waiting lifetimes for this permission. To touch Harry.  To pet and love and soothe Harry– and Draco, too, of course. 

It unraveled him. 

Remade him. 

All in an instant. 

As irrevocably, Death’s. 

Harry nearly laughed when Draco turned his head, the aristocratic lines of his human face echoed in the fine-boned curve of his dragon’s muzzle. Even scaled and horned, he was unmistakably Draco– elegant, arrogant, breathtaking.  Every line was proud and beautiful, a mirror of the boy Harry loved– right down to the lifted brow that seemed to ask, Yes and? 

Harry sent it down the Bond, You too, of course, my love. All three of us. Always. 

For all he tried, Harry couldn’t keep the laughter out of his thoughts. Draco only huffed- playful and satisfied- indulgent of Harry’s giddiness, before shifting back so Harry could lean down and press his feathered head into Death’s hand.

Death’s palm trembled over feathers and scales. “You’re so beautiful, Master,” he whispered, reverence threading each syllable.

Harry’s heart soared as he fell in love with them all over again. It was humbling to realize that the Bond, stretched and grown to accommodate a third as it was, still hadn’t reached the end of the vastness their love could hold. Harry sent his only thought, clear and bold and strong, down the Bond to Death: I love you.

 “The best of both of us and more,” Death said almost soundlessly as he caressed the place where Harry’s cosmic feathers met the shadowed gleam of scales.

Not to be outshone or forgotten, Draco strutted over and pushed his face into the dark cosmos of Death’s skin making Harry’s heart flutter. “Never fear, Sire,” Death said through laughter, dry and delighted, “You are beautiful, too.”

They lingered like that, hands and snouts and feathers in shared warmth. Harry could have stayed like that forever, curled against his dragon with Death’s hands on their bodies but then Death, dropping his hands, swallowed and said, “Let’s fly together.”

Shadows bent around him. His shape collapsed and expanded at once, skeletal wings stretching into the night. They grew until their form settled into a thestral, tall and terrible, galaxies glowing faintly across hide and bone, stars scattered through his translucent wings. In this form, he was at eye level with Draco’s enormous dragon-self and stood as their equal. Dragon, Phoenix, Thestral.

Draco roared low in his throat, triumphant. Harry flared his wings in invitation. And Death’s form came to life, the stars and galaxies flaring the brightest Harry had ever seen them. And together they rose.

When they pushed off, the air took them in, welcoming them as if this were their homecoming. Every now and then, Draco glanced back at him and Death, and his dragon, smug utterly insufferable, grinning back at them, like a boy with his first broom. Draco’s joy made Harry’s heart soar, made him revel in the wonder of flying between his two loves, his wingtips brushing across their bodies with each beat.

Harry’s senses flooded with the exhilaration of this form- the wind rippling through his feathers, his sharp eyes picking out every hill, valley, and hidden creature across the land. He let himself yield to the rhythm of flight. The world, the universe, was nothing but the thunder of Draco’s wingbeats, the lightning crack of his own, and the silence of Death’s skeletal wings- still as the earth before rain, stirring starlight in their wake.

Through the warded forest, through branches clawing at the sky, into open air. They circled over Black Manor, proudly rising above the horizon. Stars wheeled above them in the skies and below them in the lake, mirrored in the galaxies on Death’s and Harry’s wings. They rose together. Thestral, Dragon, Phoenix:  wings unfurling against the sky, free of cages, free of fear.

And as they flew, bound together in fire and bone and shadow, Harry knew joy so fierce it felt like it would split him apart. He sent it down the bond, and Draco and roared again, claiming Harry’s joy as his victory, and Death sent bright love and joy down the Bond.

A war was brewing, Harry knew, just on the horizon, beyond the starlit lake the vibrations of the impending force of fate were disrupting the air in waves.

Yes, their peace would be shattered soon. But their circle was strong.

And it had only just begun.

For now, Harry set the future aside and allowed himself a few hours where they would be nothing but three bodies in flight, three hearts in one loop of sky. He was with his Bondeds. His triad. Able to just be with them. To be free with them, to fly with them. 

Together.

Whole. 

Rising