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Harry had not thought that the Peace talks were going to be simple. Massive losses to both sides over years and a fair knowledge of Voldemort’s temperament had assured him of that much. Indeed, he had been very surprised that the man had sent an extremely nervous Draco Malfoy over with the message that he was willing to parley with the Light side as long as Harry was speaking for them.
The entire ordeal had been going for almost a full month already. Every day they would wake, eat breakfast, and head to the temporary amphitheater set up in an open field somewhere they’d both agreed upon until the sun had set.
Once there, Harry would head down to the center, flanked by Hermione and Ron to sit beside the Dark Lord, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy. In the beginning the seating arrangement had been tense. Both sides had been wary of the other attacking despite the securities taken, but now, after three weeks and four days, the arrangement had led to a near comradeship.
Ron argued fervently with Lucius about the minutiae of every law that was brought up, both of them seeming to enjoy the challenge entirely too much. Hermione continually and with infinite patience wrote down every word they agreed on, ignoring vicious glares and occasional jabs from Bellatrix who paced the stage like a rabid wolf.
Harry, who had been anxious about continued proximity to Voldemort over the course of these talks and what it might mean for his scar, now sat beside the tall man so close he could feel the slight chill of the Dark Lord’s skin near his shoulder. The feeling had morphed from something disturbing to an oddly reassuring and unique comfort during the long days. Neither of them spoke unless they were mumbling complaints under their breath in parseltongue, or until they tired of listening to Ron and Lucius’ back and forth enough to interject and quickly compromise on the law. After the first couple of days the two of them had begun having personal conversations after everyone else had left for the night, often staying up together until Hermione would return to force Harry to bed. It was… almost pleasant, barring the occasionally loud protesting from the others on both sides that sat in the amphitheatre seats during the day.
This morning, however, seemed to be the end of the man’s uncharacteristic patience. Before Lucius could even open his mouth to begin on amendments to the Statute of Secrecy, Voldemort had stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor of the amphitheater.
“Enough. This is taking too much time,” The man’s crimson eyes narrowed dangerously on both of his Deatheaters on the stage. Lucius swallowed audibly, taking a step back and bowing in acquiescence. Those intense red eyes turned to Harry next, “Potter, the terms of peace have been agreed upon. The laws should be decided in the Wizengamot at a later date.”
“I, uh… Yeah. That makes sense. I agree,” Harry stammered, honestly quite fed up with the process up to this point as well. He followed Voldemort in standing, and Hermione rushed over with the contract as they had agreed on, practically shoving it and the blood quill into his hand. Harry took only a moment to look over the contract, trusting Hermione’s construction of the document before lifting the quill to parchment.
“Wait!”
Harry jerked the quill back from the contract, and whipped his head up to find the person that had interjected. In the third row from the front, a hunched older man on Voldemort’s side had stood shakily. He was supported by a gnarled cane and the arm of Theodore Nott, who looked particularly pale and was sending horrified looks from the corner of his eyes at where Voldemort and Harry stood.
“Nott,” The Dark Lord’s voice came in an icy hiss that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine for the first time in weeks, “This had better be good.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Theodore’s father smiled grimly before turning his attention to Harry, who frowned at the man’s calculating stare, “Are you quite certain that that contract is unassailable enough to keep the Dark Lord to it on its own?”
Harry blinked at the man in shock, “I trust Hermione’s ability to construct this contract, Lord Nott.”
A sharp pain prickled in his scar for the first time in ages, and Harry found himself a bit worried. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Voldemort had stiffened in anger, a sneer beginning to lift the side of his mouth.
“Oh, I’m sure,” The man smiled amicably, clearly ignoring the ire of his sworn Lord as if he were desensitized to Voldemort’s fury. Beside him, Theodore had impossibly lost even more color, beginning to shake a little under his father’s vice grip, “Consider, however, that there is a way that would be much more secure for everyone.”
“Father!” Theodore hissed frantically under his breath, the word carrying in the shocked silence of the crowd.
Harry scowled and turned around to find Hermione looking almost as pale as Theodore, with both hands over her mouth.
“Hermione? What’s he talking about?” Harry frowned. His friend shook her head rapidly, sending her bushy hair all over the place and giving her a distinctly disheveled look.
“We couldn’t ask you to do that, Harry,” Hermione insisted, biting at her bottom lip nervously, “You’ve already given us so much, we couldn’t.”
“Marriage, Potter,” came Voldemort’s drawl from behind Harry. The young man whipped around to stare in open-mouthed shock at the bored crimson stare of the Dark Lord, startled by the words as much as by who had said them, “They are speaking of marrying us off to each other and making the vows our terms for peace.”
“I… Wait…” Harry shook his own head in bewilderment, positively blown away that anyone would suggest such a thing, much less one of Voldemort’s oldest followers. It was clearly the most absurd thing that had been brought up at these Peace Talks yet. If it would guarantee that the Dark Lord would be bound to his word more tightly, though… well, maybe it wasn’t entirely absurd, “Hermione. Would that really be a better option…?”
“Harry, you can’t ! A traditional Wizarding Marriage is a Bond for life ! It could never be broken” Hermione protested. Ron was standing with her now, a solid hand resting on her shoulder and looking quite grim. The redhead met Harry’s eyes and nodded just once, confirming where Hermione had refused to answer.
Harry sighed heavily, peering up at the scowling Dark Lord from underneath the wild fringe of his hair. A month ago such a thing would’ve seemed like a death sentence. Voldemort had really kept his head for the past three weeks though. Perhaps the man had mellowed out a bit? He seemed only mildly irritated that it had been brought up at all; a sharp contrast to a couple years before when Voldemort had been little more than a being of pure unadulterated rage.
“We already are kind of Bound for life, aren’t we?” Harry tapped at his still prickling scar. He had meant for that to come out as a joke, but it fell flat even to him. The Dark Lord obviously thought so, too, if the unamused expression on his face was anything to go by, “We might as well make it official.”
Voldemort closed his eyes and inhaled as if he were trying to keep himself from murdering the entire stadium of people regardless of what side they were on. His pale face lost all expression before he opened his eyes again, and inclined his head at Harry, “As you wish.”
The wedding had been quick and void of any romance that Harry had previously associated with such events. What had most stuck out to the young man during the ceremony was Voldemort’s absolute lack of expression, only broken by the disgust on the older man’s face when forced to speak his birth name during the vows.
A couple of the women on both sides had insisted upon having a feast of sorts as both a reception and a celebration of the Peace Talks’ conclusion. It was at this event, as he sat beside the Dark Lord, that Harry noticed how incredibly smug the man seemed to be and began to worry. Tom’s smug look only grew when Lord Nott, yet again assisted by his son, shuffled up to the head table to wish them well.
“Congratulations, my Lord,” The old man smiled genuinely and winked at the Dark Lord. Tom smirked back and gave Nott a rare nod of approval, setting the warning bells in Harry’s head off.
“What…” Harry breathed out shakily, “What did you do?”
Voldemort’s smirk became incredibly amused as he turned to look at his newly bonded husband, “I haven’t a clue what you mean, husband.”
“You planned this, didn’t you?” Harry stated more firmly, becoming a little hysterical, “What did you gain from being married to me, Tom?”
Scowling angrily about the use of his given name, the Dark Lord waved Nott Senior away before turning his seat to look at Harry completely. In Parseltongue he answered, “I gained exactly what we agreed on.”
Harry scowled, “ Don’t lie to me. You obviously put Lord Nott up to suggesting marriage! Why, Tom?! ”
“ Would you have married me if I had been the one to suggest it? ” Voldemort asked seriously. Harry stared at him in shock for a few moments, watching the man’s long pale fingers smooth non-existent wrinkles from his dark robes.
“Are you trying to tell me… that you orchestrated this entire thing to marry me?” Harry asked incredulously. The younger man shook his head, mouth pressed into a grim line, “So, what? The public would trust you more?”
“Perhaps that was a factor,” Tom drawled, following the switch to English seamlessly, “That was not my sole motivation, however.”
“What else could you have possibly gained from this…?” Harry frowned. He watched as Voldemort’s fingers left his robes, cautiously moving forward into the space between them. The cool digits gripped Harry’s chin firmly, turning his green eyes up to meet Tom’s red stare. The young man’s heartbeat seemed to stutter to a stop in his chest, “Tom?”
Voldemort’s gaze slowly roamed Harry’s face, as if attempting to remember every little detail, “You captured my interest that first night we remained behind to speak about magical children in the muggle world… every night since you have surprised me. The way you lead. The way you think… Surely you recognize what a feat it is to capture my curiosity in such a way?”
“I…” Harry felt his heart jolt and speed up, pushing heated blood to his face. He did know. Tom didn't care what anyone thought. He didn't care about anyone. Vaguely he noticed that Voldemort’s face had moved closer, and Harry shivered, “Are you trying to tell me you like me…?”
Those intense crimson eyes rolled openly, and then suddenly Tom's pale face was so close Harry’s vision blurred. Cool, thin lips pressed firmly against Harry’s own overheated lips quickly, pulling away so fast it had almost seemed like nothing happened. If it weren't for the tingling across his mouth, Harry would have sworn he hallucinated the entire thing.
“Nice of you to finally catch on,” Tom smirked before sitting back in his seat in satisfaction, “I look forward to our union, Harry. It should be… quite the experience.”