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“Why must I go?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too sullen. Evidently he failed, for Grandmother Walburga gave him a stern look that had him dropping his gaze. In the corner of his eye he saw Sirius snicker and he passed on the glare with fervor. Sirius suddenly found the buttons of his shirt very interesting.
“Regulus, Orion, and I have business on the continent this Yule. You will be the one in charge of Sirius.” Grandmother Walburga inspected his dress robes with a critical eye. They were new, tailored just this morning, and already Harry felt uncomfortable. “Bellatrix will also be there.”
Ah. Babysitter.
“Not to mention,” she continued, “you are the sole heir of house Potter. You cannot hide yourself away from the public eye forever.”
He could certainly try. Not that Harry would say that out loud while Grandmother Walburga was anywhere nearby. While not his biological grandmother, she had taken to the role with vigor. Harry suspected that it was because Harry had been the reason Sirius had returned home. Unable to care for young Harry on his own, Sirius had turned to his family for help. Grandmother Walburga was mildly displeased by Harry’s status as a halfblood, but she had quickly softened towards him, treating him as she would her own blood.
She was strict, and still a blood purist, but she had eased her stance. Just enough that she could accept Harry as he was: the son of a pureblood and a muggle-born. It wasn’t perfect, but Harry knew well that no family was. And besides, he had Sirius on his side, and the man never let his family speak with anything but respect towards Harry.
Harry sighed. Quietly, though, because Grandmother Walburga was very strict about ‘unnecessary motions’ and hated anything that even mildly resembled fidgeting.
“Well,” Sirius said standing abruptly and saving Harry from any more of Grandmother Walburga’s fussing over his robes. “It’s almost ten. We had best be off.”
And indeed, as Harry peered out the window, he could see the shimmering edge of the carriage waiting for them. It was covered in so many muggle repelling charms that the street was practically empty and Harry could even see the glimmer of magic that swirled along its edges.
Trust the Malfoys to go the extra step, providing their guests with transportation when they could just as easily Apparate, Harry thought with a fond roll of his eyes. He accepted Sirius’ proffered arm and exited the house. He turned and waved to Grandmother Walburga, receiving a disapproving frown until he relented and dipped his head instead. She mirrored the gesture and then closed the door, leaving Harry and Sirius alone.
“After you,” Sirius grinned and bowed extravagantly, his arms gesturing his godson inside.
Harry huffed a laugh and stepped into the carriage. It was a cold, glimmering blue, small snowflakes fluttering around it as if it stood in a snow globe. Inside, though, it was warm and the seats were soft and Harry settled in quickly. Two white abraxans spread their wings and took off the moment Sirius closed the door, making him yelp as the carriage jerked forward in sudden motion.
Harry snickered and Sirius scowled. “Have mercy on your old man,” he complained, rubbing his back.
“You’re hardly old,” Harry retorted. “You’re more of a child, really.”
“Harry,” Sirius whined, sidling closer and clasping onto his arm. “After raising you all those years, this is what I get — “
“Raising me is perhaps a little generous,” Harry said, even as he leaned into his godfather’s side. “I mean, I think the credit should really go to Uncle Regulus who is far more responsible — “
“My brother?” Sirius gasped, his hand reaching up to clutch at his heart. “The one with the stick up his —“
Harry coughed, hiding his laughter. He loved Uncle Regulus, but he was rather strict and almost as formal as Grandmother Walburga.
“Sirius,” Harry chided. “It’s Yule. A time for familial love.”
Sirius grumbled something that Harry did not quite catch, but he was pretty sure it involved an insult. Harry looked fondly at his godfather. The man had spent four painful years in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit, and it was only pressure from Lord Orion Black that had eventually cleared his name and freed him. For that alone Harry was willing to overlook their outdated beliefs in blood purity.
Despite his grumblings, Sirius relented, his expression softening. “Happy Yule,” he said, a smile returning to his face.
“Yule isn’t until midnight,” Harry said, though he squeezed Sirius’ hand. “We have a couple hours of social dancing to get through first.”
Sirius made a face and Harry laughed. They shared a commiserating glance. Neither of them enjoyed these formal events, even if they had been trained in how to navigate them.
The carriage began to dip and it wasn’t long before they came to a stop before the grand entrance of the Malfoy manor. It was decorated elaborately with floating orbs of soft light glimmering like so many stars in the evening darkness. Large vines with holly-like leaves had been grown up the large pillars and covered the arching entrance in a beautiful deep green.
It was beautiful, Harry had to admit, even if he would much rather be at home. Or maybe at Ron and Hermione’s place for a few drinks. He took Sirius’ arm as they stepped from the carriage, allowing his godfather to lead him into the manor. They were greeted by a house elf who took their cloaks.
Harry sighed as he swept a hand down his deep green robes. It was the colour that Grandmother Walburga had insisted upon fiercely. Harry would have much rather gone with a plain black, but he had not wished to face her shrieking so he had acquiesced the moment her cheeks had started to flush.
Sirius had laughed at him, but the man had been forced into a set of robes that looked even stiffer than Harry’s own, crisp and sharp in a dark blue edged with stars. Harry wanted to roll his eyes at the design but he merely patted Sirius’ shoulder.
They strolled to the ballroom where they were announced. Almost immediately Sirius was swept away by one of his auror colleagues, the man giving Harry a helpless shrug. Harry waved him off, having no trouble sidling over to one of the floating trays and helping himself to a glass of champagne. The Malfoys always went above and beyond when it came to their balls, and the refreshments were no exception.
He sipped slowly as he stood near one of the windows, the towering panes revealing the sprawling gardens. He could see a faint sprinkling of snow beginning to settle, lit by the floating lights.
Inside, the ornately carved walls were covered in the same vines as outside. They criss-crossed on the ceiling and smelled of evergreen forests and the cold of snow.
“Scarhead,” came Draco Malfoy’s voice from his right.
He turned. “Ferret-face,” he replied. Draco scowled at the name but their eyes met and a moment later they were both chuckling. It was an old tradition of theirs to greet each other with insults, one that stemmed from when they were children, meeting for the first time. Draco had looked down on Harry for being a halfblood and had mocked his scar, and Harry had immediately hated Draco’s haughty tone.
Their fights had ranged from a multitude of insults to full on fist-fights. At least, they had until Sirius had finally gotten fed up and had transfigured them both into animals: Draco into a little white ferret, and Harry into a small black cat. It had taken a total of a minute for them to decide to work together, ganging up on Sirius in revenge.
Draco had gotten a nice bite on Sirius’ nose, while Harry had gone for the fingers, making his godfather drop his wand. Immediately Draco had seized it and from then on it had been a wild chase. Until Grandmother Walburga showed up, of course. But all three of them had gotten into trouble, so Draco and Harry had called it a success. And also the start of their friendship.
They didn’t see each other as often now that they had both graduated and were working, but their friendship had survived its initial rockiness over blood purity and status, and it would survive this, too.
“I didn’t think you would come,” Draco admitted.
“I certainly didn’t want to,” Harry said, “but one does not refuse The Banshee.”
Draco coughed, turning away to hide his laughter. It was a name that they had come up with together when they were children, both of them learning very quickly not to anger Grandmother Walburga, for her voice was enough to cause even the most powerful of wizards to cower. In fact, they were both quite certain that if it had come to it, she could have made Gellert Grindelwald quake upon the battlefield from her shrieks alone.
Draco stayed to chat with Harry until more guests arrived. He wrinkled his nose for just a moment before smoothing his features and bidding Harry a Happy Yule. Harry replied in kind and watched as Draco wove his way to the newest arrivals.
It was the Parkinsons, and Harry turned away in disinterest, floating around the edge of the ballroom instead, occasionally snagging a small bite of the large feast that had been prepared in honour of the Yule celebration.
And now, as midnight approached, Harry could feel the way the air was beginning to thicken with magic. The way it brushed against his skin, curious and excited at the approaching hour. The smell of winter filled his nose. Of death and renewal. Of endings and beginnings.
While no fan of balls and galas, Harry had to admit that there was something very special about such large celebrations of Yule and the solstices. It made his skin tingle as his own magic responded in eager flicks around him.
Harry took another sip of his champagne — the second glass at this point — and glanced around for Sirius. He spotted him not too far away, laughing uproariously at something someone said. Harry smiled a little at the sight, glad that Sirius was enjoying himself.
He was just turning away as something caught his attention. A familiar face. One that was constantly splashed across the cover of Witch Weekly. (Not that Harry read the drivel, it’s just that Ginny was always reading the magazine and — ) The red eyes were unmistakable. As was the perfectly coiffed hair and…
Harry’s eyes widened as those eyes met his, and a slow, smug smirk spread across the man’s features. Immediately Harry turned away with a scowl. Honestly, the man was so damn arrogant, yet everyone kept falling over themselves to impress him, to gain his attention. Harry’s scowl deepened. Well Harry was not about to bumble around like an idiot even if the man was unfairly handsome.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, glad that Grandmother Walburga was not there to see the action. He drained his glass and set it down and was pondering a third when clawed fingers latched onto his arm, jerking him into a bony hold.
“Harry!” Shrieked Aunt Bella’s voice, right in his ear.
He winced and sighed, falling limp in her grasp as she spun him around to see his robes. Her grin was wide and toothy as she clapped her hands approvingly.
“Very, very nice dear nephew!”
“Thank you, Aunt Bella,” Harry said obediently, eyeing her warily. She was the least predictable out of all the Blacks. She had a cruel streak and seemed to both like and dislike Harry at the same time. Still, she had never actually hurt him, and she had certainly calmed a little since she had begun working for Lord Gaunt, so Harry took a polite but wary approach to dealing with her. Especially on nights like tonight when her husband was not around to mind her.
“Uncle Rodolphus couldn’t make it?” He asked as she hummed over his hair, seeming amused over her vain attempts to tame it. Though really, her hair was just as wild. It was simply… longer, giving it the weight that Harry’s did not have.
“Out on business,” she pouted, her nails digging into his arm. “Which is why I’ll need my dear sweet nephew to dance with me!”
Harry couldn’t help the grimace that crossed his features and Aunt Bella cackled, enjoying his reluctance.
“You could ask Sirius,” he offered, not at all ashamed of putting his godfather in range of her focus.
“He smells of wet dog,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she dragged him over to the dance floor. There was a small orchestra playing waltz music and Harry resigned himself to sore feet as he was immediately whisked around by her surprisingly strong grip. He was just a little taller than she was, but she always insisted on leading whenever they danced. Not that Harry really minded, as he was a little less confident in his dancing and tended to be a bit too timid of a lead.
But it did mean that Aunt Bella was free to whirl him around in dizzying circles, cutting off other couples and spinning him far more than he appreciated.
“Auntie Bella heard,” she said as she slowed them back down to a more steady set of footword, “that ickle Harry has a little secret .” Her eyes gleamed. “Oh, I do love secrets.”
Harry’s eyes widened a little and he felt his skin prickle a little at the way her grin grew a little sharper. Because he did have a secret. But he had never told anyone — not even Ron and Hermione. No one knew. It was his secret alone.
“Oh yes,” she continued. “Auntie Bella knows. Little baby Harry has his eyes on someone.” She cackled as he stiffened in her hold, his eyes immediately flicking to the left where the red-eyed man was offering his hand to a witch in an offer to dance.
Harry looked away hastily. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, looking past his Aunt Bella, unable to quite stare into her knowing gaze.
She threw her head back and shrieked with laughter and Harry ducked his head a little as a few other couples turned to look in their direction. Not that any of them would dare comment on her behaviour. Everyone knew just how unstable she was.
“Oh, little baby Harry, it’s about time. You’re almost thirty.” She wrinkled her nose, and Harry wisely did not point out that she was twice his age. Not that either of them was very old by wizarding standard, of course.
“I have plenty of time,” he said instead, hoping to divert her attention away from his secret and towards one of his perceived failures, of which he was sure he had many.
She hummed, the sound clashing terribly with the orchestra behind them. “But,” she said, tightening her grip and pulling him close, her nails sharp even through his robes. “You chose well this time.”
Harry tried to jerk out of her hold, his heart pounding as he watched her, wary for any hint that she might mock him or expose him. But she was grinning, her teeth gleaming and her eyes twice as wild as her hair and Harry could not begin to figure out what she was thinking.
She seemed to find great amusement in his wariness for she laughed and spun him around once more, so hard this time that he stumbled to the side, disoriented as she lost her grip upon him, and suddenly he was alone in a sea of bodies, his feet tired as they tried to catch him, his vision momentarily blurred from the dizziness.
And then there was another set of arms sweeping him up once more. Longer arms and larger hands and the figure much taller. And they held him with a gentleness that had not been present before.
Where Aunt Bella’s grip had dug in, pinching his skin and grinding his bones, this touch was warm and firm, pressing just enough to effortlessly guide him through the steps of the waltz before Harry had even oriented himself.
Long fingers circled his hand, pressing their palms close, and Harry’s skin tingled at the contact. His partner’s other hand rested on his back, keeping him in place, pressing just a little each time their steps changed. It was lower than was appropriate, just teasing the small of his back, and it felt hot even through the cloth of his robes. Harry felt himself blush a little at the implications. For surely the other guests would notice .
Magic snapped between them, wilder and more potent as midnight neared. Their magics danced, twining and swirling, blending as if as guided by the music. Harry looked up and met his partner’s eyes.
Red.
A vivid, crimson red that, even lidded as they were, watched him with an intensity that made his breath catch and his words tumble over themselves.
“L-Lord Gaunt,” he said, hating how breathless he sounded. But their magic was swirling and the feel of it rushing through him made him feel like he was soaring, as if he was being swept into the sky instead of across the dance floor.
“Lord Potter,” the man replied, a small smirk curling the edges of his lips. He sounded infuriatingly composed and Harry wondered if he was the only one so affected. But the man’s magic was slithering against his skin, just as eager as Harry’s own, and the man’s eyes gleamed and Harry felt a small, almost shy smile touch his lips in response.
“I had not expected to see you here,” Harry admitted as the dance took them to the outer edge where curious eyes bore into them, then back in amongst the swirling sea of robes. “Witch Weekly said that you had rejected the invitation…”
Lord Gaunt’s head tilted. “Oh? I had no idea you read such drivel. My, my.”
Harry’s mouth dropped in surprised indignation. “What? I don’t — Ginny was — I mean, well, you were the one who had the interview with them in the first place!” He exclaimed, scowling up at the taller man.
A passing couple murmured in scandalized whispers at Harry’s tone, but Lord Gaunt merely chuckled, his chest rumbling against Harry’s. Around them the magic thickened.
“I suppose I simply could not pass up the opportunity to dance with you, dear Harry ,” Lord Gaunt smirked, the arrogance only enhancing his features, much to Harry’s dismay.
“I wasn’t going to come though,” Harry said with a frown. “It’s only because Aunt Bella…” he trailed off, a muddle of thoughts working to untangle themselves in his mind. Then his eyes widened. “Aunt Bella wasn’t supposed to come either. Not without Uncle Rodolphus.” He stared accusingly at Lord Gaunt. “You knew I’d be sent to babysit if she attended, didn’t you.”
Lord Gaunt’s smile was so falsely innocent that Harry did not believe it for a single moment. “Now Harry, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Harry glared at the man’s mocking tone. “Tom — “
And then the clock struck twelve.
And Tom’s lips pressed against his.
And suddenly Harry couldn’t breathe, his eyes wide as he stared into Tom’s red eyes. Eyes that spoke of a man who had delved into the deepest of magics and returned triumphant. Eyes that watched him with such determination, far bolder than the man had ever been before.
Six times the clock intoned, and on the seventh, Tom pulled back. Around them the magic surged, bolstered by Yule.
Harry blinked. “Tom… why…” Because Tom had just exposed the secret that they had kept for so many years while Tom rose to power, unstable in his footing amongst the old, pureblood families until only recently. Unsure of how they would react to the heir of Slytherin courting a halfblood.
Ten times the clock intoned and Tom bowed, a deep bow full of intent and magic. It was an old gesture, preceded by a sweeping gesture of the man’s hand that trailed a flurry of sparks, the other splayed over his heart.
Harry’s breath stuttered, his eyes widening. Though he had hated the lessons as a child, still he had learned the formalities of the wizarding world. And he knew what this gesture meant.
In the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius pushing his way forward, a canine snarl upon his face. And in the distance he swore he heard Aunt Bella cackling.
But then the clock struck for the twelfth time and Tom spoke and all else faded behind a humming of magic that rose the hairs on his arm and quickened his breath.
“I invoke,” said Tom, his voice joining the hum, “a Courtship of Yule.”
Harry’s hands trembled.
“I invoke the Wild Hunt.” His words rang like the horns of the elves and Harry shivered, his heart fluttering, flighty within the cage of his chest. Already he could feel his magic gathering, readying.
“I invoke the Chase. I invoke the Magic of the Gifts.” His eyes stared into Harry’s, fierce and predatory and confident in a way that made Harry tremble with the urge to challenge him. His magic whipped around him in agreement. Was Tom truly worthy?
“I invoke Magic’s Blessing, may She guide us true.”
The magic around them shrieked in triumph, thickening until it was almost visible, long tendrils of white that wrapped around them, binding them in this ritual of old.
And even Sirius had stopped, his face slightly twisted as if he wished to protest. But Harry knew he would not. For even Sirius could not deny this. Could not deny magic’s approval as it soared between Harry and Tom. Because only those who held love. Only those whose magic was compatible. Only those powerful enough could invoke such a rite.
Tom’s gaze was steady. “I will not hide this. Not anymore,” he said, soft, for only Harry to hear.
The words made his heart swell. Made him feel as if he was floating. Made him smile, wide and dumb and all-encompassing as he looked at the man he had loved for over half a decade. And he thought of the fleeting touches, the secret glances, the whispered words of dedication that they had stolen every moment they could.
No longer would they have to hide. And happiness burst within Harry, as powerful and bright as the magic that still surged between them.
He reached up, his hand trembling as he brushed his fingers across Tom’s cheek, feather-like and fleeting. Tom’s hand came up, capturing his wrist as he made to draw it back. He covered Harry’s hand in his own, his eyes gleaming triumphantly, his smirk returning. Something cold and heavy was pressed into Harry’s hand and suddenly he understood Tom’s sudden smugness.
For magic laughed around them, deepening slightly in colour as it would each time Tom caught him until it would glow a pure golden light. This was the first of twelve hunts. Harry shivered in anticipation. Harry would run. He would hide, and Tom would have to find him. Each time Tom caught Harry, he would gift him. Something to show his intentions. To satisfy magic’s demand of proof.
And if Tom succeeded, all twelve times, once each day of Yule, then magic would bind them together forever, blessed by the heart of the earth, the soul of their world. No others could interfere. Magic would not allow it. This was for them, and them alone.
Something primal stirred within Harry’s chest and he jerked his hand back, his chin lifting in challenge. Tom grinned in return.
Glancing down at his hand, he unfurled his fingers to reveal a golden locket, an emerald serpent demarcating the Slytherin heirloom. He stared, knowing just what this piece meant to Tom. His fingers closed around it once more and he brought it to his chest. His heart thumped against it and he looked at Tom once more.
The man looked almost wild, his teeth gleaming, his eyes deep and full of promise, and his magic sparking around him.
Harry laughed in delight. And then he apparated away, knowing that it wouldn’t be long until Tom found him once more.