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Chapter Text

Abraxas Malfoy is convinced he is the only person alive to ever lay eyes on The Dark Lord’s soulmate.

Indeed, no other Death Eater has seen hair or hide of the mysterious soulmate, for that he was certain.

In fact, for a long time, many of the Death Eaters believed their Lord didn’t have a soulmate. The cold, powerful man was clearly in no need of more power, something you received after bonding with your soulmate, and some even speculated that their Lord was too powerful and thus didn’t need one; his purpose being simply to rule.

But all those theories had soon been proved false.

Indeed, it had been a few years after his victory that their Lord had made the reality of his soulmate known, ordering house elves to send word to ‘his love’ and began dismissing meetings quickly when mysterious notes would appear within his hand.

Yes. Their Lord’s soulmate was very much real.

It was no surprise to Abraxas that his Lord decided to keep his soulmate tucked safely away from prying eyes. After all, the death of a soulmate meant the death of their other half as well, and Lord Slytherin was known to have many enemies. The war had been vicious, and Lord Slytherin had been ruthless in his overtaking of the wizarding world, and as such his soulmate walking around was a risk his master, no doubt, could not take.

But Abraxas had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t just their Lord’s concern for his own welfare that made him keep his soulmate locked away. To put it lightly, his Lord had never been very good as sharing what he deemed as ‘his’, and his soulmate definitely fell into that particular category. Abraxas wouldn’t be surprised if their Lord enjoyed being the only one to lay eyes on his beloved; Abraxas shuddered at the thought of belonging to someone so possessive and controlling. He felt a bit of pity for for them, if he was being honest.

But those were simply Abraxas’ own speculations as why their Lord’s soulmate had never been seen. He knew some of the other Death Eaters had their own rather dark and twisted theories as to why no one had ever seen the allusive soulmate, but no one knew the true reasoning behind why no one had ever seen the soulmate of Lord Slytherin.

That is, until Abraxas, who was now the only person who could claim to have seen the famed soulmate of the most feared man in all of Britain.

And it had been an accident at that.

It had all unfolded at a rather ungodly hour after Abraxas was awoken in the middle of the night to a searing pain in his dark mark. He had promptly stumbled out of bed and made his way quickly to his Lord’s manor, barely having time to run a comb through his hair. But, luckily, he’d managed to make it to his Lords manor in just under ten minutes, thank Merlin, for Lord Slytherin was not known for being patient.  

He had been hovering outside the huge brown mahogany doors at the entrance to his Lord’s office, when he had heard an intake of breath right behind him.

Instantly alert, hand drifting to his wand holster, Abraxas had spun around, coming face to face with a young man. Indeed, he was not a boy, but his youth was almost tangible, from his big green eyes to messy black locks falling across his forehead, the boy radiated youth. Abraxas couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from him, he was ethereal looking, with a slight frame and innocent sort of expression on his face, he wondered briefly what this beautiful boy was doing inside the lord’s home.

It was only after the initial shock of the young man’s beauty, however, that Abraxas began noticing just how skinny the young boy was, and quite short too, and appeared to be dressed in some sort of muggle sleep attire, and wasn’t that a shock!

But that wasn’t the only thing Abraxas noticed about the man, no, on closer inspection he looked… unwell. His forehead was sweaty and he was almost deathly pale, and his bones were sticking out just a little too much to be healthy. Abraxas felt his heart ache at the sight of him, he looked so frail, so vulnerable. And yet there was an aura of magic clinging to the boy, a strong aura, it was thick and pungent in the air, so similar to….

No. It couldn’t be.

Abraxas froze in shock. It made perfect sense. This young man was his Lord’s soulmate. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he knew he was right. Not only because of the similar magical aura but also because of his beauty, only someone this beautiful could belong to his Lord.

It was then that Abraxas began pondering the boy’s state… Could it have been his Lord that had done this to his own soulmate. The idea was not a welcome one, for treating one’s soulmate with anything less than love and affection was considered a heinous crime within the wizarding world. He felt his breath speed up slightly at the thought.

It was at that moment that the young man moved closer, staring at Abraxas intently.

 “Who are you?”, the man asked, his voice laced with wonderment.

Merlin, it was like the young man had never seen another person in his life.

Abraxas cleared his throat, temporarily stumbling, “Abraxas Malfoy,” a slight pause, “and who might you be?”

The young man smiled, somewhat sweetly, before responding, “I’m Harry.”

Harry.

There was a moment of silence before the boy, Harry, continued, “Do you know where Tom is?”

Abraxas’ heart jumped. He hadn’t heard that name in decades.

No.

Eons.

He dared not even think it, let alone say it out loud. No one called their Lord ‘Tom’. Anyone who dared most likely didn’t survive to see the next day.

Just as Abraxas opened his mouth to respond, a throat clear behind him.

The Malfoy Lord felt the hairs on his arms raise and his heart tripled in speed.

He hadn’t noticed the large mahogany doors that had opened, and the large dominating figure that now stood in between them. And neither had Harry apparently, who was now looking at his soulmate with unconcealed shock.

Before Abraxas could formulate a thought, or a sentence, his Lord spoke, “Harry, care to tell me what exactly you’re doing out of bed?”

His Lord’s voice was calm, yet stern, his magic slightly agitated, but there was no fury within his gaze, something that surprised Abraxas.

Harry stared at his soulmate for a moment before moving over to him with natural ease, stopping just an inch away from him, before resting his head upon his soulmate’s chest.  

“Tom,” Harry moaned slightly, “my head hurts,” the boy continued, his eyes closing whilst a hand drifted absently to his head.

Abraxas had never seen anyone so openly ignore one of his Lord’s questions, and Abraxas felt himself stiffen at what was sure to be a crucio next uttered from the tyrants lips.

Tensing in anticipation, Abraxas felt his jaw drop slightly when the opposite happened.

In one graceful move, his Lord had swept the younger man up and into his arms, gently ushering the unruly mop of hair onto his shoulder, “Shhhhh, my love, it’s okay, let’s get you back to bed and maybe a dreamless sleep too.”

Abraxas couldn’t believe it. His Lord’s tone was actually comforting? Consoling? He had never considered his Lord could be either of those things.

He watched then as his Lord began slowly walking down the corridor, Harry safely within his arms and murmuring nonsensically to him.

So shocked at the display, Abraxas almost missed his Lord’s command to him over his shoulder, “Wait within my office, Abraxas, I will be with you momentarily.”

Abraxas nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

What ensued next was the tensest 10 minutes of Abraxas’ life.

Was he to be killed now? Surely his Lord wouldn’t allow him to survive after…. After… Abraxas wasn’t even sure.

Harry’s bright green eyes haunted him, his gentle voice, his angel like appearance. He was almost the very antithesis of his Lord, and yet, they were soulmates. Despite Harry appearing so feeble, Abraxas had been able to tell instantly, he could feel the power radiating off of him, the same power that his Lord held himself, they had an almost identical magical signature. Oh yes, the sickly boy was no doubt powerful, an equal to his Lord he is certain, but why then was he so sick? Abraxas didn’t understand.

Five minutes later he felt the air tense once again as his Lord reentered the room.

Momentarily forgetting himslef, Abraxas quickly dropped to his knees in a subservient bow, his palms beginning to sweat.

Oh Merlin, was he going to die?

“You may stand Abraxas.”

Shocked at the command, Abraxas stood quickly, his eyes still somewhat downcast. He didn’t want to appear threatening right now, Merlin only knows whether he was to survive this encounter or not.

After a minute or two of continued silence, however, Abraxas slowly raised his eyes.

His Lord was sat down now, behind his desk, his aristocratic, handsome features twisted deep in thought, a glass of fire whisky just sitting beside him. The crackling of the fire the only sound within the ornate office.

“Harry has been sick for a very long time.”

His lord's voice suddenly pierced the silence.

He looked up to see the dark-haired man’s gaze trained on the window, lost in thought, almost oblivious to Abraxas’ presence.

“It was his muggle relatives,” His lord continued before a look of pure fury passed over his handsome features, “they mistreated him. Made him think his magic was some sort of curse.”

Harry was raised by muggles? Muggles who abused him? How dare they. Abraxas felt himslef growing outraged for the boy. Who would ever look into those big green eyes and wish to cause them harm?

Before Abraxas could continue his thoughts, his Lord continued, the crackling of the fire almost drowning out the muttered words.

 “Y’know I’ve never understood magic” a pause, and a dry chuckle, “try as I might it still confounds me,” His Lord sighed, a hand running distantly though his dark hair.

Abarxas didn’t know how to respond, was his Lord even aware he was still in the room?

He continued slowly, “I think the years of hatred towards his magic caused irreparable damage, and his own magic began attacking him, perceiving Harry to be a threat rather than those ghastly muggles.” Another long pause.

It was then that his Lord looked straight at him, red ruby eyes glowing in the fire light.

“His magic feeds off of him, day and night, and I’m powerless to do anything about it. He’s bed bound most days, and there’s nothing I can do.”

Silence reigned.

His Lord stopped for a moment before taking a big swig of his fire whisky, his eyes never leaving Abraxas’.

Instinctively, Abraxas lowered his eyes.

“You may leave Abraxas, I think it’s best I retire for the night.”

Abraxas felt a surge of relief at his Lord’s words. The tightness on his chest receding.

He muttered a grateful, “Thank you, my Lord,” and turned to leave the room, his steps slowly getting quicker as he neared the large doors.

Just as Abraxas was about to grasp the door handle, however, he was stopped, “Oh and Abraxas?”

Time stopped.

“If you ever tell a soul about what you saw today, it’s not just you who will suffer the consequences but your whole bloodline. Do I make myself clear?”

Abraxas turned around to bow quickly, before stating, “Yes, my Lord.”

His Lord surveyed him for a moment as if wondering whether he should indeed just kill him.

Abraxas waited with bated breath.

“Goodnight Abraxas.”

He was dismissed.

Abraxas apparated home so quickly he was surprised when he didn’t splinch himself with his haste.

***

That whole encounter had only been a month ago and Abraxas was still reeling at the information that he had learned.

To know that his lord's soulmate was so sick? Well it made his heart ache tremendously for the boy.

He was currently attending another death eater meeting, not a very pleasant one at that, but Abraxas found his mind once again drifting to the poor green eyed boy who was no doubt suffering only a few floors away.

Now Abraxas understood why his Lord ran so quickly to his soulmate, he must be worried sick whenever he was apart from him.

Soon enough, the meeting he was attending ended, and Abraxas, as well as his fellow Death Eaters began shuffling hastily out of the hall, hoping not to invoke their Lord’s anger anymore than they already had. However, just as Abraxas was nearing the entrance, he heard the call from behind him.

“Abraxas, a moment if you will.”

Dread began to pool in his gut once again.

A moment later it was just the two of them once again and Abarxas couldn’t help but be reminded of when they had last been alone together. His Lord had almost appeared human, in fact, Abraxas doesn’t think he’s ever seen such emotion from his Lord. Ever.

“Harry has been asking after you.”

His Lord breaks the silence bluntly. His eyes trained on the Malfoy Lord from where he sits above him in his iron throne.

Abraxas doesn’t know how to respond. Is this a good thing? Surely not.

Fumbling for a second longer Abraxas responds politely, “That is very kind of him, my Lord.”

His Lord just continues to gaze at him with scrutiny, his ruby red eyes staring daggers into Abraxas’ soul.

“How old is Draco now Abraxas?” His Lord asks him offhandedly, almost as if it is of no importance.

The question threw Abarxas and he couldn’t help but hide the confusion within his voice as he responded, “He has just turned 20, my Lord.”

His Lord hummed, “Ahh, so the nearly the same age as Harry then.”

A moment of silence once again settled between the two.

Abraxas waited patiently for his Lord to continue.

“Tell me Abraxas, how would Draco feel about being Harry’s friend,” Lord Slytherin sighed almost fondly before adding, “I fear Harry is getting rather lonely, and his interest towards you is proving rather irritating.”

His friend?

“I’m sure he’d be most honoured, my Lord,” Abraxas’ responded obsequiously. It was not as if Draco could decline.

His Lord’s smile was sharp, “That settles it then.”

Abraxas smiled politely. He couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he had just signed his son up for.

Chapter Text

Draco wasn’t sure what to think when his father had told him his Lord had assigned him a task.

And if he was being honest with himself, he felt a little nervous. Not many young Death Eaters received personal assignments from the Dark Lord. Not even his older brother, Lucius, had been given a specific task before. He couldn’t help but feel rather smug about that.

But when his father had later detailed that his assigned task was to babysit the Lord’s soulmate, he was less than pleased. Who did the Dark Lord take him for? He wasn’t a wet nurse, he was a Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. And really, what kind of 20-year-old needed their soulmate to hire friends for them? The man sounded like a spoiled brat.

Draco had never really given the Lord’s soulmate much thought. No one had ever seen the boy, so Draco assumed he clearly wasn’t of that much importance to their Lord. Something which didn’t surprise him, their Lord was a cold and callous man, he wouldn’t be surprised if he felt anything other than mild annoyance for his other half.

“So let me get this straight…. the Dark Lord wants you to be his soulmate’s friend?” Blaise asks from where he lies strewn across Draco’s bed, confusion evident within his tone.

Draco looks over at him from his vanity, “Yes, that basically sums it up.”

Blaise continued to look at him with wonderment, “But…. Why?”

Draco lets out a laugh, “Your guess is as good as mine, Blaise.”

The other boy lets out a snort of derision at that, “How pathetic, the boy can’t even make his own friends.”

Draco’s smile was sharp, “My thinking exactly.”

It was the next day that Draco was called upon by the Dark Lord. The sharp pain in his dark mark visceral as he apparates to his Lord’s manor.

Draco wasn’t really sure what to expect. How exactly do you make friends with someone when required to? Honestly, when he was younger, he used to fear the Dark Lord’s inevitable tasks for him, but this was certainly not what he had in mind.

Entering the manor, Draco felt himself tense once again. Shaking off his nerves he walked to his Lord’s office, head held high, Malfoy mask firmly in place. He paused briefly outside the doors leading to the Dark Lord’s office before lifting his hand and knocking politely.

The doors swung open on their own and Draco entered the large office quickly, noting the Dark Lord bent over his desk and scribbling something down on a piece of paper. Not even acknowledging Draco’s very existence.

Draco entered the room before quickly dropping to his knees in a bow, something which had been engrained into him by his father long before he could talk.

The room was quiet, apart from the scribbling of Lord Slytherin’s pen on parchment.

Draco waited patiently, his eyes downcast.

After a few minutes he heard the scribbling stop.

“You may stand Draco,” came the command from the Dark Lord.

Draco stood, his gaze drifting up to the dark-haired man behind the desk.

The Dark Lord gave Draco a long scrutinising look before saying, “We’re just waiting on our healer to check you’re healthy and then I can take you to Harry.”

Huh? A healer? Why did they need a Healer? Also, Harry? Draco presumed that was his Lord’s soulmate. Strange name… very muggle.

Just as he was pondering such a thing, a brief knock was heard on the door.

A small stout woman bustled in, her face cheery and round, wearing white robes that is often associated with high class Healers.

“Is this the lad right here, my Lord?” The woman asked, her voice radiating joy.

“Yes Healer Fawcett, this is Draco, he will be meeting with Harry for a short period of time today,” came the Dark Lord’s response, before he returned his attention once again to the papers on his desk.

Draco gave the Healer a tight smile as she began administering a basic check up. Draco couldn’t help but wonder why this was necessary. Surely his Lord couldn’t be so overly protective that he feared his soulmate would catch a common cold?

The Dark Lord’s voice startled him out of his thoughts, “And how is my Harry doing today, Healer Fawcett?”

Healer Fawcett gave their Lord a bright smile whilst still bustling around Draco, casting various diagnostic spells, “He is stable today, my Lord, and quite excited to meet young Mr Malfoy here.”

“Hmmm i’m sure he is. You must inform me, as usual, if his condition worsens.”

Wait condition?

Healer Fawcett smiled once again, “Of Course, my Lord, Harry’s health is always my number one priority.”

Okay. Draco was confused. What was wrong with Harry? Draco began to wonder just how much his father had failed to mention about his Lord’s soulmate.

A few minutes passed and healer Fawcett gave Draco the all clear, appearing to be in a clean bill of health.

“Perfect, thank you, Healer Fawcett you may leave.”

The healer gave their lord a low bow before bustling out of the room.

The room fell to quiet once again. Draco found himself growing impatient.

After a few more minutes, The Dark Lord finally stopped writing and stood up. His magic cascading around him, saturating the atmosphere. Draco always found it slightly unsettling being in the man’s presence. His magical aura dominated every room he stepped into.

He gazed at Draco a moment.

“Follow me Mr Malfoy, I shall take you to Harry now.”

It was then that the Dark Lord walked quickly out of the room, Draco, taking it as his cue to follow the man, began  hurrying to catch up behind him.

It was only a few minutes later that Draco realised he had never been into this section of Slytherin Manor before. He must be in a completely different wing.

This side of the manor was nicer than the other half, Draco couldn’t describe it exactly but it almost appeared more homely than the rest of the dark manor.

Many corridors and long hallways later, the Dark lord finally came to a stop outside a large door.

It was then that he turned to Draco once again, his red eyes burning into Draco with an intenseness that made him squirm slightly.

“I should warn you that Harry is very special to me… So if you are to upset him, I will not be very pleased.” A pause, “Do I make myself clear, Draco?”

Draco felt the palms of his hands sweat as he was glared at by the domineering Dark Lord.  

Keeping his eyes downcast he responded politely, “Of course my Lord, I have the utmost respect for you and your soulmate.”

A brief silence ensued before the Dark Lord nodded, “Good.”

Turning once again to the door beside them, the Dark Lord muttered  some sort of unlocking spell, and, with a wave of his hand, the doors opened.

As soon as Draco entered the room he felt his jaw drop.

This wasn’t just a bedroom. This was a paradise.

The room practically sung with magic. There were flowers and vines hanging from the ceiling and a sentient wallpaper that depicted a beautiful forrest filled with woodland creatures. In the centre of the room there was a large oval bed with deep green sheets to match the deep green of the oranate wardrobe and dressers. There was also a fire place on one side of the room, surrounded by a cluster of plush looking armchairs and sofas, though Draco wondered why there was so many chairs if the Dark Lord’s soulmate didn’t have many friends.

It was surely a beautiful room however, and though Draco had seen his fair share of lavish rooms within Malfoy Manor, this was something else entirely. It was almost like an indoor garden, despite the plush carpet beneath Draco’s feet which proved that it was not.

Sensing Draco’s wonder the Dark lord spoke, “My Harry loves the outdoors, and gardening in particular,” he informed, fondness seeping into his tone.

It was at that moment that Draco noticed the small little lump lying in the bed. Was Harry still sleeping? It was way past midday.

The Dark lord seemed to notice Harry then also. Surely, he was going to berate his soulmate for being in bed at this time of day.

Instead, the Dark Lord walked over to the large bed, stopping to stroke Harry’s head and run a hand through his soulmate’s hair in an effort to wake him.

A minute later, Harry seemed to stir with the Dark lord’s coaxing and began to sit up in bed.

The first thing Draco noticed was how beautiful the boy was. With large green eyes and cherub like features. The second thing he noticed was how unwell the young man looked. He was frail looking, and had huge bags under his eyes, not to mention there was a loss of colour in his rather hollow cheeks. He was undoubtedly beautiful, but also unwell by the looks of things.

Is this why the Dark Lord insisted he have a check up? And why would his Lord think meeting his soulmate when he was ill a good idea?

“I’ll leave you to it then, my love,” Were the Dark Lord’s parting words before he lightly kissed Harry’s head and headed towards the doors of the room, leaving the two men to themselves.

Now that it was just the two of them Draco suddenly felt… awkward. How could he possibly talk and be friends with someone who’s soulmate will kill them if they so much as make the other sneeze?

“You can come closer, I wont bite,” Harry disrupted the silence, a slight grin making its way onto his face.

Draco moved closer so that he was at the foot of the bed, too nervous to get any closer to the beautiful man. Unable to find any response to Harry’s remark he found himself spluttering out the first thing that came into his mind, “You look like shit.”

Fuck. The Dark Lord was going to kill him.

Rushing to amend his mistake, Draco quickly rushed out, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend.

Draco could feel the tops of his ears grow hot. He was doing an awful job at this. His first assignment from the Dark Lord and he was fucking it up.

He offered Harry a smile in the hopes that it would make up for his blunder.

Harry just gazed at him silently, before letting out a dry laugh, “Don’t worry, I always look like this.”

Harry’s laugh shocked him slightly but Draco felt himself relax slightly nonetheless. And he and Harry exchanged a small smile.

Unable to help his curiosity, Draco asked, “And do you always stay in bed until mid afternoon?”

Harry just smiled awkwardly before responding, “That depends on how protective Tom is being, sometimes he lets me get up and go for a walk around the gardens,” Harry said, his gaze turning wistfully to the the large bay window on the other side of the room.

Draco hummed. Merlin, he couldn’t imagine having a soulmate so controlling, his mother and father were enough of a handful as it is.

It was then that Draco saw Harry flinch slightly and grab his head, his face screwing up in obvious pain.

Suddenly growing nervous again, Draco stuttered out, “Are you quite alright?”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes watering slightly from what Draco could only assume was pain.

Shuffling forward a little, Draco could see the sheen of sweat on Harry’s forehead and the slight tremor to his hands as he ran them through his dark curls.

“Shall I retrieve the Dark Lord?” Draco asked tentatively, his brows furrowing with anxiety.

Merlin, it would not be a good if the Dark Lord’s soulmate died only minutes after first meeting him.

Harry quickly shook his head, “No no, it’s fine, Tom will only worry and send you away, I’ll be fine in a moment,” Harry gave him a small smile that Draco thinks was supposed to be reassuring but was anything but.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was that?”

Harry stared at him, “Tom didn’t tell you?”

“The Dark Lord? He did not inform me of anything I’m afraid,” Draco said, his tone polite.

Harry just huffed, “Typical,” whilst rolling his eyes.

The way Harry spoke about the Dark Lord was jarring. Draco couldn’t wrap his head around someone talking so casually of his Lord. If anyone so much as blinked at the man wrong they would often find themselves on the other end of a nasty curse.

“Let’s just say I’ve not been well for a very long time and leave it at that,” Harry said, clearly in no mood to discuss his mysterious illness, “now, I do believe that you know my name but I have yet to learn of yours.”

Draco flushed slightly, “Draco Malfoy,” he said, walking closer to Harry so that he could extend his hand out to the other man.

Harry reached for his hand and shook it, “Nice to meet you Draco, I’m Harry. Harry Slytherin.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way. Draco was still fairly awkward around the mysterious soulmate of the Dark Lord, but after about an hour or two he began to loosen up and talk more openly.

Harry was surprisingly funny. He had an almost Gryffindor-ish countenance to him, despite being the soulmate of the infamous Lord Slytherin, who was the epitome of what his name suggests. He smiled and laughed a lot, and spoke about his love for gardening and the outdoors, as well as snakes and all animals, something that was fairly obvious considering his choice of decoration. Draco in return talked about his job at the ministry, his mother and father and quidditch too. Though Harry admitted he had never played but would have loved to if he was well enough.

As the hours passed, Draco was shocked to realise that he quite liked Harry. He had feared that the soulmate of the Dark Lord would be a carbon copy of the intimidating man. But Harry was anything but. It made Draco wonder what exactly the two had in common.

As time passed, Draco started to notice Harry’s health starting to decline. He’d flinch and grab his head, screwing his eyes up in pain for a few minutes before continuing. These shocks of pain were becoming more frequent, and Draco could see just how taxing a conversation was  for the other man.

Draco felt his heart ache slightly for him. What sort of illness kept someone in constant pain?

Harry had just flinched for another time when Draco heard the doors behind him open.

Quickly jumping off of the bed, when Draco realised it was the Dark Lord that had entered the room, he cast his head down in a small bow. However his Lord’s attention was focused solely on his soulmate, who’s hands were running through his hair in an attempt to curb the pain.

“Tom,” Harry sighed out as he noticed his soulmates arrival.

The Dark Lord marched over to the younger man, “Darling, how long have you been like this?” His tone sharp. Demanding.

Draco felt the hairs on his arms stand up. He couldn’t imagine the Dark Lord talking to him like that and not freezing from fear.

“Only a little while, Tom, it’s fine,” Harry responded, his voice frail sounding. He did not look well at all. Worse than when Draco had arrived.

The Dark Lord continued to look Harry up and down, no doubt taking in his his messed up hair and grey pallor.

Eyes narrowing, he turned to Draco, who up until that moment had been a silent observer, “Is he telling the truth, Draco?”

Draco gulped. Was he really supposed to lie to the Dark Lord….

Harry let out a huff of anger, “Tom, leave him out of this.”

“Do not lie to me then, how frequent has the pain been today?”

Harry looked down at his bedsheets guilty, “Fairly frequent, but I’m fine, honestly Tom, I just wanted to chat to Draco.”

Draco could feel the tall man’s magic swirl around the room, tightening in anger.

“My love, I thought we had an agreement that you would be allowed to befriend Draco on the condition of you being well enough,” The Dark Lord said, his hand lifting Harry’s chin so that Harry would meet the others eyes.

“I know, Tom, I’m sorry.”

The older man just sighed, his eyes softening, and leaning down to kiss his soulmate on the forehead.

“You’re health is more important than a conversation, my soul, if you are to be dishonest with me about your health in favour of talking to Draco I won’t allow him to keep coming,” The man said, his tone soft despite the admonition.

“Tom,” Harry whined, but was cut off from whatever he was about to say when he flinched once again, his body going rigid and a small cry escaping form his lips, wracks of pain seemingly making its way through Harry.

The Dark Lord began running his hand through his soulmates hair, before quickly summoning a potion of some kind, “Here, my love,” he said as he uncorked the vial and gently began tipping the contents down Harry’s throat.

A minute or so later and Harry visibly slumped against his soulmate, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

“I shall call Healer Fawcett, yes?”

“Tom, it’s okay, really,” Harry continued.

The Dark Lord just tutted, his hands still fussing over Harry, pushing him back so that he was lying down fully, and pulling the duvet over his soulmate, “Hush now, my love, you need your rest.”

Harry nodded, his eyes beginning to close, before looking over at Draco, “It was nice meeting you Draco, I hope to see you again soon,” the Dark Lords soulmate said, his mouth twitching into a smile.

Draco cleared his throat, aware of the red eyes trained on him, “Yes, it was lovely meeting you too,” Draco said, bowing his head slightly in respect.

Harry just smiled. His eyes closing, his body clearly giving up on fighting the exhaustion.

Draco stood silently, unsure whether he should leave.

The Dark Lord glanced at Draco for a moment, the fondness gone from his gaze, “You are to come and retrieve me if Harry becomes too ill in future.”

Draco lowered his eyes in submission, “Yes, my Lord.”

“Good. You may see yourself out Mr Malfoy, I will call you again if you are required.”

“Thank you my Lord, it is a great honour to spend time with your soulmate.”

And it was, Draco now realised, for it was clear how highly the Dark Lord regarded his soulmate. Draco’s not surprised that not many people have ever met the man, the Dark Lord clearly cares about Harry a great deal. Draco can’t help but feel glad that Harry has someone to look out for him.

The Dark Lord nodded in response, effectively dismissing him.

Draco made his way out of Slytherin Manor quickly. His head reeling with all he had learnt.

***

“So, how was it?” Blaise asked the next day, both he and Draco were walking down Diagon alley, both having finished their days at work, “What’s his soulmate like? He hot?”

Draco paused for a moment before responding, “You know, Blaise, it was surpassingly enjoyable. Our lord’s soulmate is not nearly as insufferable as I had first thought.”

Blaise’s jaw dropped, “Did Draco Malfoy really just admit he was wrong?”

Draco just glared, “Of course not, I only mean that his company wasn’t as horrendous as I feared it would be.”

Blaise stopped dead in the street, causing a few passers by to mutter in annoyance, “Do you like him?”

Draco huffed in annoyance, “I don’t know him well enough to like him.”

Blaise just hummed, a glint in his eyes.

“But is he hot?”

“Blaise!”

Chapter Text

The pain was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

It was a visceral thing. A stabbing underneath his skin, swimming through his blood, making his brain alight with fire.

He knew he was screaming. But he couldn’t stop. The screams were the only thing he could do.

His aunt and uncle had gone a step too far tonight.

Uncle Vernon had been angry before, but this. This was a rage Harry had never seen before.

He was usually rather good at avoiding his uncle when he was in one of his moods. Was good at staying quiet. He could be placating. He could be invisible. He learnt how to be invisible a long time ago.

But he’d fucked up.

He’d floated a cup of tea over to his uncle. He doesn’t even know how he’d done it.

Little things had happened before. Like things would break when Harry got angry. And when he was gardening, he could restore a bunch of dead flowers.

Little things that he could almost convince himself weren’t real.

And yet, they kept happening. Without Harry even having to think. As he grew older, he began to realise that this wasn’t normal. And yet, no matter how hard Harry tried to suppress it, it just continued. Things just happened when he thought it.

His aunt and uncle had started to notice.

And things had gotten worse. A lot worse because of it.

But tonight, he’d fucked up. He’d never made Vernon this angry before.

And the pain. The pain was excruciating.

Harry knew he was going to die tonight. He couldn’t survive for much longer.

So, Harry continued screaming. Slowly starting to accept his fate.

He hoped he’d find peace in death.

***

Harry knew pain very well.

Pain wasn’t something that just came and went. It wasn’t a brief thing. It was constant. A constant throb throughout his body. Day and night. It abated, of course. But it never left. Not really.

Harry had always been in pain. One way or another.

His aunt and uncle had dished out pain on silver platters with silver knives polished until they shined.

Harry can’t really remember a lot of what happened when he lived with his aunt and uncle.

But he knows there was a lot of pain there as well.

It was different to the pain he now experienced. More of an aching, emotional pain. A torment really. His aunt and uncle were heavy handed, he knows that much, but it’s not that sort of pain that Harry remembers. No. It was the loneliness. The loneliness was the most painful.

He remembers the ache of loneliness well. He remembers the darkness that shrouded those years. Sometimes he wished he remembered more of his aunt and uncle, he’d rather remember their cruelty than the ache of darkness and loneliness that invaded him all those years.

The pain he experiences now is different.

Tom has tried to explain it to him, but he still doesn’t fully understand. What he does know is that ever since that night. That awful night. The night that makes Harry flinch when he remembers it. Ever since then, his magic has turned against him.

Harry is so used to it now that it’s hard to remember what it was like before his magic lost its mind. He can remember how it felt though. It used to be calm. Peaceful, if a little chaotic at times when Harry would get angry. It cascaded in waves around him when he walked, when he gardened, it was almost like a comforting shield, something that clung to him like a maternal embrace.

Now it sinks into him. Harshly. It’s wilder now. Its chaos incarnate. It lives between his bones, its slides through his blood, it stabs between his heart and invades his brain. Stabbing constantly, as if to kill him from the inside out.

As awful as it sounds though, Harry would prefer the pain he has now over what he had before.

Because now he has Tom.

And Tom is everything.

In the beginning, Harry had been unsure of him. He had only ever known pain, and the cruelty of others. So, when Tom treated him with kindness, and not cruelty it was strange. Foreign. Harry didn’t know how to feel, and a little part of him had thought it was a trick, and that Tom too would soon turn on him.

But those were just his fears, and Tom soon proved that he was different. He looked at Harry like he held the entire world in his hands.

Indeed, those first few days at Slytherin Manor had been hard. Harry had thought he was going to die. His magic was rebelling, and he was in a lot of pain, and yet, for the first time in his life had felt loved and cared for by another. And so, maybe those first few days weren’t so bad in retrospect.

At first Harry hadn’t even known that soulmates were real. He thought they were fictitious things, just like he thought wizards and witches were fictional too. And yet, when he met Tom, he knew that at least the former was true.

Harry’s heart had never quite sung like it did when it was around Tom. It made all those years when he had felt nothing but loneliness disappear. It was like his very being was made for Tom, and Tom only.

Tom was the light in his dark world and for the very first time in his life he could see a future that didn’t look so bleak. That didn’t carry the ache of loneliness.  

That’s not to say that Harry didn’t know of the man’s faults, however.

He knew Tom wasn’t a kind man. He knew he was controlling. Possessive. He knew he was the most powerful man in the wizarding world. He knew he was a Dark Lord. And he knew that he must not have used the kindest of means to get there.

And though Harry sometimes wished he had the strength to put up a fight against that side of the man, Harry was tired of fighting. And he loved him. Strongly. His illness means he needs him too, Harry doesn’t know what he’d do without the domineering and protective man looking out for him. Harry would have probably died by now if it wasn’t for his incessant protectiveness. And so, he accepts that though Tom may not be the kindest of men, he was Harry’s and really that’s all that mattered.

***

When Harry stumbled across Abraxas Malfoy a month or so ago, he had been so delirious with pain that when he woke up the next day, he had thought he’d imagined the whole thing.

All he can really remember is a pale haired, pale skinned man, who’s face, though severe, looked kind.

It was only when Tom reminded him the next day that Harry realised it hadn’t been some figment of his imagination.

You see, Harry rarely has much human interaction with anyone other than Tom and his healer. And so, to bump into one of Tom’s followers was a rather rare occurrence. Hence when Harry realised he’d missed an opportunity to make a new acquaintance he was rather disappointed in himself.

Tom was, to put it lightly, quite protective of Harry, and though Harry loved him for it, it meant Tom made sure Harry got the rest he needed, which meant he spent a lot of his days bedridden. He only really allowed him to peruse the gardens and the manor when he was sure Harry was well enough. Indeed, on very good days, Harry will sit outside for hours, often watching the wildlife. Harry’s unsure of whether the gardens were as beautiful as they are now before he arrived, he has a sneaky feeling that Tom re did them all for him, especially because Tom is not one to care for gardens and wildlife. But the grounds in Slytherin manor are beautiful, and the days when Harry is well enough to step into them are his favourite. Especially when Tom joins him and they get to walk around together, although Harry can never walk around for long.

But those are only the very good days.

Most of Harry’s days consist of the same routine. Harry and Tom will wake up together, usually at the same time but if Harry is particularly unwell that day then he will often sleep a lot longer, maybe even until late afternoon. Tom, never one to hang about, will get dressed whilst Harry usually chats away to him. Just before breakfast, healer Fawcett will arrive and give Harry a once over, which usually consists of her running countless diagnostic spells, and Harry rating his pain for the day on a scale of 1-10. When Harry’s pain isn’t too bad, he and Tom will walk to the dining room and they will have breakfast together, before Tom departs, usually to the ministry.

Tom makes it a point to eat with Harry as often as possible. Though Harry often struggles to eat, they will still sit down together, often chatting about their days.

Tom has never once made Harry feel lonely in Slytherin manor, despite it being so large, and yet, when Harry stumbled across Abraxas Malfoy that night, it had unlocked something within him.

To begin with, Harry didn’t even realise he was pestering Tom about Abraxas until the older man started to get that possessive look in his eye, one that told Harry that if he didn’t cease his rambling about the other man then Abraxas wouldn’t be alive much longer.

After that, Harry had taken a less direct approach, hinting at wanting to have a stroll with someone in the gardens, or how nice it would be to have someone who was also interested in quidditch around.

That had failed too, and Tom had ended up suggesting that Harry talk to healer Fawcett about quidditch. Harry had certainly thought that was a stupid idea.

Harry knew that Tom wasn’t dumb. Tom knew what Harry was getting at ever since he’d began enquiring about Abraxas’ health. And he also knew Tom didn’t really like the idea of sharing Harry.

Harry knew it had just been the two of them for a while, he knew that Tom was overprotective and possessive to a fault, and he knew that Tom didn’t want Harry to die. That much was obvious. But Harry knew that, with his condition, it meant there was a lot of things he couldn’t do, but making a friend wasn’t one of them.

He decided then to just ask Tom straight out.

They had been lying in bed together late one evening, Tom wrapped around him tightly and fast asleep. The dull ache throbbing throughout his body had kept him awake, as well as his growing desire to confront Tom.

And so, taking initiative, Harry had shaken Tom awake, probably not the best idea considering dealing with a tired Dark Lord would not make the conversation any easier. But he had been determined.

Tom had awoken instantly, his hands tightening around Harry, almost too tight.

“Darling, what is it, are you alright?”

His voice was groggy with sleep, but no less worried.

Harry smiled, “I am fine Tom, I merely wish to ask you a question.”

Tom’s arms relaxed around Harry, and he smiled wanly, “Anything, my love, anything.”

Finding his courage, Harry sat up, his back facing Tom who was still lying down.

“Tom, I think I would like a friend.”

There was silence behind him.

Harry knew this declaration would not make Tom happy. He knew his soulmate like the back of his hand and he knew expressing his desire for someone else wouldn’t go over easy. And yet, Harry felt selfish for once. He didn’t know when his illness would finally cause the good days to get fewer and far between and he wanted to spend his days laughing with others and enjoying the company of others. Though he hadn’t had much opportunity to make friends, not remembering ever having had one before, Harry liked to think he was a social person. Being around Tom makes him happy, and as such being around others should make him feel the same, or at least he hopes so. And if it doesn’t, then he’ll gladly stick with Tom for the rest of his life. But he wants to try.

When the silence continued to drag on, Harry looked behind him to see his soulmate sat up in bed also, a blank look on his face. The moonlight being the only light within the room, Harry couldn’t quite gauge what his soulmates feelings were, his face partially obstructed by shadows. He hoped the other man’s thoughts weren’t bordering on homicidal.

Finally, Tom broke the silence, “Go to sleep, Harry, we will talk more in the morning.”

Harry swallowed. Feeling tired all of a sudden, perhaps having this conversation so late at night had not been a good idea. Besides, he had never found arguing with Tom easy.

“Okay Tom,” Harry said, lying back down and closing his eyes, “I love you.”

There was a moment of silence before Tom responded, “And I as well, my soul.”

Just as Harry was drifting off, he felt Tom settle around him once more, his legs tangling with his own, Tom’s hand slowly wrapping around Harry’s neck, a light, barely there grip, but a grip all the same.

The next day, when Harry awoke at around 3pm, his head a bit dizzy and groggy, but the ache within his bones muted somewhat, Tom was standing before him.

A tray of food was beside his bed, and Tom was looking at him with a severe look on his face. One of his dark curls falling into his deep red eyes.

Harry sat up, a warm smile on his face as he looked at his soulmate.

Just as Harry had begun to dig into his food, forcing himself to swallow down as much as he could despite not feeling hungry in the slightest, Tom interrupted him, “I have procured you a friend, they are to meet with you tomorrow.”

Tom’s tone was stark and detached, but Harry knew he was nervous, like he was waiting for someone’s reaction to a gift.

Quickly pushing his food off of his lap, Harry’s smile grew tenfold, “Oh, Tom, really?” Harry asked, his voice raised in excitement.

Tom nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

It was then that Harry scrambled out of bed, too excited to notice the pain as he did so, and jumped into his soulmate’s arms.

Tom’s arms wrapped around him instantly, his hold tight, his hands weaving into Harry’s hair.

“On one condition, my love.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, “Of course there’s a but,” Harry said, tilting his head back so he could look into Tom’s eyes. Tom’s gaze was serious, his mouth settled into a thin line.

“You will only meet him if you’re well enough, I don’t want you putting your health at risk. Ever,” Tom’s voice was sharp, “do I make myself clear?”

Harry swallowed. It was times like this that it dawned on Harry that his soulmate was a Dark Lord.

Tom’s hands tightened in his hair at Harry’s silence, “Tom, you don’t need to worry. I am capable of looking after myself,” he looked up at his soulmate imploringly.

“It’s decided then,” Tom said, quietly, before leaning down and pulling Harry into a kiss.

***

“And how would you rate your pain today, my Lord?”

Harry sighed, and turned to face Healer Fawcett, “How many times have I told you to call me Harry?”  

Healer Fawcett’s mouth twitched at Harry’s remark, though she was far too professional to actually laugh, “It would not be professional, my Lord. You are my patient, not my friend.”

Harry can’t help but be a little hurt at that statement. Though he supposed she was right. Tom would disapprove of Harry being so familiar with his healer. But then Tom doesn’t believe in friendship.

“Your pain, my Lord?” His healer prompted him.

And here is Harry’s current dilemma: following through on his promise to Tom, or meeting his new friend. It was a hard one.

Harry had had a rough night. He could feel his recalcitrant magic bubbling under his skin, fizzing through his brain. There were good days and there were bad days. Today wasn’t a good one.

But he’d promised Tom that he’d only meet his new friend if he was feeling well enough.

But what Tom didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. Right?

“Uhhhhh 6,” Harry finally replied, trying his best to appear candid.

Healer Fawcett glanced at him, a singular eyebrow raised.

Healer Fawcett was nice. More than nice. Harry actually liked her, and she wasn’t one of those healers who poked and prodded at you like you were some sort of specimen. When Harry had first arrived, he had been slightly afraid of her, he was afraid of most things involving magic back then if he was being honest, but she’d put him at ease with her frank nature and motherly countenance.

One thing Harry did not like about her: her ability to tell when he was lying.

“A 6? Are you sure?” Her voice was skeptical.

Harry fought off the urge to wince, “Yep, it’s good day today, I can feel it.”

Healer Fawcett just rolled her eyes, “If you insist, my Lord.”

Harry grinned.

Although his initial impression of Draco Malfoy hadn’t been the most glowing; Harry felt quite content with how they ended things at the end of their chat. And Harry certainly felt that he had warmed the other man to him.

He could tell Draco didn’t really think much of him when he’d first arrived, and at first Harry had feared that they wouldn’t get on. He knows its not exactly conventional to get one’s soulmate to procure the you a friend. But Harry had been desperate.

But all those things aside, Harry quite liked Draco. He was blunt, and a bit stuck up, but both he and Harry loved quidditch, so ultimately they had bonded over that.

What had not gone well however, was Tom. Barging in and ending his conversation with Draco. And their disagreement in front of Draco had been very impolite.  

Harry loved Tom, he really did, but sometimes he wanted to throttle him. Harry supposed that was one of the reasons they were well suited to each other, they both had bad tempers and both could be very stubborn when they wanted to be.

So, the Tom issue.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do about said issue if he was being honest. He knew Tom would get over it, it was just a matter of when. Tom could hold a grudge, and if there was one thing that was bound to rile Tom up, it was Harry’s health.

There had certainly been rocky times, times when Harry wasn’t sure he would survive the night. He knew Tom found that hard. More than hard. Devastating.

Harry knew that Tom was powerful enough to survive without a soulmate, but Tom was more worried about having to live without him rather than dying with him.

Harry’s health was unstable and attacks by his magic could happen at any moment, this caused Tom to endlessly worry about him. He had taken to running diagnostic spells on Harry every evening and constantly asked him to rate his pain quite often, too.

Underneath the scary Dark Lord exterior, Tom was a worrier. He worried after Harry constantly, and so Harry hadn’t really been surprised when Tom’s one condition to agreeing to Harry’s plea for a friend had been centred around his health.

Despite everything however, Harry woke up from his medically induced sleep feeling marginally better. The pain relief had helped ease the pain slightly and though he thought his and Tom’s disagreement had been impolite, he doubted Draco would’ve minded. He hoped he could see the other man again. 

It was then that Harry noticed that Tom was not sleeping beside him. Confused, Harry’s hobbled out of bed and peeked outside the window to see it was indeed nighttime, which would usually mean Tom would be wrapped around him tightly, their legs tangling together under the covers. So where was he? Why was he not sleeping beside Harry?

Harry felt the stirrings of guilt. He knew he shouldn’t have met with Draco. He knew Tom would get protective, and although he had been desperate to finally meet someone and make a friend, he cared about Tom more. He should have upheld his promise to Tom. Gosh, he was a shitty soulmate.

Ignoring the aching pulse behind his eyes that had been steadily growing since he had stood up, Harry resolved to find Tom. He realised he had perhaps been too rash. And his small disagreement with Tom had left a nasty taste in his mouth. 

Though Harry was never told not to leave his bedroom or wander around the manor, he often did not have the energy to do so. However, within this moment he felt a burning need to seek out his soulmate and apologise. He couldn’t wait patiently for Tom to return to bed, worry coursing through his veins, he needed to find the other man now. Forget the pain, he wanted his soulmate. Not to mention he always slept better with the other man beside him. 

And so, Harry left the room instantly. His feet marching him towards Tom’s office, which is where Harry hoped he’d be.

As Harry approached the huge doors leading to Tom’s office he was reminded of when he met Abraxas. Harry winced slightly at how rude he must have appeared, not to mention strange. A random man wandering around in his pyjamas looking for the Dark Lord? He must have seemed like a crazy person.

Harry’s just glad Tom had arrived when he did, to stop Harry from embarrassing himself any further.

Opening the doors to his soulmates office, Harry feels his heart drop when he realises that the man he is looking for is not inside.

Indeed, all that was within Tom’s office was a dying fire and a stack of papers lying neatly on his desk.

Harry feels the ache behind his eyes grow further as his worry increases. Where could he be? Oh, how could Harry be so stupid as to upset the only person that has ever cared for him. No. Those thoughts were not helping. He just needed to focus and try and think.

Suddenly a great idea popped into Harry’s head.

“Tippy?” Harry called, desperation tinging his voice.

With a loud crack Tippy appeared in front of Harry, her eyes large with worry.

He feels himself grow lightheaded at the house elf’s magic. He’d never reacted very well to it.

“Master Harry! You is not to be calling on Tippy, Tippy makes Master Harry more ill,” the house elf protested, her voice squeaky and worried.

Harry smiled indulgently at the elf, hoping to put her at ease, “It’s okay Tippy, I’ll be fine.”

It was a lie but he didn’t want the house elf feeling upset.

Despite Harry’s words of encouragement, the house elf was not listening, and, grabbing his hand, began trying to drag Harry back to his bedroom, “Master Harry is not well, he must be resting.”

“Tippy, please I need your help,” Harry pleaded.

The admission made the elf pause, “Master Harry be needing Tippy’s help?”

Harry crouched down so that he was eye level with Tippy, smiling once again.

He needed to hurry this up, he was beginning to feel quite faint and didn’t want to waste time when he could be making amends with Tom right now. Where was his soulmate anyway? And to not even leave a note! Harry would be having words with the other man.

“Yes, I do,” Harry said, hoping his eyes didn’t betray how ill he was starting to feel.

Tippy jumped up and down with excitement, “Oh Master Harry is be needing Tippy’s help! How can Tippy be helping master Harry?”

Harry grinned at Tippy’s excitement, he truly wished he could spend more time with the house elf’s, “Tippy, do you know where Tom is? I’m looking for him,” Harry asked, hoping that Tom was still in the manor, if he wasn’t then Harry would have to give up and go back to bed, there was no way he could wander around England trying to find the infamous Dark Lord. Not to mention Harry hadn’t ever left the manor and would have no clue where to start.

“Oh Master Harry be looking for Master Slytherin!” Tippy exclaimed, happiness tinging her voice.

“Yes exactly! Could you tell me where he is, or take me to him?” What a great idea, he can get Tippy to apparate him to exactly where Tom was, why hadn’t he thought of this before? Harry felt so useless sometimes, a subpar wizard really, “Yes take me to him please, Tippy.”

Tippy looked anxious once again, “Is master Harry being sure he is well enough? Tippy would not want to hurt master Harry!”

“I will be fine. Now please take me to Tom I’m anxious to see him,” Harry said, hoping that his voice was encouraging.

Tippy continued to look anxious, but grabbed Harry’s hand all the same, “Okay, Tippy be taking master Harry to master Slytherin.”

Harry only had a moment to prepare himself for the apparition before the feeling of being pulled in a different direction immediately took over.

They arrived with a crack in the air and Harry felt himslef inhale a huge breath. He was feeling awfully lightheaded, his magic beginning to crackle beneath his skin. But he was used to the pain by now and could put up with it for a bit longer.

As Harry opened his eyes and took stock of his surroundings, he realised instantly that Tom was not alone.

He was far far from alone.

In fact, Harry seemed to have apparated right in the middle of a huge meeting.

Over a thousand people in charcoal and silver masks were on their knees, heads bowed and hands behind their back.

Silence reigned in the hall.

It was then that Harry noticed his soulmate.

Sat in an iron backed chair on top of a dais, Tom looked beautiful yet deadly. The glow of the moon illuminating his darkly handsome features. Though Harry couldn’t make out his facial expression, he took note of his relaxed posture and the air of authority surrounding him. 

Noticing his predicament, Harry felt heat rush to his cheeks, acutely aware of the eyes on his back.

He suddenly felt very underdressed. Here he was in his navy-blue pyjamas surrounded by a sea of wizards in dark formal robes. Merlin, what had he walked into?

He could feel Tippy tense beside him and hoped he hadn’t got the poor elf in trouble with his demands.

After a beat of silence, in which Tom seemed to gain awareness of the situation, the taller man was instantly on his feet and striding towards him.

Harry felt his hands beginning to sweat. He should definitely not have interrupted Tom’s meeting. And interrupt he had. Harry had no clue what had previously been being discussed within the hall but the air was thick with tension, something which began to make Harry even more anxious. Was he going to be mad? Harry felt like he’d made everything worse when all he’d really been trying to do was apologise.  

Tom reached Harry in 4 strides. His gait swift and graceful.

Harry fought the urge to run to his soulmate and hide behind him. Or walk out of the hall entirely.

As soon as his soulmate reached him, he cupped Harry’s face, tilting it upwards so that he could make eye contact with the taller man.

 “Darling, you’re awake,” Tom broke the silence with the familiar hissing sounds of parseltongue.

Taking in Tom’s words, it quickly dawned on Harry that he had no idea what day it was.

“Oh merlin, how long was I asleep for?” Harry asked, responding in parseltongue, worry tinging his voice. It hadn’t been that long, right? It couldn’t have been, Harry felt as if he’d only been asleep for a few hours. What if it had been weeks? 

“Hush,” Tom said, silencing his thoughts by pulling Harry towards him, “Do not worry yourself, it was only a few days, my love. Healer Fawcett recommend that I let you sleep”

Harry sighed in relief, “Oh good.”

This had all occurred because he hadn’t taken Tom’s advice. Harry felt the familiar stirrings of guilt once again. Remembering why he was here in the first place, Harry rushed out, “I pushed myself too hard, Tom. I’m sorry I should have listened to you.”

Harry hadn’t been thinking. Not really. He’d been so caught up in it all. He should have thought more about Tom. He vowed silently to try harder.

“Hmmm you should have. How many times must I tell you that your health always comes first, my love?”

“I know I know, I was being foolish,” Harry said looking down at his feet in shame.

Tom tutted, lifting Harry’s chin once again, “None of that, I am just glad you are awake,” Tom began running his hands through Harry’s curls in an affectionate manor, and Harry couldn’t help but feel warm at the attention, “How are you feeling now? Rate your pain for me.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “I feel okay really, maybe a 6 or a 6.5 because Tippy’s magic always makes me feel a bit worse.”

“6.5? Are you sure?” Doubt seeped into Tom’s tone.

“Yes, Tom I’m sure,” Harry said looking up at his soulmate, a small smile tugging at his lips, “But I am sorry for worrying you. Are you mad at me?”

Tom’s eyes assessed him for a moment before he leaned down to capture Harry’s lips in a gentle kiss. Harry felt himself go weak at the knees as his soulmate kissed him, leaning in further to the older man. He felt so safe within his soulmates arms. It was his favourite place to be.

“I could never be angry at you, my soul,” Tom whispered against his mouth and Harry felt himself shudder.  

So caught up in Tom, he had completely forgotten about the audience surrounding them. A rather large one at that. Realising they weren’t alone, Harry pulled away quickly. Tom’s eyes immediately darkened as he did so and Harry felt his cheeks grow hot once again, “Tom, there are people here.”

Harry looked around nervously, noting how quiet the hall was. Noting with relief, however, that all the masked figures’ gazes remained trained on the floor. Hopefully they hadn’t seen much. 

Tom looked around too, as if just remembering also. But this hardly phased the other man, who pulled Harry even tighter to him, a hand cupping the back of his neck in a possessive grip. “Indeed there are,” Tom muttered before switching back to English, “Those of you who are not within my inner circle are dismissed for the rest of the night.”

Tom’s voice echoed throughout the silent hall, and a second later the majority of the masked populace began to leave the room. Their exit swift. There was no awkward shuffling or muttering between the masked individuals, just silent and efficient movement.

A minute or two later Harry and Tom were standing in front of around 12 people, their masks a slightly different shade than those belonging to the masses. He felt Tom’s hands drift once again towards his hair, his movements slow and leisurely, almost as if he wasn’t entirely aware he was patting Harry’s head like a dog. He couldn’t find it within himself to be annoyed.

“All of you may stand and unmask,” Tom commanded to the wizards who remained.

It was then that the masked individuals grew identities. All of whom seemed to be gazing at Harry with unconcealed curiosity. One woman with wild curly hair was openly grinning at him, a deranged glint in her eyes. Harry gave an awkward smile back.

A shock of long platinum blonde hair grabbed his attention, however. It was similar to Draco’s except much longer. Whereas his hair was short and styled neatly on top of his head, Abraxas’ flowed neatly down his shoulders.

Harry smiled when he recognised the other man, “Hello again,”

Abraxas smiled back at him, “Good evening, my Lord.”

“Oh, please call me Harry.”

The blonde-haired man seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze briefly drifting towards Tom before he nodded, “As you wish, Harry.”

Harry just smiled. He felt Tom tug at him from behind, his hands running through his hair, tilting his neck slightly so he could plant kisses down his neck and along his collar bone. Harry knew what Tom was doing, he was staking his claim. Letting everyone know, without the necessary words, that Harry was off limits. Harry would find it sweet if there wasn’t an audience of twelve people in front of him. He began to fidget.

“Rabastan, do you have anything to report?” Tom asked whilst planting a kiss behind Harry’s ear.

If the other man looked uncomfortable, he didn’t let it show, responding promptly, “There has been little change, my Lord. The rebels continue to insight violence but the threat is not growing.”

Rebels? Harry felt at a loss. What was Rabastan talking about? He would have to ask Tom later, he didn’t want to be out of the loop. Tom had a tendency to believe that Harry shouldn’t know about such matters, something that Harry largely disagreed with. He felt it was better if Harry focussed on his health and gaining strength, which often meant Harry spending most of his days in bed and being spoon fed by Tom.

If his soulmate had it his way Harry wouldn’t ever lift a finger.

“Hmm, thank you Rabastan. Bella, anything to add?”

The curly haired woman grinned, her eyes never leaving Harry who remained firmly within Tom’s arms.

“Nothing to report, my Lord. Though I think I may be making progress in that special task you asked of me,” The woman’s gaze turned strange as she looked towards Tom, her pupils dilating.

Harry leaned into Tom, who had stopped kissing his neck in favour of playing with one of his hands, stroking the digits in a loving manor. Though the affectionate touches were normal for Tom they were definitely calculated. Harry found he didn’t much care though, he did belong to Tom and he was perfectly happy with that. He doubted Tom would let him go even if he wanted him to. Strangely he took satisfaction in that notion.

“You have done well, Bella,” Tom said, though his gaze remained trained solely on Harry. He noticed the woman bristle slightly at that.

At that moment Harry felt a wave of pain wrack his body. Causing him to stumble momentarily. He had a feeling the stresses of the evening were catching up with him, and the pain which he had been steadily ignoring began to exacerbate. His turbulent magic seemed to react badly to heightened emotions. Tom often hypothesised why this may be the case, but Harry chose not to understand. Understanding would mean thinking of that night, and thinking about that night never ended well.

A slight cry slipped from Harry’s lips as the pain danced through him, making him increasingly lightheaded. Tom’s arms wrapped around him fully, steadying him, and his soulmate began whispering calming words within his ear. Harry would snap at Tom for treating him like a child if he had any breath to spare.

“Let’s get you back to bed, my love,” Tom said quietly after the pain had ebbed slightly.

“I don’t want to disturb your meeting, Tom,” Harry protested, his voice shaky.

“Harry,” Tom warned, his voice brooking no argument.

Harry sighed, but he did agree with his soulmate. Meeting so many people and worrying about Tom had been a rather tiring affair. He began to nod as Tom indicated for Harry to hold onto his arm, before halting for a moment.

He smiled awkwardly before saying, “It was nice meeting you all.”

He received smiles back at him, and Harry felt he’d perhaps endeared some of Tom’s friends to him. Or at least he hoped so.

A second later and Tom had whisked them both away, the loud crack of apparition announcing their departure.

When Harry opened his eyes once again he was back within their bedroom. He gazed at his bed longingly and as such easily accepted Tom’s help who began to undress Harry, sliding on a fresh pair of pyjamas for him and guiding him towards the bathroom so he could clean his teeth and wash his face.

Afterwards, Tom tucked Harry into bed, his hands running through his hair once again. Just as Harry was about to drift off, Harry spoke, “Tom?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you explain to me what your meeting was about tomorrow?”

Tom’s hand halted in his hair for a moment.

Harry continued, “Please, I want to help.”

Tom sighed but it was fond, “Tomorrow, my soul.”

Harry smiled wanly before closing his eyes once again.

***

Tom sat and stared at his soulmate for a moment, his fingers continuing to card through his hair.

This evening had been… unplanned. He felt himself grow anxious that so many of his Death Eaters had come so close to Harry. And with the Order beginning to rise again it was not a good thing to have his love so vulnerable. He shuddered at the thought of Harry coming into contact with his enemies.

If anything were to happen to Harry, he’d happily watch the world burn.

That was a promise.