Chapter Text
“The Official has to say the vows exactly like that, Harry.” Hermione says sternly. Her face is pale, her eyes worried, but her mind is sharp. Harry is glad the brain of the operation is working just as smoothly as always. “If the Official changes the wording, you will pull away from the vow immediately, do you hear me?”
Harry nods, his ears ringing. He’s not listening as carefully as he should, he is aware. However, the last twenty-four hours were nothing but a rush. His eyes are burning, his mind overwhelmed with all the too important decisions he had to make in too little time. He feels like he’s forgetting something, as if he’s making a terrible mistake, as if this will change nothing but everything-
“I will end the vow if the wording is changed.” He repeats dutifully, glancing up at her. Her hair is bushy and unkept, her face pale and sweaty, the bags under her eyes rival his. She’s staring just past his head, over his shoulder. Probably at Ron, who’s sitting on the couch.
“It’s okay, mate.” A hand grabs him by his forearm and soon he’s wrapped into a hug, his nose buried in a broad shoulder. Ron smells like coffee and sweat, like hard work and worry, but it’s Ron. Harry’s arms close around his best friend, his fingers trembling when they grasp at the other’s hoodie. “It’s going to be alright.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” Harry hoarsely croaks. Tears are wetting his eyes; his glasses press into the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know- I just- It’s not like fighting, Ron.”
A soft sob escapes Hermione. It’s a fragile, quiet sound, and Harry knows there must be tears already running down her face. She approaches them, and then she throws her arms around them in a hug. Harry turns his head just enough that they’re all huddled up together, foreheads pressing together. Hermione’s hand is twisting in his shirt as if to physically keep him there, and Ron pressing Harry closer around his shoulders.
“You will make it, you hear me?” Hermione croaks, tearfully. Her breath hitches and she sniffles. “You’re Harry Potter, you survived the killing curse, and you will survive this, too, understood?”
Harry nods weakly, blinking furiously to keep his tears at bay. He allows Hermione to card through his hair, and he allows Ron to draw him closer until he can feel the other boy’s tears wet his robes.
Robes, that is new, too. Elegant, high-quality robes. They’re dark green, dark enough that it could almost count as black. The color makes him sick, but Ron assured him that he doesn’t look too much like Malfoy. Even if the collar cuts his airflow off.
“You have everything you need, right?” Ron asks quietly, pulling away after Hermione lets go of them. He’s staring at him with worry.
“Yeah.” His voice is nothing but hoarse croak, and he quickly swallows to make it sound more like himself. To reassure his best friends even a little. “The vows won’t allow him to do anything anyway.”
Hermione nods in agreement, even though she looks ready to throw up. Shakily, she hands him the paper with the vows they want Voldemort to make. Harry takes it, absently smoothing out the crooked corners. He doesn’t even pretend to look them over once more – he already read them a million times.
“That’s right. Hermione checked them all, you hear me?” Ron reaches out, grasping the sides of his face and turning his head to look at him. Since the news sunk in, Ron hovered over him. At first, he tried to convince him to decline, not to do it, but now he’s just seeking him out, as if scared he will be gone any moment. “You know Hermione wouldn’t- wouldn’t let them use them wrongly. She’s too smart to be outsmarted by the big bad Dark Lord.”
Harry snorts weakly, his smile thin and wobbly. Yes, he knows Hermione wouldn’t let Voldemort take advantage of their wordings, but it’s not like the vows extent to all the Death Eaters. Just Voldemort. Maybe Harry will not die, maybe he will even live to the official wedding – merely a social event – which is still a month away. Yet he doesn’t believe he will make it without a single bruise.
“She’s the brightest witch of our time, after all. What is a Dark Lord in comparison?” Harry whispers, lips curled. Hermione gently pulls him away from Ron and then fixes his hair. Like it matters. Her hand is cool against his burning head.
“And you, Harry, you- you are the bravest wizard of our time. And the most selfless one.” She whispers. Her fingers are trembling as she tucks some hair behind his ear. “You are the most selfless wizard I ever encountered.”
Harry doesn’t reply. He’s not sure if he’s selfless, or just incredibly selfish. After all, Harry just really doesn’t want to lose someone else in his life. He just really can’t deal with running anymore. He’s tired, he’s exhausted.
He’s exhausted.
So, is he actually selfless when he simply chooses to stop running?
⫘⫘⫘
The room they’re meeting in looks antique. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace, lightning up the small seating area in a warm orange. The couch he’s sitting on is colored in a deep red. Hermione sits on his right, Ron on his left. Caging him in and shielding him from Voldemort who sits on the armchair on the left side of the small table. Behind the Dark Lord stand two masked Death Eaters, who stay in the background.
Harry is holding onto the paper with the vows firmly. He hasn’t looked up at Voldemort at all, although he can feel those crimson eyes on him.
“You will exchange the planned vows and read over them,” The official says. He’s an old man, with a beard and white, fuzzy hair. “If you agree with them, we will continue. If not, you’ll adjust them together.”
Harry doesn’t recognize the official. It’s a stranger, a complete stranger. Harry had hoped…
He doesn’t look at his soon-to-be-husband, doesn’t dare to look at the face which haunts his nightmares. Ron gently eases the paper out of his tight grip and then holds it out to Voldemort. There’s some rustling, and then Ron holds a new paper in his hand, holding it out so all three can read Voldemort’s demands.
Harry can see Hermione’s eyes flying over the text. Harry has to concentrate hard to do the same – to actually read the vows in front of him.
I vow to not harm Lord Voldemort intentionally, nor to encourage others to.
I vow to not run away without the intention of returning.
I vow to not end the marriage at any time without agreement from Lord Voldemort.
I vow to not make plans of betraying Lord Voldemort.
I vow to not avoid Lord Voldemort after marriage.
Harry lets out a small breath, and he hears Ron do the same. Those vows don’t look as bad as they could be. Harry reads them over once more, his fingers trembling. He squeezes them to fists on his lap.
“I want adjustments.” Hermione speaks up, meeting Voldemort’s stare head-on. Harry furrows his brows. He can’t fathom what they would change. Ron meets Harry’s eyes, shrugging subtly. So, he has also no idea.
Voldemort hesitates, obviously not pleased to talk to Hermione about this.
“What kind of adjustments?” Voldemort asks. Harry finally looks up, meeting crimson eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, but he stares right back. Not backing down – not this time.
“He will vow to not end the marriage without valid reason.” Hermione already takes a pen, scribbling between the pristine handwriting without waiting for an answer. “And he will vow to not avoid you without good reason. An argument, or a fight, are both reasons for avoidance.”
Harry nods, agreeing a little too late, turning to look at Hermione. She’s right, as always, but he’s not clear-minded. He doesn’t want to be in the same room as Voldemort even if they are on good terms, so it will be even worse in an argument.
“That is… reasonable, I suppose.” Voldemort admits, before tossing the paper he received from Ron onto the table. “Your demands are also reasonable. Although I do want to change the wording of one.”
Hermione’s jaw stiffens, but she doesn’t deny it immediately. They thought of their demands a long time, they made everything perfect – Hermione is displeased Voldemort dares to change something. Ron clears his throat.
“What wording?” He asks, reaching out to grab Harry’s hand and squeeze it gently. Harry glances at him, surprised his best mate is taking the lead. That he’s angling his body to hide him from view.
“I vow to never force romantic or sexual actions onto Harry James Potter.” Voldemort crosses his legs, his head tilting to look right past Ron at him. Harry shudders. Their original vow forbade Voldemort to ever make a sexual or romantic move on him. Ever. Changing the vow this way makes it obvious that Voldemort expects Harry to change his mind. He feels a little sick, thinking about it.
Hermione clenches her eyes shut, letting the vow run through her mind at least thrice, before she nods slowly.
“Acceptable.”
“Hermione!” Ron hisses, and Harry wholeheartedly agrees. “It is not acceptable!”
While his friends argue, Harry meets Voldemort’s eyes once again. There’s a small, knowing smile playing on those pale lips, the man’s eyes narrowed intensely. Harry stares back, his stomach churning. He tries to find any harmful intention in that man’s eyes.
“If Hermione says it’s acceptable, it is.” Harry’s voice is quiet, hoarse. The first words he has spoken in Voldemort’s presence until now. Ron narrows his eyes at the other’s decision, obviously not pleased, but then he nods slowly.
“Is everyone agreeing to the vows?” the official asks neutrally, not looking up from his papers. The marriage contract. Harry wonders what can be so interesting about them. Or maybe he simply tries to avoid their eyes.
“Yes.” Voldemort agrees, throwing a look towards Harry. Not his friends, but Harry. Hermione nods for all of them, agreeing for Harry. She reaches out and takes his free hand, squeezing it once, before letting go. Ron also lets go of him, but only after sending him a reassuring look.
Voldemort rises from his armchair, smoothing out his dark robes with a flick of his wrist. His robes are of the same quality as Harry’s. When Harry rises, Hermione tugs on the edge of his robes and smooths them out instead. Maybe it doesn’t look elegant, but he does feel cared for.
Voldemort reaches out his arm, offering his hand. Harry looks up into Voldemort’s eyes. Sharp and challenging, beckoning him closer. He takes a small breath, and then he hesitantly reaches and grasps Voldemort’s forearm. It’s surprisingly strong. More surprising are his long, slim fingers wrapping completely around his forearm in turn.
Harry pulls his eyes away from him, staring at his robes instead. He can’t bear it.
“I will bond you.” The official says, rising from his seat. However, he doesn’t come too close – to either of them. The man lifts his wand, and golden strands wrap around their joined hands. Their joined arms.
Voldemort doesn’t look away from him through it all. His crimson eyes feel heavy on him, never moving. Harry slowly raises his gaze – and then they’re looking at each other.
“Do you, Lord Voldemort, swear to never harm Harry James Potter intentionally?”
Voldemort doesn’t look away. His gaze never wavers.
“I swear.”
“Do you swear to offer him three meals a day, to give him shelter and warmth, and to make sure he’s lacking no basic need?”
“I swear.”
“Do you swear that you will never force any romantic or sexual action onto him?”
“I swear.”
“Do you swear to stop the attacks on muggleborns, muggles and squibs, do you swear to live in peace, and do you swear to never kill or torture anyone ever again?”
“…I swear.”
The official lowers his wand, and the golden strings dim. Then he raises his wand again, and their roles reverse. Harry’s palm is sweating and his heart pounds.
“Do you, Harry James Potter, swear to never harm Lord Voldemort intentionally, nor to encourage others to?”
Harry wets his lips. He knows he doesn’t look as certain as Voldemort does. He can’t just blurt the answer as if it’s an easy decision.
“…I swear.”
“Do you swear not to run away without the intention of returning?”
“Y-yes, I swear.”
“Do you swear not to end the marriage at any point without a good reason?”
“I- I swear.”
“Do you swear to never make plans of betraying Lord Voldemort?”
“I swear.”
“Do you swear to not avoid Lord Voldemort after marriage, if there’s not a good reason to do so?”
“I swear.”
Harry lets go of Voldemort’s arm, needing to back away, needing to get away. But the man holds on. Harry tugs, staring at Voldemort incredulously. His arm slips free, but Voldemort catches his hand, not letting go.
“The marriage contract.” Voldemort demands, his eyes snapping to the official who quickly gathers the papers and lays them out. Harry swallows dryly, glancing at Ron – Hermione is too far behind him to be seen – who clenches his fists and shoots him a thin-lipped smile. Pained, but encouraging.
“Two signatures.” The official says, pointing to the empty lines. He holds out the quill to Harry first. The quill looks familiar, and the lack of ink makes his mouth dry. The man takes his hesitation for confusion. “A blood quill. It will-“
“I know.” Harry snaps, then quickly takes a breath. He doesn’t feel too bad with snapping at the unfriendly man. “Just- just give it to me.”
He snatches the quill out of the man’s hand. His fingers are trembling, and his free hand is still held. The grip makes his skin crawl, although it does not hurt him. Crimson eyes drill into his head from behind.
Harry quickly scribbles down his signature, his chicken scrawl this time not accompanied by ink blots. It doesn’t feel like the signature changed anything. He feels as unmarried as before. He doesn’t feel better, he doesn’t feel worse. It’s underwhelming, nearly. He doesn’t even feel any pain.
Voldemort takes the quill from him, their fingers brushing. Then he sets his elegant, cursive signature next to his scrawl. Now Harry almost feels embarrassed at his handwriting.
“We will apparate to the manor immediately.” Voldemort informs him. He turns to Harry, towering over him. At least it feels like it. Although in truth Voldemort is not that much taller than him.
The words take time to make sense in his head. The manor. Not his manor. Harry’s head snaps up.
“Malfoy manor.” Harry whispers, eyes wide. They’re staying at Malfoy manor. A place which is crawling with Death Eaters, which belongs to the Malfoys. His stomach sinks.
“Yes. Malfoy manor.”
Harry swallows dryly, tugging free from his- his husband. He turns to Ron and Hermione who look as panicked as him. They didn’t think about that. They didn’t question it. They thought Voldemort has his own place by now.
He wants to grab for his friends, end this marriage, and go back home. He wants to cry and hug them and stay with them.
Before any of the three can react, Voldemort steps forward and grabs his upper arm. Then they’re gone.