Chapter Text
The Tolerant Vow
Chapter One
They were married on a cold December morning, still wearing the robes they had entered Dumbledore’s office in, with only Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin as witnesses. Harry choked on the vows, far too aware of Snape’s hand clasped firmly in his and the unmistakable look of derision on the man’s face.
Harry suspected they had expected him to shout or protest. Everyone present certainly looked braced for an argument. But none came. Instead, he had been handed a book and instructed to read from a marked page—an ancient marriage rite that allowed two the bound pair to share magic in times of dire need. The spell had originally been created for “sickly” witches and wizards whose families could afford to marry them to powerful spouses. The documented results were remarkable: an heir once pale, frail, and bedridden for months each year had gone on to live a long and healthy life; a witch declared incapable of surviving pregnancy had not only endured but gone on to bear eight healthy children.
Harry hadn’t needed to ask who they intended him to marry. Raw power radiated from Snape—his magic hot and sharp, almost tangible, as though the air itself burned whenever he raised his wand.
“This spell was created for health,” Harry said quietly. “How do you know it will work against Voldemort?”
“We don’t know for certain,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “But I believe that when the moment comes—if your magic falters against his—Severus’s magic will come to you. It may be the thing that ends this once and for all.”
Harry wanted an end. He was exhausted, grieving Sirius, and utterly unwilling to lose anyone else.
“Alright.”
Snape raised an eyebrow at his lack of resistance but said nothing. Remus and McGonagall exchanged a glance. Dumbledore smiled.
“I knew you would understand, my boy. You are wise beyond your years. Now—there are a few things you must know. I will conduct the ceremony. We considered creating only the magical bond and not completing the legal marriage, but we cannot be certain the spell would accept that. Both will be completed. The bond cannot be broken, though a divorce is possible. The marriage certificates will remain with me for now. Each of you will have a copy for your records. No one outside this room must know what has happened today. Surprise will work in our favour.”
Dumbledore paused.
“You will move into Severus’s quarters. The spell must recognise your intent to be married. The students will be told you have your own room for safety reasons, and you are not permitted visitors.”
Harry already knew what came next.
“The marriage must be consummated,” Dumbledore continued, unperturbed. “I recommend regular activity.”
“Define regular,” Harry said, proud that his voice did not crack.
McGonagall fixed her gaze on the wall. Remus studied the floor. “I believe that is something for the two of you to discuss,” Remus said carefully. “There is no definitive answer—only what suits a pair’s… appetite.”
Harry felt his face burn. He dared to glance at Snape, who wore his usual mask of cool indifference.
“You’ve nothing to say?” Harry challenged.
Snape turned to him slowly. “There are, of course, pros and cons to having a sixteen-year-old in my bed.”
“Severus!” McGonagall snapped sharply, while Remus shouted over her that Snape always took things too far.
Harry lunged forward, shoving Snape to the floor. The man’s lapse was momentary—he caught Harry’s arms, flipped him effortlessly, and pinned him beneath his weight.
“You will learn control,” Snape said coldly. “Emotional outbursts will not defeat the Dark Lord.”
Harry turned his face away.
“That is enough,” Dumbledore commanded.
Snape held still for a moment longer before rising. Remus helped Harry to his feet.
“Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly, “you will teach Harry everything you know, but you will not be cruel. Cruelty will not help him. And Harry—remember, I ask much of Severus as well. He has sacrificed greatly for this cause, and now I ask this of him.”
“Albus—” Snape began.
Dumbledore raised a hand. “You are to be married. Harry must know your true self. He must trust you with his life, as I trust you with mine.”
Snape took a steadying breath and moved to the edge of the room. Remus drew Harry aside, speaking quietly. McGonagall joined Snape, her tone low and firm.
Ten minutes later, they were married.
Harry was sent up to his dormitory to pack, McGonagall at his side. She tersely answered his friends’ questions about what was happening and where he was going. Harry mouthed “later” to Ron, who sat on his bed watching him with a sullen expression.
She spelled his trunk to follow and marched him down to the third floor, then straight into a large portrait of a young woman in a black dress. The woman stood with her arms wrapped around her waist, staring out forlornly. They stepped through into a small room, barely large enough for the two of them, with a single door set into the wall opposite the portrait.
“Touch your hand to the door, Potter.”
He did as instructed, and she muttered a spell over his hand. He didn’t flinch as the door glowed a bright blue for several seconds.
“We didn’t think it wise for you to enter Severus’ quarters via the dungeons,” she said. “So we created a second entrance. It’s keyed to you—and to Severus, of course. Now, if you’d open the door, please.”
He did.
Beyond it lay a large sitting room. A wide fireplace faced a plush dark-green sofa and two armchairs. The floor was covered in a brown-and-cream patterned carpet with an intricate design that Harry could only describe as old. The back wall was lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, except for the final metre, where a corner unit held cupboards above and below. A narrow stove stood there with a kettle resting on it, and beside the counter was a single large white sink, with pans and utensils hanging neatly above.
Set slightly back, near a worn-looking armchair, was a large desk. Papers were arranged in neat stacks, interspersed with quills and the occasional book. Beside the desk were two doors, which Harry assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom.
Dumbledore stood in front of a tall cabinet with his back to the room, apparently preparing drinks. Across the room stood Snape and Remus. Snape—his husband now—had his arms crossed while Remus leaned in close, speaking quietly. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were discussing.
McGonagall cleared her throat and delicately nudged him further into the room. The others turned to look at them.
“Ah, there you are,” Dumbledore said, turning with a tray of pale, fizzing drinks in tall glasses. “Elf-made champagne. I had a bottle tucked away.”
Harry stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. He was fairly sure he heard Snape scoff. It was Professor McGonagall who spoke.
“Albus, really. I’m not certain Potter feels like celebrating this union with elf champagne.”
At that moment, Harry’s suitcase dropped to the floor with a solid thunk. He jumped.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. “It is tradition to have a wedding breakfast, no matter the circumstances. Indulge an old man, hm?”
McGonagall sighed in exasperation but pushed Harry forward once more. Remus and Severus joined them in the centre of the room, and the Headmaster floated a glass to each of them.
“To this union,” Dumbledore said, raising his glass.
The others lifted theirs slightly in response, but none repeated the words. Still, they all took a sip.
Remus moved to stand beside Harry and gestured for him to sit. Snape returned to his desk and seated himself behind it. McGonagall shot the Headmaster a scathing look before joining Snape, transfiguring a chair so she could sit beside him.
Dumbledore tipped back his drink and headed for the door. “I’m going to the kitchens to ask the elves to prepare some food.”
Before leaving, he waved his wand, and a gramophone in the corner—one Harry hadn’t noticed—began to play a classical piece.
Remus cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted.
Remus nodded. “If it’s any consolation, Severus feels much the same. He’s—”
“A bastard?” Harry supplied.
“Cautious,” Remus corrected gently. “Which makes him defensive and… well, difficult. He hasn’t had an easy life—you know that—but he is honourable.” His voice was serious. “He’ll push you away, and he’ll probably be cruel at times. Those are his defences.”
“Right,” Harry said taking another sip of the drink.
Remus glanced around, “I wanted to talk to you about the consummation.”
“Merlin, Remus, do you have to,” he took a larger gulp of the drink then feeling his cheeks heat.
“I think I should.” Remus said seriously, “Are you a virgin?”
Harry nodded.
“I thought so. You know how…”
“Yes, yes. Please don’t say it. I know how it works.” Harry blushed. He’d heard the saying ‘wanted the floor to swallow him up’ but he’d never actually experienced it before. But right now anything was better than this conversation.
Remus chucked, “Ok I won’t. I’ll just say that I’ve spoken to Severus and I believe he’s going to be honourable about this part. Ok?”
Harry dared a glance at the man who was also looking in his direction, he wondered if McGonagall as having the same conversation with him.
Dumbledore thankfully returned then with a plate of sandwiches. He called the other to over. McGonagall sat on the other side of Remus and Snape and Dumbledore in opposite armchairs. The headmaster attempted to keep the mood jovial as the ate, or tried to eat, Harry managed no more than a couple of functionary bites. The man shared stories of other weddings he’d been to over the years… each story stranger than the next. Yet, he felt that no wedding was as strange as the one they’d had today.
After a while Snape stood up, “Albus, are you planning to leave at any point today or are you expecting me to bed Potter here on the carpet for your viewing pleasure?”
The headmaster stood, “I think we will say our goodbyes now boys.”
They left. Awkwardly. While Harry sat on the sofa and Snape stood at his desk with his arms crossed scowling at the all.
Harry remained seated while Snape walked over to the cabinet at the side of the fire pulling out a bottle of amber liquid and pouring two fingers into a glass before talking a large mouthful. He turned round looked at Harry for a moment then gestured for him to follow him. “Come. Bring your trunk.”
Harry watch the man stride through one of the doors. He steeled himself standing up blowing out a breath before he dragged his trunk through to the bedroom. The man stood by a wardrobe removing his robe and hanging it up. “I shall make some space for you tomorrow so you can hang your own robes.”
Harry glanced at the large bed that was in the centre of the room. The room itself was dark wood panels the bed matched that. The bedding was a deep green similar to the sofa. When he turned away the man was watching him again, “I will not be cruel, not in this, anyway.”
Harry felt disconnected with that line. He didn’t think the man had it in him to be considerate. “I don’t know what to do.” He confessed suddenly.
“I know.” The man stepped forward narrowing his eyes slightly as if considering his next words carefully. Harry felt dizzy it took all his might to stay standing. “I’m not in the habit of taking virgin brides to bed. I can make it easier… for both of us.”
Harry swallowed, it was all too real, too raw, and Snape was too close. With a quick flick of his wrist the man held up a potions vial. “Poison?”
“Aphrodisiac. Wildly available over the counter commonly used especially in arranged marriages like ours. Removes the inhibitions.” The man held it out palm up for Harry.
Harry hesitated, “You’ll take it too.”
“I prefer to keep my wits about me.” The man told him - Harry knew it was the truth.
He grabbed the vial downing it before he had chance to second guess himself. “How long… oh.”
A strange shiver ran down him making him suddenly feel lightheaded. He wobbled and the man’s hands held his shoulders to steady him. Harry looked up into his face. Looked properly for the first time today. The man was no beauty but his high cheek bones and bow lips held his attention they made his face uniquely handsome to the keen eye. The eyes though… his eyes where pure molten black as though a volcano had erupted and left two pure smooth stones behind. Harry saw power in those eyes, power, resilience, and restraint.
Snape took his chin tilting his head up. “Let’s begin.”
*
Harry yawned. He needed to go home; he was bone-tired. This really wasn’t how he wanted to be working. He rolled his neck to ease the stiffness and stood, pulling his robe from the rack beside the office door. As he stepped into the corridor, a few mediwitches glanced up at him from their station.
“Finished, Healer Potter?” one of them called as he passed.
He turned slightly. “My shift ended two hours ago. Reckon it’s about time I went to bed.” He gave them a small wave. “Have a good day, girls.”
What on earth had possessed him to volunteer for a month of night shifts? He really did have a hero complex. At least he had the next four days off—he planned to do nothing but sleep, eat, and catch up with friends.
Harry left St Mungo’s and walked a couple of streets away before ducking into an alley to Apparate. He reappeared outside the Hog’s Head, the jolt of magic making him dizzy. Clearly, he was more tired than he’d thought. After a few seconds, the spinning settled and he sighed, continuing on his way.
“Morning, Harry,” called one of the younger Honeydukes staff, waving as they put up a poster in the window.
Harry waved back before ducking into the bakery. The smell hit him immediately, making his mouth water.
“Another night shift?” Gorten the baker asked.
“Unfortunately,” Harry replied with a tired smile. “Smells beautiful as usual.”
“Best time to come—everything’s fresh out of the oven.”
“Don’t I know it. Right, I’ll have a dragon loaf, a pumpkin slice for after dinner, and a pain au chocolat for breakfast. You’re still using that Veela-made chocolate?”
“Yep—imported from France, but it’s the best,” Gorten said as he bagged the items. “Egg tart too?”
Harry smiled. “I’d better.”
After paying, he made his way through the village, down the narrow streets to a row of cottages, stopping at the walled cottage at the very end —the only one with a fully enclosed garden. He’d been drawn to it for the extra privacy. Passing through the wrought-iron gate, he walked the garden path, pleased at how well the wildflowers were blooming in the spring warmth, adding colour and depth to the front garden. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and toed off his shoes. It was a strictly shoe-free house.
He padded into the kitchen, put away his purchases, set the pain au chocolat on a plate, and boiled the kettle for tea. He only managed half a cup before yawning again, deciding a shower and bed were far more urgent.
He slept deeply.
When he woke, he was surprised to find it dark outside. Night shifts usually meant solid sleep, but it wasn’t often night when he woke. He cast a quick Tempus—just past eight in the evening. He groaned. It had been his last night shift, and he’d dearly wanted a decent night’s sleep so he could actually use the next day and see his friends.
Pulling on his dressing gown and slippers, he padded downstairs. He should really eat something proper—but first, coffee.
Before reaching the kitchen, he poked his head into the living room, where the stoic Potions Master sat with his face buried in a journal.
“Evening. Have you eaten?” Harry leaned against the doorway.
Severus glanced up over the top of the book. “I ate at the school.”
“Good. I’ve absolutely no energy for cooking.” Harry headed to the kitchen, quickly making a sandwich with the loaf he’d bought that morning, pouring two coffees, and adding the egg tart to a tray. He carried it back into the living room.
“Here—coffee. And I got you an egg tart.” He set the tray between the armchair and the loveseat, then sat on the loveseat so they could both reach it.
“You’ll make someone a very good housewife someday,” Severus said dryly, lifting the tart into his lap.
Harry laughed. “So you keep saying. Still, it’d be nice if you could manage the shops once in a while.”
Severus scoffed. “Absolutely not. I had all the comforts a grown man needs at the castle. You’re the one who wanted to leave—so you’re in charge of domestic supplies.”
“Severus! You only teach sixth- and seventh-years, and I don’t teach at all. It would’ve been strange for us to stay. Besides,” Harry added, gesturing around, “don’t you like it here? Your own space—and a garden but still walking distance from the school?”
“The house has its redeeming qualities,” Severus replied.
After the war—after Voldemort had been defeated—there had been no talk of divorce. Well, perhaps there had been among Harry’s friends. But not between them. Severus had never raised the subject, and Harry had never asked for one.
No one had known about the marriage until the crucial moment when their magic had paired to end the madman who had brought them both so much misery.
In the days that followed, they explained it to anyone who asked: the Order, the Aurors, the Wizengamot. Hermione had asked Harry if he was going to get a divorce now, and he’d only shrugged. Then Ginny had asked—Ginny with her pale face, bright red hair, and wide blue eyes. Harry hadn’t dragged it out. He’d told her plainly that he was never going to be with her. She’d cried.
That evening, when they returned to their quarters, Severus had given him a long look but said nothing. Harry had told him instead that he wanted to become a healer. Severus’s only response had been that Harry ought to start studying more seriously for his NEWTs.
The press had naturally been obsessed with them for weeks. They were hounded at the Ministry when they went for formal interviews. Their picture the front of the papers for weeks. Severus always a step in-front of Harry half hiding him from view. Photos of them sat next to each other, both looking tired, and sullen, outside court rooms waiting to give evidence. A picture had even appeared of them outside the office of ‘Births, Deaths, and Marriages’, after the Wizamagot ordered them to filed their marriage certificate which had been ‘kept safe’ by Dumbledore for all these years.
Witch Weekly romanticised their relationship. They managed to get tell all interviews from students in the castle . They’d even managed to get photos that really didn’t reflect the realty of their marriage. Well of course the photos where real - the time Harry had stumbled on the cobbles in Diagon Alley and Severus had caught him with both arms around his waist - that had been unlucky. The other photos had been from Harry graduation where they were caught talking in the corner, and one of Severus guiding him through a crowd with his hand on his back.
They really were an obsession for the Wizarding World for a long time. Maybe Harry would always be an obsession. He wondered if he had of dated would their have been as many articles or was it because it was him and Severus?
Harry was accepted into the Healer training programme at St Mungo’s. Severus announced that he intended to focus more on research. Dumbledore was retiring, McGonagall was taking over as Headmistress, and she agreed to keep Severus on part-time as the sixth- and seventh-year Potions professor.
Harry made an appointment with Gringotts and requested a full breakdown of his finances. He didn’t want to spend all the family silver on a house, but there was enough to buy somewhere well-located and still keep a comfortable sum for the future.
The goblins put him in touch with a real estate agent, who told him about a house in Hogsmeade. The evening before the viewing, Harry told Severus that he wanted to buy somewhere for them to live—somewhere of their own—and asked him to come along. Severus had grumbled about preferring to stay at Hogwarts, but Harry could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
It was a show. His last guard as he didn’t want to show his hand and admit that he might want to live with Harry somewhere of their own. He knew that Severus hadn’t worked out when Harry had stayed. Why he hadn’t gone back to the Gryffindor tower after Voldemort had defeated. Hadn’t worked out why he’d fallen desperately into his arms at night even though they spell had been cast - the bonds task full-filled.
Harry had loved the house immediately. And though Severus rarely expressed such things aloud, Harry could tell he liked it too. He’d seen how Severus lingered at the windows when he noticed the castle turrets rising above the forest, how he ran his hands over the old wooden kitchen worktops, wandered the garden, and swept every corner of the cellar with wandlight.
That evening, Harry announced that he wanted to buy it. Severus responded by informing him that he’d arranged for half the money to come from his own account.
“You’re going to pay for half?” Harry asked.
“I have the money, Potter, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Severus snapped.
Harry laughed. “No—just surprised you’re being so agreeable.”
Severus huffed and turned back to his book. Harry returned to his revision.
They received the keys a couple of weeks before term ended, but Harry had been overwhelmed with exams and worried about preparing the house. Severus rolled his eyes, took the keys, and told him he’d arrange the basics. The rest could be done over the summer.
Harry needn’t have worried. When he waved his friends off on the Hogwarts Express and walked to meet Severus at the house, Severus insisted on setting wards before they even stepped inside.
After an exhausting hour of complex spellwork, Harry entered the house tired but pleased to find a large brown leather sofa and chair in the living room, and a fridge and cooker installed in the kitchen. Severus hadn’t bought any food, so after placing their trunks in the bedroom—Harry noting the large wooden bed—they walked into the village, had a late lunch at the Hog’s Head, and then visited the baker, grocer, and butcher. Harry dragged Severus into a home store afterward, where he bought lamps, nesting side tables, ornaments, and picture frames.
Back at the house, Harry unpacked the food while Severus arranged the lamps and tables. He left the ornaments and frames for Harry.
They were empty frames. When Severus asked what photos Harry planned to put in them, Harry said he’d decide over the next few days. Severus informed him that he intended to build a potions lab in the cellar and that Harry had free rein over the rest of the house.
When Severus emerged the next day, Harry was finishing the living room. Half the walls were exposed brick, the rest wood-panelled, broken only by a black marble fireplace with built-in bookcases on either side. Harry unpacked the books from their Hogwarts quarters. Not all of them fit, so he stacked the rest in the second reception room they intended to use as an office. The dining room could wait—he wasn’t expecting guests any time soon.
Severus studied the photos carefully. One showed the Order from the previous summer, Harry and Severus at opposite ends of the group. Another was Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the Quidditch World Cup before fourth year. One was Severus and Lily, taken the summer after their first year—Harry knew how dear it was to him. The last photo showed Harry and Severus together. Colin Creevey had taken it in the days following Voldemort’s defeat. They were outside, likely on their way to the Ministry. Harry was smiling softly as he turned to say something, while Severus rolled his eyes.
“It felt strange not to have a photo of us in a house we bought together,” Harry said.
Severus called him a sentimental fool—but he didn’t remove it.
Harry spent the summer turning the house into a home. He cooked every night, did the shopping, and learned household cleaning spells. Severus perfected his lab, installing a second desk in one of the spare bedrooms meaning that Harry could have an upstairs office that belonged to him. Harry filled the spare shelves with medical texts, hoping he’d done enough to earn the grades he needed.
He had.
Severus read his results and merely said, “Better than I expected.”
He stayed for the celebratory dinner with Ron, Hermione, Remus, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Mr and Mrs Weasley. It was the first time Harry’s friends had sat down with his husband. It was awkward at first, but the younger ones adjusted quickly. Remus and Severus spoke quietly at times, but mostly they listened as Mr Weasley loudly discussed new Muggle inventions. Talk had turned to their new house, Harry had proudly showed them everyroom, they had commented how nice he’d decorated.
In September, Harry began healer training. It was gruelling. He barely had time for friends, but he persevered and qualified. Now they’d been married ten years, and he didn’t know where the time had gone. Ron still asked when he planned to divorce. Harry always shrugged and said, when the time is right. Hermione never asked, they were married now her and Ron with a toddler called Rosie whom Harry adored. They lived in a small house near Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ron was an Auror, Hermione was rising quickly through the ranks at the Ministry. He saw them often, their friendship strong than most.
“I’m going to bed,” Severus said suddenly, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
“Already?” Harry asked.
Severus gave him a look. “Yes. It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“I’m going to be awake all night, aren’t I?” Harry groaned.
“There are mild sleeping potions in my cabinet,” Severus said as he stood. “Four hours at most. If you take one at one a.m., it might reset your pattern.”
“I’ll think about it,” Harry sighed. “You know I hate potion help.”
“Suit yourself.”
A couple of hours later—after reading and eating again—Harry was restless. He stretched, switched off the lights, and padded down to the cellar. Severus’s lab housed a cabinet of common potions sold throughout the UK. Even the small Hogsmeade shops stocked Potion Master Snape’s wares.
Harry often helped apply the labels—work Severus despised. He was certain Severus planned to leave teaching altogether someday to focus entirely on research and the business.
Harry found the deep blue vial he recognised, drank it, and dropped the empty into the sink alongside dozens of others. Severus ran a return scheme—ten percent off with each returned vial—but hated cleaning them. At least Harry would have something to do tomorrow.
He showered, climbed into bed, and waited for sleep. It didn’t come.
“It’s like trying to sleep beside a beached mermaid,” Severus muttered suddenly, making Harry jump.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll go back downstairs.”
Severus huffed but pulled him back by the waist. “Stay.”
His lips pressed to the back of Harry’s neck, heat flaring instantly. This was why they never separated—why they endured. The bond hummed between them, addictive and undeniable. In moments like this, Harry barely cared that their marriage didn’t look like his friends marriages. Few people, he thought, had this all consuming connection when they touched. Harry almost laughed when he thought back to the first time and needing the help of a potion. He’d never used a potion again after that.
Harry turned, capturing Severus’s mouth and rolling them so Severus lay beneath him.
“If I take points from Gryffindor tomorrow,” Severus murmured, “I’ll be sure to tell them they can blame their Golden Boy.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Harry replied, undoing Severus’s pyjama buttons.
Severus let out a breathy laugh. “Why do you stay?”
“For this,” Harry said softly. “This feels right. I couldn’t imagine anyone else.”
Severus growled grabbing Harry’s arms stopping him from taking off his shirt, “Do not mention taking other lovers in this bed.”
Harry laughed then lent down to kiss the man again, “I can’t help it, you know it turns me on when you get possessive.”
Severus pulled at Harry’s bottoms by way of reply.
They only ever spoke about their relationship in moments like these—why they stayed, what bound them together. Harry still couldn’t explain it to his friends. They asked less now, but they still asked. Remus visited often, one of the few who spoke easily to them both, sometimes acting as a quiet intermediary when they argued—because they did argue. Sometimes they didn’t speak for days.
They had built up a tolerance of each other, an addiction to each other, it was probably terribly unhealthy especially if Harry was to ever speak about it with the mind healers at work but for now this was their life.