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“Harry!” Tom tore up and down the hallways of Slytherin Manor (formerly known as Riddle House, reclaimed and renamed when he took his lordship and Wizengamot seat), searching for his precious mate. “HARRY! Where are you!? Please, if you can hear me call out—“
He leaned against the threshold of their master suite to catch his breath. He’d made a full circuit of the property, and his tiny green-eyed omega was nowhere to be found. This was officially an emergency now; he would have to send a Patronus to the Ministry, call in the Aurors. Harry had gotten peeved at him the last four times he did this—when it turned out he had not been kidnapped but was visiting the Burrow, going for a fly, at lunch with friends, and borrowing a cup of sugar from the neighbors, respectively—but they’d since instituted failsafes to prevent further premature panic attacks. He always left a note now before going out, but today there was nothing. Nobody could blame Tom for alerting the authorities before Harry could be hurt or spirited out of the country entirely. It was what any responsible alpha would do.
And Tom was hardly just any alpha. He was Minister for Magic and lord of a noble house, and there were countless nefarious reasons some scum might want to take his mate hostage, to ransom for gold or political favors. He drew his wand and recalled a memory from their courtship period, when Harry had stayed overnight for the first time and Tom had experienced the bliss of waking beside him.
“Expecto Pat—“
Wait.
Something else had happened that first morning after, after Tom had told his omega to help himself to anything in the kitchen and left for work with a kiss on the cheek. Something that had made Tom nearly as frantic as he was now, when he’d returned that evening to find the sheets mussed but no trace of Harry. And then it had happened again when they were newly bonded, Harry with a fresh mating bite on his neck and craving his alpha’s presence every minute.
And now…now, his little mate was just two months into carrying their first child, as they’d learned at a tearful, joyous Healer’s appointment last week. He was surely anxious, hormonal, seeking comfort above all else. Could it be…?
The large dresser beneath the east-facing window wobbled slightly, as if it were alive.
Tom crossed the room in three long strides and knelt before the wide chest of drawers. He pulled open the drawer where he kept his own clothes, heart pounding with hope—
And once again looked down upon the most beautiful sight his cynical eyes had ever seen: his darling Harry, curled in a makeshift “nest” of Tom’s shirts, trousers and boxers, all the neat folds completely undone from copious burrowing and snuggling. He was asleep, snoring lightly, one small hand resting on his just-barely curved stomach and the other clutching his alpha’s favorite sock.
Sleepy green eyes cracked open at the disturbance, and his face broke into a beaming smile when he saw Tom hovering over him. “Tom! You’re home! Sorry about your stuff, I was just missing you so much and…”
He was cut off as Tom lifted him from the drawer and pressed him close to his chest, burying his nose in the mussed raven locks and scenting him urgently, running his hands over his body as if to check for damage. Harry certainly wasn’t complaining though; he gave a pleased little squeak and clung back even tighter, and soon settled into contented purring.
Only when Tom’s breathing had evened out, and he felt himself emitting low rumbles of his own in response, did he pull back a little and look Harry seriously in the eyes. “Harry, you know I don’t care about my things. I care about you, and I was worried half to death when I came home and couldn’t find you. We’ve talked about this.”
Harry’s face fell, and his lips parted in mild distress as he realized. “Oh no, Tom, I’m so sorry, you’re right. I just needed your scent so bad, and the baby too I think, and I wasn’t thinking straight…”
“Mmm…I’m sorry I have to work so much.” Tom rubbed his back sympathetically. “Didn’t you hear me calling, though?”
The omega turned pink and bit his lip sheepishly. “I…might have cast a Muffling Charm on the drawer, to make it cozier.”
“But isn’t it terribly dark in there? And”—an even more terrifying thought hit him like a bolt of lightning—“what if you got stuck and ran out of air? It’s not safe to sleep in an enclosed space!” Images flashed through his mind of his time in the orphanage, children forgotten in cupboards or storage boxes, asphyxiating silently with no one to even notice their absence.
“Don’t be silly, Tom, I’m still a wizard, remember?” He slid his holly wand out from his sleeve and twirled it in his fingers. “I brought this with me, and I just cast as many Night Light and Oxygenator charms as I need.”
“Oh, darling.” Tom pulled Harry close again and dropped his head to the omega’s nest of curls, inhaling his calming pheromones and the new, wondrous milky scent of their child growing inside him. “You may find it cozy, but my heart will give out before I meet our baby if you keep scaring me like this.”
Harry pouted and dug his chin into Tom’s shoulder. “But it’s the only thing that even comes close to having you here for real!” he said with the hint of a distressed whine.
“Then send me a Patronus next time, and I’ll come home immediately to spend the day with you.”
This time it was Harry who pulled away, giving his alpha a hard smack on the chest. “Absolutely not! You just became Minister, and it’s peak season for the Wizengamot. I will not be the needy omega who distracted his alpha and tanked the faction’s approval ratings!”
Tom grinned. In reality, he’d resign in a heartbeat and become a stay at home father if Harry so much as asked him with that look in his eyes. But his mate loved him too much in return, cared too much about Tom’s own dreams to ever do that—as evidenced by his concern for nonsense like “approval ratings”, despite his oft-stated disdain for politics.
“All right, all right. But in that case it seems we’re at an impasse, darling. How do you suggest we both maintain our peace of mind for the next seven months, hmm?”
Harry scrunched up his face in concentration. “I’m not sure…” he said slowly. “When I get like this I can’t rest until I’m in a warm, safe place, with your scent completely surrounding me.”
An idea began to bloom in Tom’s mind, at the same time as the smile on his face widened into a smirk. “Well, there is one way I can think of…” Providing I can talk you into it, he left unsaid, but he wasn’t too worried about that part. He’d always been exceptionally good at talking Harry into things; otherwise the beautiful omega would never have given him a chance in the first place.
“Uh oh, you’ve got your Slytherin scheming face on.”
“No, no, you’ll like this,” Tom assured him earnestly. “Just hear me out, love…”
*
The next day, Tom sat behind his desk in the Minister’s office, going over the influx of new proposals with a pot of red ink and a heavy quill hand, when there was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” he called without looking up, and soon Corban Yaxley, his DMLE director, was standing before him.
“My Lord—Minister—I have the in-depth statistics on crime rates you requested.”
“Ah, yes, my thanks, Yaxley. Just leave them here, if you would.”
The severe man stepped forward and set the thick stack of files on the desk. He paused, his eyes catching on the new set of robes Tom was wearing. They were a different style than usual, billowy and voluminous where the fastidious Minister had always preferred a precisely tailored fit.
“Those are, er, interesting robes, sir.”
Tom smiled smugly, deigning to glance at his subordinate for the first time since he entered. “They are, aren’t they? A very reputable brand; Severus’s recommendation, in fact. I find that these are more…comfortable for everyone, for the time being.”
“I see.” He obviously didn’t. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work. Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything else you require—“
Tom’s robes shifted noticeably in his lap behind the desk, despite the stillness of the man himself. A lumpy shape made its way up his chest, almost like there was something alive in there. Yaxley’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in surprise—
A head of tousled black hair popped out of the Minister’s wide cowl neck collar, and the hardened Auror almost shrieked before he recognized the delicate features and crooked glasses of Harry Potter-Riddle, the people’s beloved First Omega.
“Mmm…Tom, is someone there? M’hungry, I want treacle tart with crunchy peanut butter on top…”
Yaxley sputtered for a few moments, but Tom only met him with a firm, level stare.
“Are you going to make him repeat himself, Yaxley, or shall I write it down for you? My omega—and our unborn child—require sustenance. Please make yourself useful, post haste.”
“I, um—of course, my Lord. Crunchy peanut butter, did you say?”
Tom whispered gently to Harry for a moment, then nodded sharply in confirmation; Yaxley fled the room before he could be presented with any other orders so far outside his job description. Merlin, if it was true—if Tom Riddle’s beloved husband was really with child—then everyone was in for a rough several months, as the already famously exacting Minister was flooded with overprotective alpha instincts.
Still, if he intended to go about the business of running Britain, and all the photo ops that entailed, with an adorable pregnant omega permanently nested in his robes, it was likely to do wonders for the approval ratings…
Back in the office, Harry twisted clumsily against Tom’s chest, trying to get a better look at his surroundings without losing his hard-won comfortable position.
“Tom, who was that? I didn’t interrupt anything important, did I?”
“No, darling, it was just a staff member who’s gone to get your treacle tart. Is everything alright in there? Nothing scratching you?”
Harry shook his head, the movement doubling as an affectionate nuzzle against his mate’s scent gland. “No, it’s absolutely brilliant. Thank Severus for me, okay? It’s so silky…and there are so many inside pockets…!”
He ducked back inside the soft folds, murmuring happily to himself. Tom was quite sure he’d already filled many of those inner pockets with soft fabric swatches, small plush toys, and other comforting nesting materials.
And the alpha loved it. He could work hard at his dream job without fear or anxiety, feeling that his mate and child were healthy and happy with every breath and heartbeat against his own body. The public would swoon over the image of their new young, vital Minister, a strong leader and a devoted husband.
Here, finally, he had everything he’d ever wanted, held safely within his grasp.