Chapter Text
When Harry Potter was six years old, his preschool teacher read the class Cinderella. That day changed the little boy's life forever because, for the first time, he felt like he'd found a purpose.
"And they lived happily ever after," the teacher finished with a smile.
One curious little girl raised her hand.
"Do people become happy when they get married?"
The teacher smiled warmly.
"Yes. Take Cinderella, for example. Once she became the prince's wife, she never had to suffer her stepmother's abuse again."
Harry listened with wide, hopeful eyes. If getting married meant escaping the Dursleys and living happily ever after, then maybe that could happen to him too.
The thought fascinated him.
He bit his lip, wishing with all his heart that it could be true. After all, Cinderella and he were very similar. They were both abused by their relatives, blamed for things they hadn't done, and even did strange things—like talking to animals.
Maybe...
Maybe he could have a happy ending just like hers.
A few weeks later, Harry was pulling weeds in his aunt's garden when he overheard two neighbors talking. One man was telling the other everything he had done to celebrate his wedding anniversary with his wife.
"Wow, mate, you really went all out. Wasn't that a little...?"
He trailed off, unsure whether "expensive," "extravagant," or both was the right word. It sounded like far more than he would ever do, no matter how much he loved his wife.
"Well... yeah, a little," the man admitted with a laugh. "But you know what they say: happy wife, happy life."
The men laughed together.
Harry didn't understand why it was funny.
He had only been half-listening anyway, more interested in finishing his chore before the afternoon heat became unbearable.
Still...
The phrase stayed with him.
Happy wife, happy life.
It only confirmed what he already believed.
Marriage was the key to happiness.
Harry witnessed that firsthand only a few days later.
It was the first week of summer vacation.
His lazy cousin Dudley was sprawled in front of the television, blasting his video games at full volume, while Harry remained shut inside his cupboard, pretending he didn't exist.
Apparently Aunt Petunia was angry with him.
Harry couldn't remember doing anything to upset her or earn her wrath, so he finally gathered the courage to complain.
But the moment he peeked out, he saw his aunt so furious that she was about to unplug Dudley's game console straight from the wall.
Harry immediately fell silent.
Just then, the front door opened.
"Pet, darling, I'm home!" Uncle Vernon called. "And happy anniversary. I brought you something."
He held out a bouquet of flowers and a small gift box.
Instantly, Petunia's anger vanished.
She walked gracefully toward her husband.
Harry watched as the adults kissed. His aunt buried her face in the flowers before opening the little box. Judging by her reaction, there was a piece of jewelry inside.
"Vernon... this is too much," Petunia murmured, trying not to become attached to the pearl necklace she now held. She knew they couldn't really afford something so expensive, especially after spending so much on Dudley's new game console.
"Oh, don't worry about that, Pet," Vernon replied dismissively. "It's nothing."
He kissed her cheek.
"You're the best wife in the world. You deserve to be reminded of that."
Then he fastened the necklace around her neck before planting a playful kiss against it.
Petunia flushed brightly.
"Vernon..." she scolded weakly, though the attempt failed miserably.
After that, Aunt Petunia beamed as she called her men to dinner.
She proudly served the feast she had prepared, doting on Vernon while he praised every bite.
"I swear, darling, this is the best cake I've ever had. I really won the lottery marrying a wife as wonderful as you."
Petunia blushed like a lovestruck teenager.
"Vernon, please..." she protested shyly, even as she basked in the compliments and rewarded him with another slice of cake.
Harry didn't understand the strange performance his aunt and uncle were putting on.
Thoughtfully, he sat down on the old futon where he slept.
At that exact moment, the cupboard door opened.
Without a word, Aunt Petunia ordered him to come eat.
To Harry's surprise, he was allowed to share the same feast.
He wisely said nothing.
Not about the food.
Not about being allowed to sit quietly at the table.
Least of all while Aunt Petunia happily washed the dishes, smiling every time she glanced at her new necklace—or at her husband.
That day Harry reached a simple conclusion.
A happy wife makes everyone happy.
He repeated those words to himself many times afterward.
Whenever Aunt Petunia was in a wonderful mood, Harry received larger portions of food, fewer chores, and more free time.
Uncle Vernon was calmer too.
He didn't yell nearly as much.
Sometimes, if Harry was especially lucky, Vernon even brought him a small treat. Nothing extravagant like Dudley's gifts, but a lollipop or a handful of sweets wasn't so bad.
So Harry became certain.
Being a happy wife made everyone else's life happier too.
Harry and Aunt Petunia were cleaning out the storage shed one afternoon. She kept gardening tools, cleaning supplies, and all sorts of odds and ends she enjoyed collecting.
Suddenly—
She screamed.
Within seconds, Uncle Vernon came rushing over. Harry had no idea how his uncle had managed to haul himself off the sofa so quickly, but he couldn't complain. Vernon immediately focused on calming Petunia, who was shrieking hysterically.
"Vernon! A rat!" she cried, hiding behind his broad back.
Like a hero facing down a monster, Vernon marched into the shed.
Harry never saw how he dealt with it. The moment Vernon arrived, Petunia hurried outside, only pausing long enough to order Harry back to work.
So he obeyed.
That evening at dinner, Petunia praised Vernon for saving her from the horrible creature.
The man practically seemed to grow several inches taller as he proudly declared that, as her husband, it was his duty to protect and take care of her—especially because she was such a wonderful wife.
Harry listened carefully.
He wished someone would protect him like that.
Maybe someday, he thought sadly as he lay in his cold bed that night.
As the days passed, Harry found himself thinking more and more about what it meant to be a good wife.
He knew he was becoming obsessed with the question.
Everything seemed to revolve around it.
The answer came several months later.
His aunt had sent him to the corner shop to buy a pair of earrings. On the way home, Harry accidentally overheard a married couple arguing inside their house. Their windows were wide open, and they were shouting loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
"You never take me anywhere!" the wife yelled. "You never buy me gifts or do anything thoughtful for me!"
"If you were a good wife, things would be different!" her husband shot back.
Harry slowed his pace, listening intently.
The man accused his wife of never taking care of him, never satisfying him, never giving him children, and neglecting their home.
He called her lazy and irresponsible.
"A terrible wife," he concluded.
Harry walked home much more slowly than usual, trying to absorb every word.
The moment he understood what made someone a good wife, he hurried back before Aunt Petunia became angry that he had taken too long buying the eggs.
As he walked, he thought about how important a good wife seemed to be.
How much she affected everyone's life.
But deep down...
Harry realized something.
He didn't want to have a good wife.
He wanted to be someone's good wife.
He wanted someone to take care of him the way Uncle Vernon looked after Aunt Petunia.
The thought of receiving love, gifts, and protection in exchange for caring for a home, cooking meals, and looking after his husband was incredibly tempting.
Harry wasn't entirely sure what "satisfying your husband" meant, but if Aunt Petunia could do it, then surely he could learn too.
The only problem...
As far as Harry knew, only women could be wives.
And he was a boy.
His dream deflated like a balloon with a hole in it.
Or so he thought.
Nearly three months later, his new neighbors showed him that things weren't as simple as he had believed.
That afternoon, Harry was washing the back windows of the house when someone called out to him.
Seeing the little boy's condition, the neighbor invited him over for a cup of hot chocolate and a chance to rest.
He was worried that no one else seemed to care that Harry was dressed far too lightly for the cold or that his hands had already turned red from the freezing water.
He simply wanted to help.
Harry hesitated.
The man was a stranger.
And Aunt Petunia would be furious if the windows weren't finished.
But then the young man added that he'd also give Harry a slice of strawberry cheesecake as thanks for all his hard work.
That tipped the scales.
For the first time in a long while, Harry felt as though someone appreciated his work.
The man, who looked to be in his twenties, lifted Harry under the arms and carried him over the low fence separating their gardens.
Once inside, he pointed Harry toward the bathroom so he could wash up while he prepared everything.
When Harry returned, a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a slice of cheesecake were waiting for him.
He happily dug in as they chatted.
That was how Harry learned his kind neighbor's name.
Azrael.
He also worked from home.
Just then, the front door opened.
"Honey, I'm home!" another voice called.
"I'm in the kitchen—with a guest!" Azrael answered.
"As long as he's not cuter than me, we're good," the newcomer joked.
"Oops," Azrael laughed. "Sorry. He's definitely cuter than you."
A moment later, the newcomer walked into the kitchen.
"Damn... he really is cuter than me," the man admitted dramatically, smiling at Harry.
Then, in an obviously playful display of possessiveness, he wrapped an arm around Azrael's waist and kissed him.
"Just don't steal my wife from me," he teased Harry. "I know he's adorable, but he's mine."
Harry froze.
The spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
"...Wife?" he whispered.
"A man can be... a wife?"
He wasn't used to asking questions.
Still...
He couldn't hold this one back.
The two neighbors exchanged a glance before Azrael smiled gently.
"Yes," he said. "A man can be a wife too. Some people might not understand it, but that doesn't make it wrong."
Harry's eyes lit up.
Satisfied with the answer, he finished his snack and returned home to finish cleaning the windows.
Fortunately...
Aunt Petunia never discovered he'd slipped away.
After that day, whenever Azrael spotted Harry working in the yard, he would bring him a sandwich or a bottle of water if it looked like the boy had been working for hours. If Harry wasn't wearing anything to protect himself from the weather, Azrael would lend him a cap on sunny days or a pair of gloves when it was cold.
Harry accepted each kindness with quiet gratitude.
More than that, he realized Azrael was truly a wonderful wife.
He knew how to care for people—especially children.
Harry began mentally taking notes, hoping that one day he could be just like him.
Now that he knew becoming a wife was actually possible, Harry threw himself into learning household chores and improving his cooking.
From then on, every punishment his relatives gave him became another opportunity to practice being a proper wife.
He spent more time focusing on cleaning, cooking, and maintaining the house than he did on his schoolwork.
As far as Harry could tell, good wives didn't need excellent grades.
Uncle Vernon was delighted that Harry had become more hardworking and obedient around the house.
Harry took that as proof that he was on the right path.
So he worked even harder.
For now, he was happy.
He knew how to keep a house clean and prepare meals.
As for satisfying his future husband...
He still wasn't entirely sure what that involved.
Something told him he shouldn't ask anyone directly.
He still remembered how embarrassed everyone had looked after overhearing that married couple's argument, and how people had criticized the husband for talking about such private matters in public.
Harry learned that some things simply weren't meant to be discussed openly.
So he decided the only way to learn was by quietly observing Aunt Petunia.
Watching his aunt carefully, Harry noticed she always served Uncle Vernon first at every meal.
Each morning, after Vernon kissed her on the cheek, she would immediately hand him a cup of tea.
Sometimes, when Vernon came home angry or exhausted from work, Petunia would disappear into the bathroom with him.
They would stay inside for a while...
And Vernon always came out smiling.
Harry also noticed that Aunt Petunia occasionally sat on Vernon's lap while feeding him bites of food herself.
Sometimes they even kissed while she did it, though they would stop whenever Dudley complained.
Harry concluded that these must all be part of a wife's duties.
One Sunday afternoon, Harry overheard Uncle Vernon grumble that he was glad "those queers" who had lived nearby had moved away.
Harry didn't understand what queers meant or why the thought seemed to make his uncle both happy and angry.
What he did notice was how Aunt Petunia responded.
She took control of the television and changed the channel.
Dudley immediately complained because his cartoons were interrupted.
Without hesitation, Petunia sent him upstairs to watch television in his bedroom instead.
Dudley happily ran off.
Now that they were alone, Vernon settled in to watch a financial program.
Petunia walked behind the sofa and began massaging his shoulders while kissing his cheek.
She whispered something Harry couldn't hear.
The only thing he caught was Vernon telling Harry to finish washing the dishes and then go straight to his cupboard without bothering them.
Harry obeyed.
As he passed through the living room, he saw Aunt Petunia sitting comfortably on Vernon's lap.
They were kissing again.
From inside his cupboard, Harry could hear strange little noises every now and then.
He peeked through the crack in the door but couldn't make out much beyond the fact that they were still kissing.
Harry filed away another lesson.
Being a good wife apparently involved kissing your husband a lot.
Two years passed.
Harry was now ten years old, only a few months away from turning eleven.
At last, he finally figured out what people meant by satisfying your husband.
Well...
Not that he knew much about it.
His primary school had only briefly explained human reproduction, mentioning that humans—and dolphins—were among the few animals that had sex for pleasure as well as reproduction.
Later, Harry did a little reading about marriage.
He discovered that one of its purposes was to legitimize children.
Putting that together with what he'd learned in school made the answer fairly obvious.
It also helped that he accidentally overheard another conversation.
One morning, Dudley had decided to play his favorite game—
"Hunting Harry."
Harry ran until he escaped into a park several streets away, hiding beneath a cluster of bushes near a bench.
Dudley and his gang searched for him but eventually gave up and wandered off.
Harry stayed hidden just to be safe.
A few minutes later, two young women sat down on the bench directly above his hiding place.
Without meaning to, Harry overheard their conversation.
"I still think you bought way too much... clothing," one of them said awkwardly.
"It's called lingerie," the other corrected without the slightest embarrassment.
"Oh, Julia, stop being such a prude. There's nothing wrong with buying something sexy for my husband."
"You're shameless," Julia muttered.
"You shouldn't talk about things like that so casually."
The first woman laughed and wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders.
"Come on. If you want a happy husband, you've got to become a whore in bed."
"Amelia!" Julia gasped in horror.
"Oh, don't be so shy. Everyone knows that if you don't give a man what he wants, he'll go looking for it somewhere else. Men like sex. If their wife doesn't give it to them..."
Julia made a small sound of reluctant agreement, shrinking into herself.
"I'm only telling you this because I care," Amelia continued. "If you want Brian to be happy, be a lady in public, a wife at home, and a whore in bed. Trust me—he'll never look at another woman."
"I wouldn't even know how," Julia admitted, blushing furiously.
"It's not that hard," Amelia assured her. "Start by wearing a pretty babydoll. It doesn't even have to be revealing. Just wearing something different for him will drive him crazy. It'll make him feel wanted and break the routine."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Come on—let's go buy you one."
The two women stood and walked away.
Hidden beneath the bushes, a ten-year-old boy sat frozen, cheeks burning.
Embarrassed...
But strangely pleased.
Without meaning to, he had learned another piece of what it meant to make his future husband
The conversation lingered in Harry's mind long after the two women had disappeared.
Ever since he'd learned that one of the purposes of marriage was to have children, he'd been heartbroken.
No matter how hard he tried...
He would never be able to give his future husband children.
That thought hurt.
So Harry decided that the only way to make up for it would be to become such an exceptional wife that his husband wouldn't mind.
Maybe...
Maybe his future husband simply wouldn't want children.
If that were true, Harry could still prove that he was a wonderful wife in every other way.
He bit his lip, blushing to himself.
He knew he was much too young to be worrying about how to satisfy a husband he hadn't even met yet.
But he wanted to be ready.
More than anything...
Harry Potter wanted to become a good wife.
After all...
His own "happily ever after" depended on it.