"That's a dress." Harry stated flatly. "I'm not wearing a fucking dress, Hermione."
"But Harry, this is the traditional, ceremonial garb of contract brides! You have to wear it!" Harry twitched at the painful screech.
"Just run it by me one more time why the fuck I'm the woman in this? Why can't fucking Mouldy-Shorts wear the fucking dress?"
"Because, Harry, the groom is the most powerful wizard!"
"I'm powerful!" Harry sulked. "Why not just have two grooms?"
"Because the groom position also signifies who takes whose name!" Hermione frowned as she sat next to Harry again. "Harry, we've already been through this. You're going to be Harry James Riddle by the end of today, and you're going to wear that goddamn dress, capeesh?"
"Eh, I think you might have just watched too many mobster films." Harry joked.
"Put. That. Dress. On. NOW!" Hermione directed. Harry was sure that had she been standing, she would have stamped her foot.
"Er, no, Hermione, I don't." He sighed, sitting down on the bed behind him. "Look, Voldemort knows that I'm not a traditional bride. In fact, I'm pretty sure that that's the only reason this is gonna work. I mean, how many contract grooms look like their mum screwed a snake?" He lay back on the bed. "Come on, I'll just go in my 'sexy leather armour', it'll be great!"
"Aw, no, Harry. Not the leather!" Hermione groaned. "Why the hell Ginny had to tell you that I really don't know!"
"Just because I'm gay, girls can't tell me I'm pretty?" Harry rolled over, batting his eyelashes at his best friend.
"Ha! That's all you think it is, Potter?" Hermione snorted. "Sweet, little innocent Ginny wanted to be Mrs Potter!"
"Ew, Hermione, that's so gross!" Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Yuck, girls!"
"Harry, you sound like a four year old with cooties."
"Yeah, a four year old whose getting married." Harry sighed heavily. "Fuck. I'm getting married today!" He looked at the dress once more and grimaced. "Go on, go put on your Maid-Of-Honour gear. I'll wear the fucking dress."
- HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP -
Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour walked Harry down the aisle, as the highest ranked and most powerful of the light side. Well, heoretically, at least.
Hermione grimaced and shook her head at the sight of Harry in his leather body armour. Some things would never work, no matter how much effort she put into them.
Standing at the altar was Snakeguts himself. Harry made an effort to twist his face into his most intimidating sneer, steeling himself as Scrimgeour placed his hand into Voldemort's scaly grip. Oddly, he wasn't as slimy as he first looked, much like real snakes, Harry realised.
"Potter, are you alright?" Voldemort lent forwards so that only Harry could hear what was being said. "You look as if you're terribly constipated."
"Fuck you, Snakeshit." Harry grumbled. "That was intimidating."
"Ah, yes, of course. Consider me intimidated."
"Good." Harry paused, looking his groom up and down carefully. "You should know, you're not getting laid unless you're human. I'm not Aberforth Dumbledore, I don't like animals the same way your mother did."
"Glad to know you don't screw Muggles, Potter." Voldemort nodded serenely. "Because if you have, you're not getting laid until we Scourgify your equipment, and your arse."
As the elderly wizard started the ceremony, the official photographer caught several stunning shots of Harry's horror and pain within the twenty minutes following said comment. Of course, The Daily Prophet would report that the expression had been their saviour's distaste at marrying the darkest of Dark Lords, although the comparison to the expression seen in the damning photographs of Aberforth Dumbledore with his 'prize' goat did cause said saviour to repeat the arrangement of his facial features once more.
"You were supposed to be wearing a dress." Voldemort mumbled, as the room sung a chorus of 'God Save The Bride', to the tune of 'God Save The Queen'.
"You were supposed to be a beautiful prince ready to sweep me off my feet." Harry replied, sarcasm evident in his harsh tone. "But fuck life ever going right for me!"
"The leather is quite sexy." Voldemort mused.
Harry's horrified expression remained until well after their first kiss, up to the best man's speech, in fact.
"In the early days of marriage, a best man was called a best man as he helped to kidnap the bride before the wedding. While I have not, in fact, kidnapped the bride, I have tried to poison him on more than one occasion. Here's to my succeeding!"
"To success!" Offered the rest of the crowd, chinking glasses of strong rum.
"Why the hell would you have Snape as your best man, knowing that he hates your husband?" Harry asked during the first dance.
"Technically, you're my wife, Mr Riddle." Harry scowled at the reminder of his newly married status, accidentally-on-purpose grinding his heel into the front of Voldemort's foot.
"Oops." Harry smirked unrepentantly at the grimace on his husband's face.
"Brat." Voldemort returned, and Harry was once more forced back into his unnerved state at the fondness in the elder - man? beast? snake/human hybrid? - snake/human hybrid's tone.
- HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP -
On the other side of the dance floor, the maid of honour and best man danced smoothly together.
"You'd know, I suppose, that it's a Muggle tradition for the best man to seduce the maid of honour?" Severus observed as he spun Hermione in his arms.
"Head bridesmaid, actually." Hermione corrected, nimbly following the intricate series of steps that he'd initiated. "Which would be Ginny Weasley here - feel free to make the attempt, Professor."
"Unfortunately, my - ah duties as best man also include showing the friend who is to accompany Pot- Rid- Harry to their quarters in my Lord's castle." Severus smirked down at her from the promenade position. "Which would be…"
"Myself, of course. It wouldn't do for you to abandon your duties in favour of seducing nubile young women, would it?"
"No, I daresay that I couldn't abandon my duties, Miss Granger." They advanced a few steps, before retreating into another turn. "Speaking of duties, the supply of Polyjuice potion that I had been brewing for my Lord is no longer needed. I don't suppose that you would have any suggestions as to what to do with it?"
"Well, there's always the possibility of investigating the veracity of the claims of the last journal article by Professor Jirshiem - you remember, Professor? That Polyjuice can be used with any hairs, even those taken from the deceased."
"Why yes, I do remember that Miss Granger. Perhaps you would care to involve yourself in my experiments? I am sure that we could come to a… mutually beneficial arrangement."
- HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP -
"Uh, hey, speaking of Snape, where's he gone? I'm sure he was dancing with Hermione a minute ago…?" Harry scanned the room suspiciously. "You haven't done anything to her, have you?"
Voldemort snorted and sneered in one fluid motion.
"As if I would." He paused as if in thought. "Although I wouldn't put it past Severus to do something. We should take our portkey to my castle, just in case."
Harry nodded, absently taking hold of the teacup that his husband held out to him, stumbling into the snakeface as they landed in an opulent bedroom.
"Granger's room is just across the hall," Voldemort offered, sweeping out of the room, not noticing Harry's speculative gaze which rested on the silken bedspread. He'd planned to conjure a bed in the corner to get around the requirements of the contract, but silk sheets? It was going to be a difficult decision.
Harry hurried out of the room, only to see the snake-man stood stock still in a doorway.
"Oh god, what is it? He's killed her, hasn't he? There's blood everywhere, right?" Harry made to push past, but was stopped by the palest face he'd ever seen on a Dark Lord.
"Harry, I wouldn't if I were you, this isn't something that you need to see." He began shepherding Harry away, but Harry ducked around him, proving to be as nimble on his feet as he was renowned for on a broom.
"I have to see this, she was my best fri- Oh dear MERLIN!" Harry screamed as he turned to look into the room.
"Oh-oh, ah, Harry!" Lily Potter moaned from the bed.
"Go… fuck… your… self… Potter!" Ron called from on top of her. One of them, Harry couldn't work out which, waved a hand and the door slammed shut in his face.
"Was that-?" Harry gaped. "That can't have been Ron? And my Mum? Aw, shit! I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Me too." Voldemort agreed sombrely. "I'm confiscating Severus's Polyjuice."