Of all the ways Tom showed Harry that this day was special, to highlight that this was about them and not some stupid political thing, was its size. Only a handful of people were invited. More than that, half the seats were left empty, including nearly the entire front row. No one asked why the best seats were vacant. No one needed to ask who was missing.

"Are you certain you don't wish them to attend," Tom had asked earlier that morning as he'd walked into their bedroom, deftly buttoning his cufflinks.

Seeing Voldemort in a fitted outfit had thrown Harry for a moment, but he'd expected that he'd be asked again about bringing his parents back from the dead and so he had the answer ready. "If I'd wanted them to come, I wouldn't have waited until now. And while they might not be so angry at me as I suspect, I rather think they'd be certain to object." He didn't bother listening as Tom felt the need—not for the first time—to explain that Wizarding hand-fasting ceremonies certainly didn't allow for any Muggle 'objection' nonsense to come between the intended.

It was now mid-afternoon, and Harry anxiously took in the transformed manor grounds. Flowers were massed everywhere. Narcissa had gone all out, and tiny yellow roses adorned just about everything, spilling over in great heaps. Harry had asked, "Why yellow?" Surely, as with the flowers at Midsummer, they must symbolize something or other. But no, it was just such a happy colour, she had said. Harry had to agree with her and commend her choice. The grounds were chilly, the green of the lawn beginning to fade. Yellow roses were just right to remind everyone that this was a joyous day, no matter that it was almost mid-November.

"You nervous?" Ron came over to stand near him. He took in Harry's distracted nod and tried to lighten the mood, saying, "Thanks again for making me best man."

"Who else?" Harry asked. In turn, he ignored Ron's shrug. He knew Ron felt that Harry had replaced him with Draco. He supposed it was true, in a way. That didn't mean they had to talk about it, though perhaps Draco would force them to when he got more involved with his Mind Healer training. He snorted softly in amusement at the thought.

"What's so funny?"

Harry was hardly going to bring up Draco now. "Er, nothing," he lied, then gesturing to the flowers he said, "Just my allergies."

Ron took his word for it. Hermione never would have, but she had already been seated next to Luna. Draco sat on Luna's other side, next to his parents. There had been a bit of an argument in getting Hermione a seat at the wedding. Tom had at first insisted that she could attend, but as an usher. Harry had quickly told him that there wouldn't be a wedding needing an usher if she wasn't welcome as a guest. Harry had won, but he had at first wondered at what expense when Tom Disapparated in a huff and didn't come to bed that night. In the morning, though, Harry had found a note pinned to his bedside table: "Ask Narcissa to take the Mudblood into town for appropriate dress robes." Beside it was a box of chocolate frogs. Well, they had centuries to work on apologies.

Harry pulled out his pocket-watch discretely—he didn't want Ron to see how the Malfoys had replaced his uncle's birthday watch—and checked the time. Two more minutes until the ritual was set to start. "Remember all those keys on the way to the Stone in first year? My stomach feels like the lot of them, all jostling about."

"Just don't sick up on me," Ron told him. "I spent an hour polishing these shoes. Hermione won't let me call the ruddy house-elves to do their job. And I still haven't gotten my wand back. I'll make a shit guard for you without one."

Harry patted his friend's back. He was about to say something reassuring, but then the soft lilting of flutes began, quickly joined by harps and something else, something lovely, that Harry couldn't place. From out of what seemed a whole forest of roses stepped the Dark Lord. No matter how different his robes were from the gossamer silk of his usual dress, he was still pale and stuck out like—well, like Harry always had, ever since he realized he was more than just a boy in a cupboard.

With Ron trailing nervously behind him, Harry took his place by Tom's side. Not a moment later, Snape came to stand with them, beside Ron. Harry and Tom had debated who should represent the Dark Lord's family in the ceremony, and in the end they'd decided that Severus was the best choice. A strange choice, but one that seemed fitting, nonetheless. Then the four of them, Tom and Harry in the lead, made their way to the front. There was no one to officiate, unless you counted Nagini, who was curled up on the stone alter basking as best she could in the weak autumn sunlight. There were many forms of Magical unions, but Tom had been quite adamant that the strongest were those where the participants bonded under the strength of their own magic. With such powerful wizards wedding, certainly there was no need for anyone to act as bonder. Ron and Snape were there to assist and act as witnesses, nothing more.

The music died as they reached the altar. Nagini looked like she wanted nothing more than to climb up on Voldemort's shoulders, but knew better than to move just now. Harry spared her a quick look that he hoped promised long days and nights of affection, just for her.

Meanwhile, Tom only had eyes for Harry.

Their hands met, and Harry couldn't remember such desire pushing through their link before. Not lust, not possessiveness. This wasn't the same feeling he remembered Tom feeling in that wretched dream of his, with the shells and the sea. That had been a fierce covetousness. No, this feeling wasn't the same at all, though Harry could recognize it was the exact opposite of the despair Tom had felt as he sought him out beneath the waves.

Harry's nervousness died as Tom began chanting. Harry only had to join in, speaking short strings of Latin—his part of the vows—at certain spots, and it was easy to know when, for Tom would pause and squeeze Harry's hand at the right moments. A warmth was blossoming between them, swelling and pulsing in time with the chanting.

At one point, Snape must have handed over the ritual dagger, for Tom pressed the hilt into Harry's right hand. Crimson already stained the blade from where he'd cut into his own flesh. Harry bit his lip as he sliced into his own palm. Then they fastened their hands together, this time mingling blood. Harry closed his eyes, wanting to feel every bit of their union as their magic seeped into one another.

Harry was at once filled with worry. He and Tom had already shared blood during the ritual that had resurrected Voldemort in Little Hangleton. Would that interfere with their handfasting? At once, he was sure it would. But when he dared look down to their joined hands he saw the crimson of their spilled blood glow a brilliant white-gold, then twine in and around each other much like snakes seeking out warmth in their winter nest, wrapping in threads round their clasped fingers until there was no way they'd ever be separated again.

Harry didn't know when he'd started crying, but his vision was all at once worse than when he'd needed glasses. He looked to Tom, and though his eyesight was shot just then, he could easily make out the heat of red eyes staring at nothing but his own upturned face.

The magic bindings dissolved as they kissed. "The rings," Tom demanded when they finally broke away.

Ron unfolded a silk square. Inside rested the rings Harry had chosen in Borgin and Burkes. Tom wasted no time in plucking one of them up and taking Harry's left hand. Before he slid the ring onto his finger, though, Tom caught Harry's eye and asked, "You sure you want this?" His words were soft and unsure.

Harry lifted his other hand to cup Tom's cheek. "More than anything." It was the same answer Tom had given him when Harry had asked if Tom wanted him to drink that potion and be at his side for eternity.

Ron held the second ring out for Harry to take. With regret, Harry released Tom's cheek. Far more decisively, he took hold of Tom's hand and with a hissed "Mine," slid the ring down his finger.

Voldemort raised his left hand, palm outward, to Harry. Harry copied him, then clasped their hands together yet again. Settled beside each other, the rings looked more than they did alone. Complete.

Harry didn't even hear the applause coming from their audience, so intent he was at looking back up at his husband.

...

"Open this one next, my Lord," Narcissa insisted. From her red-rimmed eyes, Harry guessed she'd also been crying.

Voldemort passed the beribboned box over to Harry. "You open it, darling."

Harry grinned up at Narcissa. "Thank you," he said, then ripped open the giftwrap. He lifted the boxlid, only to be showered with an explosion of glitter. No one was spared, not even Tom beside him. Before Harry—or the Dark Lord, for that matter—could even blink, the glitter vanished, leaving their skin and robes pristine and glitter-free. Harry peered inside the box at what looked like…

A slip of parchment?

Harry reached into the box and picked up the note. "It's a certificate to…" Harry squinted at the fine print. "Gerard Covin's studio in Godric's Hollow."

Narcissa smiled. "Lucius and I sat for our portraits a year ago," she explained. "The artist came well recommended by both the Greengrasses and the Notts. We were certainly satisfied with Gerard's work."

Voldemort peered over Harry's shoulder, into the box. "Thank you from both of us. It is high time I arranged for portraits, but with all the demands on my time, I always seemed to put it off." He sounded pleased, but Harry could feel tendrils of unease dance through their connection. It took Harry a moment to realize why. All the moving portraits he'd seen had been of dead wizards and witches, and though the painting was created while the subject in question was alive, it was still a nod to a mortality that Tom had rejected. By the time he thought to squeeze Tom's hand in reassurance, Narcissa had already curtsied and taken her leave.

Ron and Hermione lingered near the back of the line. Nearby, a table was overflowing with the presents sent from those who'd not been invited to the ceremony but still wanted to send a token of their goodwill. Ron kept turning to look at them all. Hermione said something to him, and whatever it was made Ron's face morph into an expression of horror. Perhaps she'd mentioned something that had been on Harry's mind ever since he'd set eyes on the teetering mountain of presents: how in Salazar's name would he be able to write thank you cards to all the senders? His hand ached in dreary anticipation.

"Are you ready to open another gift, Harry?" Tom asked. Harry turned back, and all his worry of both thank you letters and of Tom's unnecessary existential angst fell away as he took in who was now at the front of the line.

"Congratulations, my Lord. My Lord Consort." Andromeda held Teddy comfortably on one hip. In her free hand she gracefully held out a parcel.

Harry tore his eyes from his seven-month-old godson. "Thank you for coming, Mrs Tonks," he said to her. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to see little Teddy. He's really growing. Can I?—" He made to reach out, but then he saw the fearful glint in the witch's eye and changed tact. "Can I contact you sometime in the future to arrange a visit with Teddy?"

"Of course, my Lord Consort." Her smile was one of breeding only, for her eyes flashed in terror, perhaps at the idea of her last link to her beloved daughter taken from her. In her arms, Teddy began to fuss.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "He's hungry," he observed. Harry would have thought it was due to the man's Legilimency had he not known the years Tom had spent in a Muggle orphanage surrounded by all ages of children. "And then I suspect he'll need a nap. Please feel free to leave the reception to see to his needs." Harry easily translated that to, 'I don't like kids all that much and I certainly don't wish to be subjected to their crying.'

Harry went back to the gift, thinking Andromeda would be happier when this was all done and she could back away and could nurse her grandson and her grief. When he tore the paper away, he uncovered a set of silver candlesticks.

"They're heirlooms from my husband's side of the family."

"They'll look great on the mantle in our rooms," Harry told her even as Tom plastered on a fake smile and uttered a terse, "Thank you."

"It's Black tradition to give family such on their weddings. Despite his choices, Harry is still family and, seeing as I was dispossessed until recently, this was the best I could do. Ted's mother sent this to Remus and Nymphadora for their wedding." Andromeda clutched Teddy closer to her chest, bouncing him in her arms.

Voldemort went to take the box from Harry who, realizing that these had been Remus's, albeit for a short time, was less inclined to hand them over straight away. He bit his lip and whispered, "Be careful," before surrendering them.

"Of course." Voldemort cast a discrete charm to reveal any curses or the like, then lifted one of the candlesticks from the bed of satin they rested upon. "The engraving of wolves—is that new?"

Andromeda shifted Teddy to her other hip. He started pulling at her hair, but at least he'd stopped crying. "No, actually. My husband's uncle brought it back with him after the war on the continent."

Voldemort tapped the silver with a long fingernail. "As Harry said, it will hold place of pride on our mantle."

Andromeda gave a stiff nod before taking her leave. Harry watched as she walked away, but his heart kept reaching out for the little boy in her arms. He almost started when he felt a large hand begin to rub circles on his back, trying to offer comfort.

Perhaps Andromeda felt his eyes on her, or maybe she'd been stewing with the words anyway and couldn't hold them in one second longer, but she turned back before she got too far. "They died for you," she told Harry, her lips barely moving. Despite how quietly she spoke, it was still a weighted accusation. Teddy began to cry in earnest now, and Andromeda clutched him tightly to her chest, ignoring how he struggled and squirmed against her.

"I wish they hadn't." Harry huddled into himself, despite knowing that he shouldn't have to justify himself to anyone. Tom's hands stilled on his back, and Harry wondered if he was thinking of reaching for his wand. Harry needed to finish this before it got that far. "I wish no one had to die. But that includes me. I'm here because I decided that, despite the path laid out for me, I wanted to live."

Andromeda took a step backwards. Her eyes flicked from Harry to Voldemort, behind him. "No one expected you to—"

Harry ignored her weak protest. "And also, I fell in love. I know you can understand that. Falling in love with someone you're not supposed to." He thought he might have seen a glimmer of something in Andromeda's eyes. He pretended it was understanding, however unlikely that was.

When she was at last out of earshot, Tom bent down to whisper in Harry's ear, "You are not unaware that her gift was a deliberate insult." He didn't wait for Harry to reply before pressing on. "Presenting a Muggle 'heirloom' to us," he sneered his distaste, and Harry had to bite back his argument that Tom's first treasures were all Muggle. Tom didn't bother hiding the wicked glee in his voice when he added, "I would not object if you've changed your mind regarding a child, my dear. As the child's godfather, you have at least as much claim to the boy."

A stab of longing filtered through Harry as he watched Andromeda weave her way through the crowd, perhaps to find a suitable place to feed the baby, perhaps to flee. "There's no point lying to you and saying I dislike the idea of a baby. But I also don't…" He grimaced. "We'd make pretty shitty parents, Tom."

Tom frowned. "Lord Voldemort excels at everything he puts his mind to."

Harry rolled his eyes, then tilted his head back to kiss Tom's jaw.

Next up was Draco, who bowed and said, smiling, "Many blessings on this happy day. My mother was by with our family's gift, I assume?"

Luna trailed behind but needed no prodding to press forward and hold out a small box to Harry. "I hope you like it. It's taken a while to get ready. It's a good thing the pond is charmed to stay warm so late in the season or I couldn't have gotten it ready this year." She bounced on her toes, her eyes alight with eagerness.

Harry placed a hand on Tom's arm. "My Lord? Luna's giving her present."

"From me and Daddy," Luna said, happily. "He sends his love."

"Erm, ah that's nice," Harry said. He turned to Voldemort, but he was talking with Draco about something Ministry related. He waved Harry on.

"Well, I think I'll just…" Harry said, then he started to lift up the wrappings of bounding silver rabbits.

"Be careful. It's breakable," Luna told him. "I suppose this was a bit unfair, as it's really more for you than your husband. But he already has his own, so I don't think he'll mind if you have one for yourself, too."

"One of my own?" Harry wondered as he prised off the last of the wrapping paper.

It was an egg. A small, very ordinary looking egg, though heavy for its size. "Er, thank you," Harry said, trying to hide his confusion.

"You'll have to crack it open. Be gentle, now. It's only small."

Harry nodded as he tilted his head, inspecting this strange gift. The egg looked nothing other than a regular egg, identical to those he used to crack open every morning for his relatives' breakfasts during his unfortunate tenure at 4 Privet Drive. He held back a grimace, thinking of how foolish he'd look when he cracked open this egg and the yolk spilled all over his hands. He'd be lucky if it didn't stain his new robes. Or worse, what if Luna was right and there was something inside. 'Something' being an undeveloped chick. "Don't you think we should wait until it's trying to crack the shell itself?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Oh, it's ready to hatch now," she assured him. "You'll need to help it out, though."

Harry looked closer, turning the egg this way and that. Sure enough, thin lines were spiderwebbing out from a small puncture on one side. "All right then," Harry said, still feeling unsure. He looked about for a good place to do this and decided that perhaps kneeling down and just prying the shell at the weak spot would be best.

No sooner had he broken the shell a little bit—and thank Merlin no messy egg yolk came running out the bottom—then he saw something wriggling inside. He lowered the egg even lower to the ground. Now that he knew something really was inside, he didn't want to risk standing again and having it slip out and drop to the ground. No matter what pet Luna had thought to give him, he certainly wasn't going to let it fall to its death in front of her.

"Light. Light. Light. Slither out and eat," came a faint hiss from inside. Harry realized, then, then it must be a snake. Harry hadn't thought snakes came from eggs like this, though perhaps Magical snakes did—he certainly wasn't an expert. Harry smiled in anticipation and tried to help the baby snake emerge safely.

"What do you have there, darling?" Tom asked, resting a hand on Harry's head. He tugged a stray lock, urging Harry back up. Harry shook it away.

"Luna's given me a snake, and I don't want it to fall," he answered as he pulled away the last of the shell. Finally, the tiny coils were all carefully cradled in his palm. The afternoon sun caught its emerald scales. "Isn't it beautiful? I hope Nagini won't be jealous."

"Oh, it isn't exactly a snake," Luna corrected him, just as the small head rose to look up at the Harry. He, in turn, peered down—

—right into bright yellow eyes.

A/N Can you remember what sort of serpent hatches from a chicken egg?