A/N: As I've promised, here it is - full chapter. The second one will be roughly in a week - approximately, on next Tuesday.
Enjoy!
Before Harry knew, though, the kiss abruptly ended, after a low sound of someone clearing his throat.
Someone else's voice reminded them:
"Gentlemen, you will have whole night for this, but at first – reception! Your guests are waiting!"
Voldemort sneered at Scrimgeour, as it was him, who reminded newlyweds about the rest of their obligations for the day.
"Harry," now it was Sirius' voice, trying to squish itself into Harry's suddenly very muddled brain. His vision swarmed, knees quaked, Harry swayed slightly.
"I got you," murmured Voldemort, surprising him yet again.
Harry felt the Dark Lord's hand supporting his elbow.
"Minister's right, we still have audience to impress. Don't make a scene," hissed the Dark Lord.
Harry brushed him off with a wave of a hand, at last averting his glassy gaze, which up till this moment was on Voldemort's face, and looked at the stalls.
He momentarily wondered, what were they thinking of their Savior now, when he'd willingly given himself in their stead, as a proverbial sacrificial lamb, right in front of their eyes.
Then his own eyes fell on the redhead corner. It was quite far to see clearly, but he definitely made out Hermione's wild dark mane near one of the tall and thin frames – possibly, Ron's, and beside them – smaller figure, which must have been Ginny's. To him they all were a blurry shape with many heads, like Hydra, but he thought he could guess, what they were doing: Ginny was crying silently, and Ron was swearing, while Hermione was hugging the smaller girl, while smacking Ron upside his head in his mother's place.
"It's time," muttered Voldemort, distracting Harry from his gloomy thoughts, his hand, still supporting Harry's, tugging him lightly towards the main doors. "They're waiting to send us off." He motioned for Harry to move to the exit.
Harry sighed, but allowed to be led away.
When they were already half way to the doors, the whole audience all stood as one, their wands raised, stars shooting from their tips in a salute. No one let out a word, all of this was done in complete silence. Harry shuddered at the feeling of being buried alive under the heavy stares of men and women, bidding him farewell with this show of unison thankful grief over his still living body.
He got his answer.
Harry and Voldemort, hand in hand, neared the main doors to the courtroom, which opened, when they came closer.
When they stepped over the threshold, still in unison with each other, Harry felt a sensation of finality dawning on him: it was done. Now he officially couldn't turn back and leave, they were bound for the whole eternity. He cast a sidelong look at his newly pronounced husband, ice-cold breeze running along his back at the thought. It was over. He was over. He was in no doubt, that Voldemort would not allow him any slack in his chores and promises as a husband, at least, not publicly, so there was certainly no room for flirting on the side, for friendly debaucheries, or experiments of any sort.
"You are not going to cry in front of the whole Britain," gritted Voldemort suddenly under his breath. "You're their martyr, so be strong! Be a man!" he hissed even lower.
"What?" Harry blinked in surprise. "Did you just encour -?"
"We're public figures, don't embarrass me!" grunted Voldemort. "Seven more steps," he motioned ahead to the elevator doors. "Everyone's looking!"
Harry's knees tried to buckle at this, but the Dark Lord's hand was holding him steady and strong. This in itself brought back Harry's wish to vomit, so he started to count in his mind the aforementioned steps in reversed order and in Latin for good measure: "Septem, Sex, Quinque, Quattuor, Tres, Duo, Unus."
At the last step (and count) Harry suddenly realized, that he was gripping his wand tightly, as if to cast something.
"What are you doing?" someone hissed – and Harry remembered, that both their Best Men, Sirius and Lucius, were accompanying the newlyweds to the elevator, but stayed couple of steps back.
Harry dropped his wand hand to the side, though not sheathing the holy, but opting to tightly clutch his wand for moral support of sorts.
At last they reached the elevator, which doors, as if on cue, opened with a 'ding'. The four men entered the tight space, the golden grill doors sliding shut, the machine whirring to move them up to the Entrance Lobby. Harry managed to get a last glimpse of Skeeter flashing her camera with a shark-smile, and a throng of redheads and Hermione exiting the courtroom beside her, the girls hugging each other and Arthur and Molly ushering them all to make haste and go down in another elevator. Then the speed movement of the elevator cell increased, Harry's friends disappearing from his sight, making Harry think of the symbolism and irony of this fact.
"If you continue to brood like this, you're in for a lot of pain, Potter," growled Voldemort.
"Hey!" Sirius protested angrily.
"My Lord, I hope you are joking," muttered Lucius with a slight bow. "You do remember about inspection coming tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" murmured Harry in surprise.
"Yes, Mr, Potter. Your precious friends insisted that they would 'visit' you the morning after the wedding night, to check, I presume, that your limbs and the rest of you are still intact," sneered Lucius, smiling nastily.
Instead of catching the bite, though, Harry gone white in the face at the mention of the prospect of the wedding night looming ahead of him.
"Thank you, Lucius," with sarcasm drooled Voldemort. "You just officially broke my new husband," he smirked mockingly, but instead pushed Harry's swaying body to Sirius's opened hands. "Here. You may Enervate him, Black, just don't overdo it, like some idiots here," he cast a murderous glance at Lucius.
"Pup, are you okay?" Sirius inquired quietly from still pale Harry.
"No," Harry responded in raspy voice. "What do you think, Siri? I'm officially this mon-man's spouse now. How anyone can be okay with this?!" At the end of the phrase Harry's voice gone painfully high in pitch from his anxiety.
"This 'mon-man' is still here, you know," the Dark Lord reminded them. "You may want to leave your discussion for the later time. We still have a blasted reception to attend."
With that he stepped closer to the doors, as the elevator was slowing down.
Through grill doors Harry saw a sea of heads and colorful robes, people filling Entrance Lobby to the brim, some guests already roaming the space with champagne glasses and plates of finger food in their hands, speaking, laughing, performing simple tricks to entertain each other and even dancing here and there under some music, which still didn't reach the elevator, or maybe the dancers spelled it with magic for their personal entertainment.
Harry could not hide his grimace, when saw Skeeter exiting the other elevator at the head of the throng of reporters, their cameras and quills at the ready to capture his most clumsy moments, no doubt.
"Breathe, Potter," once again taking his hand, or rather clutching it painfully, muttered Voldemort. "And smile," he sneered. "It's Celebration, after all," he pulled Harry from the elevator to the hungrily waiting crowd. "Our day, and all that rot," he snickered quietly, when noticing Harry's horror-stricken face.
"You do love to bully, Riddle, don't you?" Harry muttered miserably.
Voldemort growled quietly.
"Call me that again!" he dared angrily.
"I am not calling you by your stupid nickname," Harry exclaimed indignantly in a hushed tone, "And you're certainly not 'my lord'," he huffed and turned away in dismissal.
"I am your husband, you shall regard me as such, at least in public," hissed Voldemort angrily, "and not undermine! -"
"You know, that's Parseltongue, right?" Harry calmly observed. "You're scaring your precious public yourself."
Voldemort just growled wordlessly.
"You know, that's my prerogative," interjected Sirius with a smirk, "like a honorary dogfather," he snickered. "You should just continue to hiss, man," he winked at Voldemort.
"As you suggested," muttered Voldemort, before grabbing Harry by the waist and roughly yanking him towards himself. In the next instant Harry was attacked with his aggressive lips on Harry's mouth, tongue plunging forward, as if trying to suffocate the boy, the man growling into the kiss, hands roaming over Harry's torso, squeezing and scrapping him.
"Get off me!" Harry snarled loudly, pushing Voldemort away forcefully, when he managed to break free from the assault.
Camera snapped, a bright light flashing somewhere right beside them.
Harry stilled, wand hand half-raised to attack the Dark Lord, or, more probably, the reporter, he hadn't decided yet. Then he flicked a finger to no one in particular, accidentally demonstrating his wedding ring, whirled on his heels and went for the nearest table with the drinks, where he grabbed two glasses at once and downed them one by one in a swish. Then he grabbed two new glasses, but didn't manage to drink them both, as Voldemort came to his side.
"I hope that's for me, darling," he droned, taking one of the glasses from Harry's hand and also knocking it up in one go, then getting the second dose from the table and amiably clinking the glass to the one Harry still tightly clutched in his hand. "I shall probably congratulate you on refusing me in public and not getting Crucioed for it," he explained his gesture, "I shall write this off as telltale bride' syndrome, I think," he smirked and winked at Harry, who firstly bared his teeth in a snarl, but then seemingly fell in a state of silent shock. "Loss of words, hmm? Should I kiss you again to enervate, like the princess from the tale?" his smirk widened. Harry shuddered and made a step back, away from Voldemort, almost knocking the table with drinks, glasses merrily clinking.
"Careful, mate, you almost smashed a couple hundred galeons worth of drinks into pieces!" someone with painfully familiar voice and similarly familiar red hair caught him by the elbow to steady him.
"Ron -" Harry gulped nervously at the sight of his best friend. Oh, well, his ex-best friend, probably. They hadn't talked at length for almost a fortnight, because Harry was at negotiations and Ron, being Ron, was sulking at him for his "queer-ness", of which Harry had never told him earlier. No words could convince the red-head that Harry had never really learned this himself before all these peace-talks and marriage-talks have started.
"Are you okay?" suddenly asked Ron.
Harry blinked in surprise.
"That's a trend question today, isn't it?" he smiled crookedly. "The other would be if Vold here's going to maim me on my wedding night, no?"
"What did you called me?!" roared aforementioned 'Vold', plunging himself on Harry.
"Hey!" Harry protested – the Dark Lord wrestled his glass from him.
"What exactly are you drinking, dear? It cannot be simple champagne," Voldemort mused, tasting the contents of Harry's glass.
"That was mine!" Harry made a sulking face.
"There is a table full of drinks beside you," Voldemort calmly noted. "Or do you, maybe, need only this particular glass? What's so special in it?" he made another swig from Harry's glass, successfully finishing the rest of his drink. "No? I thought so. Here," Voldemort produced another full glass to Harry.
"Thank you, but no," Harry replied with determination. "I would rather drink from twins' hands, than from yours."
"And that's saying something!" Ron snickered.
"Ron, are you drunk already?" Harry interjected.
The redhead quickly straightened up and sobered.
"No, sir. I'm clear as day, sir!" in parody of military response barked Weasley, throwing a sidelong wary glance at the Dark Lord, who once again was approaching them, after stepping off for a short time to speak with some reporter.
"Don't mind him, Ron," Harry suggested. "Are we okay?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, are we still friends?"
"Of course, you are!" they were joined by Hermione. "Sorry, guys, I was seeing off Ginny, but all the fireplaces are cramped with crowds. Poor girl, she almost cried out her eyes," she sniffed herself. "Harry, are you - ?"
"I am okay, Mione," Harry smiled wryly and turned to Voldemort, who already silently stood to the side and was scanning the crowd as some parody of a bodyguard. "See, everyone's afraid I won't live till tomorrow. Your attempt at good public image failed before you even started." He showed his tongue to the Dark Lord briefly and surprisingly got a finger in response, the silver ring on the adjacent finger glistening, its shine menacing, as Harry thought.
"Oh, did you see Sirius, guys?" Harry turned to his friends, his face brightening. "He is alive!"
Hermione's gasp was muted by Ron's loud exclamation of "Blimey!", while pointing at the approaching figure. "You aren't joking!"
"See?" Harry's grin widened even more and he waved at his godfather.
"Hermione, Ron! How are you, pups?" Sirius exclaimed joyously, enveloping both teens in a hug.
"Sirius, how - ?" Hermione managed to quip from inside the bear-embrace.
"Still don't know. But does it matter? I am alive now!" Black laughed with delight. "I tried to catch up with Dumbledore, but he's here one moment and there – another, and it is not important anyway. What is more important, though, is all this," he gestured around. "What did I miss?"
Harry winced and sighed: "Not too much, really. After that disaster in the Department of Mysteries at the end of school year we started talks with them," Harry pointed at the Dark Lord, still looming nearby, nursing the same almost full glass for the last half-hour. "Honestly, I think, both sides had already been tired of fighting at that time, so the negotiations went rather smoothly."
As if," Ron snorted. "You've been in your 'talks' for almost six weeks, mate! If that's what you call 'smooth', then I don't know!"
"Okay, but what's with the wedding and all?" Sirius again made a wide gesture, indicating people around them.
"Heqin," Harry replied cryptically.
"What?"
"That was ancient tradition in China, they sent their princesses to marry barbaric tribal chiefs, whom they couldn't fight off," Harry explained. "Someone, I think, that was Dumbledore, read about it in some old book and decided it was a good idea to try to negotiate peace with the Dark. Unfortunately, all other options of brides were declined by their side," Harry nodded to Voldemort, "bar one – someone, I don't remember, who exactly, jokingly suggested myself." He shrugged. "I never really tried it with guys, you know," he turned to Ron, "so I didn't know if I was 'queer' or not. Before this all, I mean. But if my being queer can save us a war, I am all for it. I am surely tired of 'constant vigilance'," he mimicked Moody.
"And what about Ginevra? Weren't you two an item, hmm?" asked Sirius in low tone. "I think I saw her at the Court with all the family, so where is she?" he looked around.
"Mione sent her home, I suppose," Harry shrugged. "That is not my business any more, you should understand," he gave a discreet nod in the general direction of where the Dark Lord stood. "We may have agreed not to attack the other side 'officially', but it is safe to say that anyone annoying the Dark Order would find themselves in trouble. And we may have negotiated, that this is mostly a public affair, and no one's asked to fake the 'feelings' in the absence of an audience, but I don't think caring for an ex can constitute for being a good wife." At that Sirius raised a brow in question. Harry threw his hands in the air in surrender. "Or a husband. Hell, I don't know! This all is so frustrating!" he huffed in annoyance. "What does it matter how we are called, if we're not to jump to bed with each other, hmm?"
"From old times husbands dominated wives. Women became independent just recently, especially in Wizarding world," Sirius explained. "So you better call yourself a man, and not wife. To show the upper hand you have over – other party," Sirius's speech was hindered by Voldemort stepping closer to them.
Harry sighed and shook his head: "Okay. But I think it's stupid anyway. A spectacle for reporters, mostly."
"If you repeat it one more time you might actually believe it yourself, you know," Voldemort interjected.
"Don't go overhearing conversations not meant for your ears, will you!" Harry snapped. "And what's with the face? I wanted to ask you this since the Courtroom. Where did you get the looks suddenly? Killed a thousand beauties?" he snorted.
"That's magic, darling. You should try it sometime, it proves useful in many a situation," drooled Voldemort derisively.
"Oh?" Harry's brows raised in silent question.
"A-ha," Voldemort nodded. "I've remembered your degrading comments during talks about my looks, so made you a wedding gift of sorts, dear." He smiled sweetly, when seeing Harry flinch at the nickname.
"'Potter' was better," Harry muttered gloomily.
"Oh, but I cannot call you by your family name anymore, that'd be too long a phrase," Voldemort smirked.
Harry blinked without understanding.
"If you remember, we agreed to use both our names to continue our lines. So it's 'Potter-Riddle' now. Or 'Riddle-Potter' in my case." Voldemort reminded him. "And we're in public, hence this 'spectacle', as you've put it: I doubt me calling you by your surname across the board would seem very appropriate for newlyweds."
Harry winced.
"You don't need to rub it in," he grumbled, "I doubt I could forget that we are now married."
At that moment another familiar face appeared on the horizon.
"Harry, dear!" Molly Weasley enveloped him in a tight hug. "I don't know if I should congratulate or pity you," she smiled miserably, then looked at the Dark Lord threateningly, "and you, mister, should know better than give Harry grief! All the nation is watching you now!" she shook her finger at Voldemort.
The Dark Lord sighed.
"It seems all you little cronies are protecting you, Potter, not even minding the fact whom they are protecting you from," he grumbled, "I shall take my leave for now, I think," at that he turned on his heels and walked away from the group.
"Harry, will you be fine with that monst – man?" Molly asked worriedly. "I've seen how he's already treating you, and it has not been even two hours since your tying the knot."
"Mrs. Weasley, you've said yourself, everyone is watching, so I doubt he would do anything more, than insult me in public. And even behind closed doors – there are protective spells in place already, of that I am sure. We might have not discussed that with their side, but with Dumbledore and Moody here, hell, even with Sirius, I suspect there are many layers of wards against him maiming me everywhere, starting from that Courtroom and even at his home."
"So it is decided than? You are moving in with him – into his property? Not your own?" Molly inquired.
Harry shrugged.
"I see no point in arguing over this, and he was pretty adamant he doesn't even consider any place other than his own. Besides, I am not sure there is any place I can call mine. At least, I don't know of such place. I can't very well invite him to the Dursley's house."
"Oh, dear, of course, you have some property to your name! Potters were a wealthy family, I am sure, there are at the very least a deed for the house in Stinchcombe, that's where your grandparents lived!"
"What?" Harry blinked. "I never heard of this – No one told me anything."
"If I remember right, the Potter house is just over the hill from your aunt's," Sirius interjected, "if you'd move there it will be a familiar territory, so to speak."
"Yeah, I'd be so-o glad to accidentally bump into Dudley at the local store," Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "No way I am living there, then!"
"I say it would still be better than at the You-Know-Who's house," Ron muttered.
"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. "By the way, you, people, should learn to call him something other than 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', or we all would be in a serious trouble," he winced, "and probably – a lot of pain. He's already very pissed at all these name-calling, I feel."
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked with worry. "Is it your scar again?"
"Don't mind me, Hermione," Harry muttered. "He's just giving me migraine over this 'names' business. I don't blame him, really, I was pissed, too, when Scrimgeour called me 'Chosen One' and 'Savior' to my face," he shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal, "Let's talk about something else, huh? Say, where should I look for that deed you've mentioned, Mrs. Weasley?"
"I think, it may be in your vault in Gringotts, Harry. I thought we'd agreed you're calling me Molly, no?" the redhead matriarch smiled at him.
"Sorry, I forgot," Harry returned her a sheepish smile. "So, Gringotts, then. I can check, when I'd have time, I suppose." Then he suddenly whirled on his heals and rushed somewhere into the middle of the crowd, throwing over his shoulder "I'll be back in a minute!"
"What's gotten into him, huh?" Ron asked surprised, looking into Harry's retreating back.
"He got married?" offered Sirius wryly.
"Yeah, on the monster-man!" Ron grumbled. "I meant – where'd he go?"
"Probably, to rescue some poor reporter from that monster-man's wrath," Sirius joked.
"Or on the opposite," suggested Hermione, "to rescue his husband from the reporter's clutches," she huffed. "They can be insufferable, too."
Ron shuddered. "When you say it like that it gives me creeps: Harry Potter is married to the Dark Lord! Brr!"
"Oh, shush, both of you," Molly warned them. "Here they come!"
And, indeed, a newly married couple was approaching them, seemingly arguing on their way, though no words were heard beside hisses.
"Harry, you know, it's not polite to speak in language, which only one person beside you can understand, when you are among other people," Hermione berated the still disputing pair. "One might think you're discussing us behind our back."
"And what if we are, Miss Granger?" the Dark Lord inquired mildly, in the middle of hissing tirade switching from Snake-language to English, making Hermione jump.
"I-it is impolite, Mi-mister Riddle," Hermione replied in trembling voice, jumping again, when he hissed angrily and glared at her for using his birth-name.
"I suggest you stop frightening those, who calls you by your name," Harry grumbled, "People need normal name to address you with, not a bloody nickname or ridiculous title they don't believe in."
"What is not normal with 'Voldemort'?" the Dark Lord raised a questioning brow.
"It is not your name?" Harry suggested. "You have a real name, and now, thanks to our 'dear' Minister, everyone knows it," he shrugged. "I'd say it has a nice ring to it, by the way," he smiled crookedly, "much better, than 'Voldemort'."
"My, thank you, darling," Voldemort murmured in a seductive voice, "I shall treasure the memory of your complimenting me, that's so rare these days," he smirked.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"You may call me 'Harry', we've already discussed it," he suggested darkly. "I don't mind."
"But you do mind all these niceties, I see," the Dark Lord's grin widened in demonstration of pearl-white sharp teeth. "So, I think, I shall continue using them, dear," he blew Harry an air-kiss. "And what was that I heard about properties and houses, hmm? I thought this matter was decided long ago, no?"
"I think, it will not be very healthy for Harry to live in your – erm – house, Mr. Riddle," Molly stood up bravely.
"I hope, you do not think, that I keep my guests in dungeons or in chains, Mrs. Weasley," calmly replied Voldemort. "Or that I live in a shack, for that matter. Your dear adopted son shall be residing in the best conditions yet, I daresay. Personal set of rooms, en-suite bathroom, four meals a day, a field to stretch his limbs or go flying, and pretty much anything he could wish for. I assure you, he shall not be in want of anything, even the most bizarre of Harry's wishes shall be granted immediately."
Molly bristled.
"I didn't imply anything of the sort, Mr. Riddle, I just think Harry needs to decide for himself -"
"And when was the last time he 'decided for himself', as you've put it, during all these previous years?" Voldemort inquired in a low voice, still rather calmly, except for his eyes, which had a storm of blood whirling in them now. "As far as I am aware, you've lot put him with his mother's relatives, who didn't took kindly to him being dumped on their doorstep and were taking it out on Harry all the time." The tail of his phrase was hissed with badly concealed anger. "They attempted to 'cure' him of magic, barring even mentioning it inside their house, locked his things during his summer holidays and even tried to beat the magic out of him couple of times!" The Dark Lord was shaking with anger now, dark-rose spots appearing on his cheek-bones, though he still managed to keep his voice low, so as not to attract the attention of ever-present reporters.
Harry on the other hand was trying to hide inside himself, it seemed, hunching his shoulders in shame and lowering his head.
"You better calm down, Mr. Riddle, or you make a scene," Hermione noted in a shaky voice, motioning to Harry. "I don't think your husband would be glad, if the press learned of his crappy childhood," she added, "and it seems, he's going to collapse any minute now," she finished in a rush, jumping to Harry's side and supporting him by the elbow.
"What?" the Dark Lord visibly deflated, when turning to Harry and seen him swaying on his feet, his face contorted in pain, a thin bloody thread of blood trickling from his inflamed scar. "Potter, you'd better collect yourself," he suggested tensely, "we might have company in couple of minutes," he added as an explanation, motioning to the crowds, which parted at that moment to reveal Rita Skeeter coming their way.
"Thank you for your support, dear husband," Harry rasped with sarcasm, "I really appreciate it!" He straightened and tried to remove blood from his face.
"Here," Voldemort with apologetic look produced a handkerchief from somewhere inside his robes and wet it with a wandless spell, but instead of giving it to Harry he started to carefully wipe down the red trail from Harry's face, avoiding touching the scar, though.
"Ah, how sweet," cooed Skeeter, when she approached them.
Voldemort, while his back was still turned to her, cringed and grimaced at the claim of him being anything near 'sweet'.
Harry managed to snort quietly, while Voldemort shielded him from the reporter, his mood brightening a little. Nodding his thanks to the Dark Lord with surprise written over his features, Harry at last took the offered handkerchief in his own hands, wiping the rest of the blood spots and, at last, addressing the reporter:
"I doubt you're sober, Miss Skeeter – to call Dark Lord anything resembling 'sweet' is suicide otherwise."
She giggled, "Mr. Potter - or should I call you Mr. Riddle now? - today's big day, we're all a bit drunk on the victory alone, don't you think?"
"That's not victory, Miss Skeeter," Harry corrected her, "that's a day of peace treaty."
"And your wedding, dear," she smiled sweetly. "So why are so brooding? That should be the joyous celebration -"
"Even I do understand that it is anything but, Miss Skeeter," the Dark Lord interjected darkly. "I may gained a spouse, but you lost your precious Savior. Sold him, to be precise, in exchange for your blasted peace," he hissed. "That's hardly a reason for celebration," he growled. "Now – leave. You're upsetting the Saviour!" with a swish of his empty wand-hand the reporter suddenly appeared at the spot half the hall across from them, her appearance ruffled, as if she was dragged there.
"Whoa! Aren't you a Harry's fanboy now?" Sirius snickered. "Firstly you've advocated for him in front of Molly, and now you're ushering reporters away!" he whistled in awe. "And were those wandless spells? I thought wandless magic's almost non-existent!"
"It is certainly more power-consuming," the Dark Lord noted and made a step towards the closest table with food served. "As for its existence, you've seen for yourself, Black, it is possible." Then he turned to the table and started to inspect it's contents critically, choosing what to grab. "I suggest you eat something, too, darling, before dawning that glass," he remarked, his back still turned to the rest of the group.
"How did he do that?" Hermione mouthed, indicating that turned back.
Harry shrugged.
"That's the fourth glass today, if my count is correct." Voldemort noted. "If you continue like this, I am afraid, we'd need to postpone our wedding night for another time," he smirked, seeing Harry's face palling in shock at the reminder.
"You know, Harry, he's actually right," with surprise remarked Hermione, before Molly could reprimand him, "you'd better eat something, before you'd get drunk."
"Not you, too, Mione!" Harry whined. "If you'd say now anything about the 'night' I might accidentally puke all over the place." He winced. "Fine, I'd eat! But that's my right as a groom – to drink for my lost freedom!"
The Dark Lord snorted and brought Harry a plate full of small foods he'd grabbed, while picking his own meal.
"Here," he showed the plate into Harry's hands, than tuned to Mrs. Weasley, "Please, can you make sure he'd eaten at least half of that? I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere for a brief time. Don't miss me, kids!" and with that the Dark Lord left their small gathering and disappeared into the crowd of celebrating people.
"What was it?" Ron blinked into his retreating back. "I thought he should be more intimidating and scary," he muttered.
"It's a tactic. He's hoping this way you won't visit us in the morning," Harry explained around mouthful of food. "Or at least give him some slack, while inspecting," he shrugged, "I suppose it never hurts to try," snorting Harry continued to devour the food.
"Where does he disappear all the time?" Ron furrowed his brow.
Harry shrugged.
"Mingling. Plotting. I don't know. And, really, don't care! While he is not here scaring me shitless with his promises and innuendos, he may do whatever he wants," Harry grumbled.
"That's called politics, Mr. Potter," interjected Lucius, suddenly appearing seemingly out of nowhere.
"What, are you my babysitter now?! In his stead?" Harry coughed on his food.
"Truly sorry, Mr. Potter," Lucius droned with mockery and without an ounce of apology in his tone, "I was given specific instructions from both parties to keep an eye on you in case my Lord is not around to shield you from the reporters and overjoyed public." He issued a crooked one-sided grin.
Harry made a face.
"Right, I am so incompetent!" he grumbled, "That I need a chaperone even around my closest friends and family!"
Lucius gave a nonchalant shrug.
"I am but an agent of those higher up in the command chain," he replied calmly.
"And you are okay with this?" Hermione inquired surprised. "I understand that you continue to answer to your 'Lord', but you've mentioned 'both parties', so you must mean Dumbledore, as well."
Lucius sighed.
"What?!" Harry exclaimed. "Dumbledore put you up to watching me, too?! That snaky codger!" He shook his head.
"You know it's kinda scary – both Dumbledore and You-Know-Who conspiring against you," Ron admitted.
"You don't say," Harry muttered. "Still, I don't need your measly protection, Malfoy, I can fend off those reporters just fine on my own."
"Mr. Potter, may I have a moment of your time, please?" suddenly asked someone, as if on cue.
Startled Harry whirled around to see a young dark-haired woman with glasses on her face and quill and parchment in her hands.
"What?!" Harry snarled annoyed.
"Pardon me, Mr. Potter, I only was hoping to get your comment on this recent development," not even blinking at the cold reception the reporter gestured around them. "Do you think all these people here have actually come to celebrate the peace treaty? Or maybe they've come to see you off into your new married life?"
"What kind of question is that?!" Harry spluttered. "Are you trying to offend me – or them?" he pointed at the nearest couple of guests.
"I certainly did not imply anything improper, Mr. Potter," the girl stood her ground. "But I saw faces of those you're defending now, when you've tied that knot," she pointed at his wedding ring. "Not all of them were crying from joy over the war ending, many were eager to hear the juicy details of your so-called 'peace-talks' with the enemy and of the wedding night ahead of you," she looked apologetic for a second, then her expression turned back to reporter's usual poker-face.
"I suggest you step aside now, Miss," Lucius stepped in, noticing Harry's face darkening with anger. "Mr. Potter will not share his comments on the matter at this time."
"No, Malfoy, I got this," Harry pushed Lucius aside. "Miss, I truly believe that most of today's guests are celebrating peace treaty we've concluded with the other side. I cannot, of course, answer for all of the Wizarding community, but I hope not all of them are keen on peeking into my, or anyone else's, private life. Even if it's Voldemort we're talking about. It may be hard to believe at this point yet, but he is also human, as the rest of us, and he, too, deserves his privacy."
"I assume you, Mr. Potter, are privy on all matters 'Dark Lord'?" the girl raised a brow.
"And I assume, Miss, that you're a Dark sympathiser," Harry snapped. "So I suggest you go bother anybody else, before I loose my temper on you," he barred his teeth in a menacing grin.
"Mr. Potter, do you criticise those supporting the Dark Order?" the reporter quickly interjected. "But what about yourself? After all, you now officially assumed a Dark side, as it goes together with that ring."
"I. Had. Not. Gone Dark!" Harry issued through his teeth, at last taking out his wand. "You people had sold me to the Dark yourselves, so now you can live with it!" he snarled, pointing his wand at the reporter.
"Now, now, Mr. Potter," Lucius stepped in again. "You do not want this kind of publicity, I assure you. And you, Miss," he turned to the reporter, "You should get going, before anyone here made an unforgivable… mistake," he purred in a threatening tone. "You may want to direct your last question to that man," he suggested suddenly, pointing at the other end of the room, where Dumbledore stood already surrounded by a throng of reporters.
The reporter bristled, when hearing a badly concealed threat, but made a beeline for the other end of the room and for Dumbledore, when saw both Ron and Hermione also going for their wands.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, you, too, do not want such publicity," Lucius reprimanded them. "It's no fit for a Golden Trio to be seen attacking a reporter, even such pestering one, on a day of festivities."
"I understand now," Hurry grumbled, "The reason you were put to this task, Malfoy, is to stop me, or my friends, from creating a scandal," he snorted. "As if we don't know already. I've had Skeeter practically dangling from my arm all of Fourth Year." He grimaced, his expression mirroring Hermione's and Ron's. "This one just happened to tread on my pet corn," he sighed hiding his wand up his sleeve. "Frankly, they can hold a candle, for all I care. I'm just glad we finally have peace – "
He was interrupted by a dark figure smashing into him with brutal force, yelling something about the Savior selling himself to the enemy. The impact was so fierce, that Harry was almost knocked off his feet, caught at the last moment by someone from behind, while Lucius yanked the attacker off of Harry, immediately putting him in full Body-bind by expertly performed motion of his wand. Harry gasped, hearing echoing gasp from the person who caught him, followed by a shriek of outrage from Hermione and loud swearing from Ron.
Harry tried to stand upright, only to feel excruciating pain under his ribs and something alien there, interfering with his breathing.
"Don't move," someone gritted, and now he recognised the voice – it was Voldemort, who caught Harry in his fall. "There is a knife in our side."
"Wha– ?" Harry let out and tried to look down.
"Harry, please, don't move," Hermione begged him with a trembling voice. "There's this big knife in your chest, and it goes through you and into V-Voldemort," she stuttered. "I'd try to rem-move it – "
"Don't – " Voldemort rasped out.
"I'm going to pass out," Harry mumbled in weakening voice.
"I've got you," he heard Voldemort's promise, before the man spun on his heels, dragging them both into Apparition, and all went black.
[1] Heqin [pronounced "He tschin", Pinyin: "Hé qīn"] - also known as marriage alliance, refers to the historical practice of Chinese emperors marrying princesses—usually members of minor branches of the ruling family—to rulers of neighboring states. It was often adopted as an appeasement strategy with an enemy state that was too powerful to defeat on the battlefield.
Literary means "peace marriage" in Chinese. Link: wiki/Heqin
Enjoy and don't forget to leave comments, bookmark or subscribe to this and/or my other stories!
Your involvement gives me inspiration and urge to write!