A/N: Many thanks to my delightful beta SolAnise as well as all the encouragement from the other Tomarrymort shippers. 3 you all, and I hope you enjoy!

Entwined

Ch. 1

The first time he saw his mark it was out of the corner of his eye. Harry had just finished two hours of flying with his Dad and his brother Connor. It was the first time his little brother had joined them in a seeker's game, and three matching grins graced the faces of the Potter lads as they trooped inside.

As he shucked his clothes off to grab a shower, Harry thought he could still feel the wind whipping past his flushed cheeks. He felt giddy in the aftermath of the game, the chatter and laughter of his family as they wove between each other in search of the practice snitch ringing in his ears. His quidditch robes pooled on the bathroom floor, and he had almost climbed into the tub when a glimpse of dark squiggly lines across the left side of his chest made him step back in front of the mirror.

The shape was an amorphous, dark smudge at first glance. As he squinted, Harry could make out the charcoal colored sweeping curves of five words embossed over a staff with two snakes wound around it from base to tip. 'The serpent of my soul'. Harry couldn't pull his eyes away, his fingers coming up to trace the edges of the image without a thought. His mark, it was here. His mark! He met his own gaze in the mirror, emerald eyes flashing brightly back at him as a joyful smile overtook his features.

"MUM! Mum, it's here!" he yelled.

"It's here, you have to come see! I've got my mark. I've got my—"

Harry cut himself off at the stampeding sound of pounding feet on the stairs that followed his hollering.

He giggled at the sound of his mum's scolding that echoed up to the third floor bathroom. "Bloody hell, James! Don't bowl me over on the stairs, you'll get there when you get there. Besides, he called for me. Yes, I know it's his mark. I've got ears, don't I? Oh, let's just get up there!"

Harry turned back to the mirror, index finger following the twined snakes looping across his small chest.

I have a soulmate.

The warmth curling inside him was more comforting than hugs from his father or the soft sound of his mum's voice lulling him to sleep after a bad dream. There was a weightlessness to it, the comfort of the unseen that wrapped around him, whispering, 'I've got you, Harry.'

He'd thought this feeling was exclusive to flying, but maybe that's what having a soulmate meant; always having someone on a broom beside you. He had never felt like this before, at least not down on the ground.

His parents burst through the doorway simultaneously, a tangle of knees, elbows and heaving chests. James' eyes were bright with excitement while Lily was bouncing in place. The Potters could only see their eldest in profile, but his whole body seemed more relaxed than they'd ever seen it before. The soft patter of Connor's footsteps gave away his lurking curiosity, but Harry was happy to let him share in this moment, too. He loved nothing more than he loved his family, except, now, his soulmate.

Harry had heard stories about his parent's marks since before he could remember. Uncle Padfoot would tell him and Connor the tale every year on September 1st, speaking at length about the day when a flame-haired spitfire had sat down in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express and introduced herself as Lily Evans.

Dad would always interject, cutting off Uncle Pads' description of the pair of first-years searching for two empty seats and the chance to meet other wixen, to proudly inform his sons that he'd gotten down on one knee almost the moment the word Lily came out of the redhead's mouth.

"I pulled my right sleeve up to show this auburn-haired angel the flower that had marked my forearm for the past two years, a flaming lily, and told her 'you were made for me.'" James would add, smirking in remembrance.

Uncle Moony would usually chip in with, "and she despised the way you worded, 'I think you may be my soulmate,' to the point of blushing bright pink and spitting, 'I am made for myself alone,' before turning on the spot and dragging Severus out of the compartment."

Harry would giggle without fail each time he heard the story about his mum's response to his dad's goofiness. Now that he was staring at his own mark, her oft-expressed opinion on soulmarks came back to him.

"Our marks don't tell us who we're supposed to be," Lily would explain to a six-year old Harry and a three-year old Connor, each tucked into one of her sides.

Harry would burrow into her warmth as her hand stroked softly through his hair. "They guide us to the person who best helps us be who we are," she finished, kissing both boys' heads.

"You should never have to change to fit yourself into a space someone else makes for you, especially one that's too small. Nor should you ask them to shrink for you. Being with your soulmate is a joining, an ease, a steady acceptance of being wanted as you are."

Lily balanced the boys on her hips and carried them to bed. Harry adored her sweet smile, and her final piece of advice that night had stayed with him in the two years between then and receiving his own mark.

"Your mark represents someone who sees all of you. The scars, the dreams, the faults and the possibilities. They see all of that and love you for it, all of it," she told him.

Harry had watched her solemnly, his mum wasn't often that serious. "No one, not even your soulmate, is perfect Harry. They're a real person doing their best, even when others are doing it better. And so are you."

Looking at his mark, Harry took a breath and promised himself he'd love like that. The way his mum loved him and Connor and his dad. After all, if he could love his family like that then he could love his soulmate that way too.

Resolved, he turned to face his expectant parents. His mum couldn't stand still, and his dad's fingers were twitching like mad.

"Look," he whispered. "It's so pretty."

They smiled and Lily bent down to take a closer look.

"Oh, it's so elegant, Harry," she murmured. "This is a caduceus. A symbol of your future bond."

His dad knelt next to his mother and turned Harry towards him a tad to take it in himself.

"It's a good size, Har," he added. "Easily seen but not covering too large of an area on your chest."

"Over your heart as well," his mum offered. "It'll be a strong bond if it's located in such a vital spot."

Harry soared. This was everything he'd hoped finding his mark would be when he'd prayed to Lady Magic late at night. He wanted what his parents had, the ease of falling into step without trying, and now, he knew he would find it. His bond was going to be strong, he could already feel the pull. If it felt like this now, just hours after appearing, he couldn't even imagine—and he'd imagined plenty—what it would feel like to find the mate to his mark.

His dad's comment brought him back to the moment.

"It's a shame these squiggles conceal part of your mark," he muttered.

Lily chastised him. "Magic has a reason for everything, James." She tugged on Harry's chin to bring his face back to hers. "And your mark is beautiful exactly as it is." She threw her husband an exasperated look. "Don't fret, love."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" He tilted his head to the side as he glanced down at his chest. He could easily make out the fluid cursive scrawled perpendicular across the upright staff.

James' whisper of, "We need to get his prescription checked again," carried further than he intended. Lily just rolled her eyes as Harry's nose scrunched up in response.

"Why, darling? What do you think the curled lines mean?" She asked hesitantly, turning back to face her son.

Harry looked up into her warm eyes, so like his own, and said, "Mum, they're words. Can't you read them?"

Lily took a deep breath as his dad froze beside her.

She calmly carried on. "What do they say then, Harry?"

Harry could feel his dad's magic tingling in the air around them, bursting at the seams of his control. It didn't occur to Harry to be worried. Any anxiety or hesitation he might have felt was cancelled by the confusion of not understanding why his parents couldn't see what he did.

"They say, 'The serpent of my soul,' mum," He replied. "And they wiggle like they can't stay still." He poked at them to give an example and giggled as the words shimmied around like they were adjusting to his racing heartbeat. He couldn't contain his glee as he did a little dance and almost slipped on the robes he'd pulled off earlier.

"That sounds lovely, darling." His mum said softly, a small smile softening up her face as Harry beamed and turned away. If he had lingered a moment longer he might have spotted the tension in her temples or the worry in her eyes as she turned towards James.

Harry threw himself at his dad, who caught him reflexively, chattering away about how fun his soulmate must be if the words that represented them were so engaging and how he'd have to read up on snakes. Maybe there'd be a clue in the type of snakes in his mark that would guide him to his soulmate, the way there had been in the lily in his father's mark or the miniature antlers in his mother's. At that line of thought he pulled back from his still-stunned father to ask his mum if she'd researched her mark when it appeared, then laughed and answered his own question.

"Of course you did. You're Mum. There's no way you didn't hit the books like the closet Ravenclaw dad's always saying you are." Harry babbled. "How did you know which books to look at? Can you show me? And what's a caduceus and where can I look up the meaning—"

Lily laughed, partly in fond exasperation and partly out of nerves. "Slow down, Harry, or you'll get dizzy before you can get the rest of your questions out. Also, there's nothing wrong with being a Ravenclaw, despite what your father and uncles may have suggested."

But Harry's enthusiasm for the subject was boundless, and he had already turned back to his dad, questioning, "Did you look at books of flowers to figure out that your mark was a lily or did you just automatically know when you saw it? Did you ever meet a Lily before—"

Harry cut off, broken out of his spiel by the dawning realization that something was wrong. His dad had been silent. Was still silent. His dad was the loudest, most talkative person he knew, with the only close competition being Uncle Padfoot.

"Dad," Harry's confusion was clear in his voice. "Are you okay?"

James choked on a cough, a tiny noise that sounded like it scratched on the way out. "Sure, Har." He tried to clear his throat again, but it sounded like he could barely breathe. "Everything's fine," he continued. "Great in fact. You've got your," he paused and then picked back up immediately, "mark, and things are wonderful." He looked flustered, and everyone in the room could taste his magic crackling in the air around them. "Excuse me for a moment, Har. I think I could do with a glass of water. Must have gotten something stuck in there with all the excitement."

James was up, off the floor and out the door before Harry or Lily could even stammer out an, "Okay."

Harry turned back to his mother. "Mum," he asked, his voice quivering a little. "Is Dad—"

Lily pulled him into her arms. "Dad's just fine. You heard him. He had something stuck in his throat." She forced herself to relax and tickled Harry's sides until he was gasping. "You just excited him so much he couldn't think straight."

She peppered his face with kisses until he was shrieking and calling out for Connor to come in and distract Mum so he could escape.

By the time James stalked stiffly back into the bathroom, his wife and sons were lying flushed and curled up together on the bathroom floor. Connor stroked his brother's new mark with one hand and exclaimed, "I can't wait 'til I get mine!"

Connor quieted a little, then asked after a moment, "Is it as perfect as dad said it'd be, Har?"

Lily and James both held their breath, waiting for Harry's answer.

Harry's lips curled up into the most content smile either had ever seen cross their son's face. "Yeah, Connor. It's as perfect as dad said."

In the doorway, time stood still for James as he realized he'd have to make a choice here and now.

He loved his son. Both his sons. The picture in front of him was everything he had dreamed of at eleven when he knelt before a red-head who took his breath away from the moment she spoke.

He had to choose what kind of man he wanted to be.

For a moment, he agonized over the decision. If his suspicions about Harry's mark were correct, he could find himself pitched against everything he'd been working for these last ten years or be forced to turn his back on his boy. Then, looking down at the three most important people in his life, he knew there was no choice to be made at all.

James held back a chuckle as he realized his wife was right, like usual. Soulmarks were about being exactly who you are. They lead you to greatness, but don't ask you to be more than what you're capable of being.

As he watched the love of his life—a woman more clever than him by half—gaze down at his newly-marked son with the same boundless love as yesterday, he knew he could be the kind of man that accepted Harry regardless of who Magic said he was fated to complete. Loving his son wasn't a choice he had to make, not from the first moment he held him in his arms over eight years ago. Harry was as much his pride and joy today as he was yesterday and last year and the day he was born. That hadn't changed with his gaining a mark, nor would it in the future.

Even if his son's soulmate was, almost certainly, the leader of the Dark sect he'd been opposing in the Wizengamot since his parents had passed away when he was eighteen.

Even if he was the closet Dark Lord Dumbledore has accused the man of being over the last decade.

James took a deep breath and joined his family on the floor, pulling Harry to his chest and pressing a kiss to his messy hair. His wife's eyes shone as she looked at him, and he knew this was the only choice he ever could have made.

He and Lily would handle Harry's unexpected soulmate the way they handled everything else: together.