Title: The Grey World

Disclaimer: The world and most the characters belong to JK Rowling, and I only write for fun, not profit. A few of the characters are original, but most will be known.

Pairing: Harry and Voldemort

Rating: R

Trigger Warning: This is a story with a war as a background and recent history, even if it ends about when the story begins. Death, trauma, blood, torture, rape, PTSD and a lot of less than nice things will be mentioned. This is a dark story. There will be both bad language and sex, including sex with less than enthusiastic consent.

This is a story about the Wizarding World where Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's Horcrux's hunt went badly wrong, not long after they got Slytherin's locket. Ron left and never came back, and it only got worse from there. There has been a devastating war ever since. Most of the story up until Ron leaves, should match Rowling's works, but I might take a few artistic liberties now and again.

I don't have a beta reader, so any and all mistakes are mine.

This is the first chapter, I don't know how long the story will be, but I hope to post every week.

1. The Last Decision of my Life

Slytherin green. That was the colour of the robes he had been given. He had brought his own robes. His one and only insurrection on this day. His wedding day.

His wedding day.

Harry's wedding day.

The day he would marry.

The day he would marry Voldemort.

Marry the Dark Lord.

For a truce.

For peace.

To end the war.

Before the war brought an end to all of them.

"They do look good on you, at least." Draco Malfoy was looking at Harry and his dark maroon robes with a small frown. The colour was so dark it was almost black. But at least it wasn't Slytherin green. He liked the colour green and always had, just not Slytherin green.

Malfoy was impeccably dressed and styled with not a hair out of place and his black robes pressed to an inch of their life, and still … The war and all the fighting had taken its toll on him too. He was paler than ever and gaunt looking with dark rings around his eyes to rival Harry's own and there was a scar under his jaw and one trailing up under his right sleeve. Harry had noticed a shaking to Malfoys left hand too, when he kept it still, which was probably why Malfoy kept that hand behind his back if he didn't use it. A Malfoy must not show weakness in any form.

Malfoy looked from his robes to his face. "Granger's influence?"

Harry nodded and swallowed, wishing desperately for Hermione's presence here in this room, at this time. He had seen her the day before, seen her and said his goodbyes. Neither of them knew if they would see each other again.

His hands were getting clammy, and he reached into a pocket and felt the surface of the beaded handbag there. Hermione's gift to him. The bag that had made sure they survived through so many years of war, of battles and of hardships. She had helped him fill it with everything they could think off, everything that would help him in the coming days and weeks. If he survived weeks.

Hermione had decided that he would. That he would survive this marriage and see the peace the marriage would bring. He might not be free, but he would have a future and he would see what his sacrifice would give the rest of them.

All of them.

His throat closed while thinking of Hermione's eyes and face while she wrote those words down and handed him the book so he could read the words, while she pressed his hand hard enough to hurt with a desperation and a grief in her face that made him want to cry. That had been last week. This was now.

Now he was getting married.

"Potter?" Malfoy's voice was almost soft, and he put down the glass he had been holding. Holding, but not drinking.

"Yes, yes it was Hermione. I found the robes and she changed the colour for me." His voice was low, raw.

"She does know what she is doing." Malfoy said, almost begrudgingly, and tugged a bit at the shoulders of the robes. Harry didn't know why. He didn't particularly like having anyone that close to him, especially behind him, but he was resigned to deal with a lot of things he didn't like, today and for the rest of his most likely short life. It wasn't like he had actually liked much of the war, either, just survived it when so many hadn't.

"She has always known what she is doing, Malfoy. Brightest witch of her year, remember?" His voice sounded watery now, and his vision blurred. He expected a snort and a comment about the know-it-all mudblood, but it didn't come. There was a beat of silence and then:

"Oh, I remember, Potter. I wanted to get the top grade, but no, not even once. Except for the year after you left, our last year, but by then … it no longer felt important, and really, without Granger there it wasn't even much of a competition. I guess there is no taming that hair, Potter, not even today?" Malfoy took a step back, considering Harry's hair.

Harry shook his head but turned towards him. "Why are you almost … nice, Malfoy? After six years of animosity at school and then a whole war on opposite sides, why are you nice to me?"

"You have a very strange definition of nice, Potter." He did drawl the words, but there wasn't so much as a hint of a sneer or hostility in his face.

Harry raised both eyebrows.

"You husband to be informed me that he would take my tongue if I didn't watch it today," Malfoy admitted.

Harry blanched, and then came the eye roll he had been waiting for.

"Potter, I'm used to it by now. It's simply a sharp way of telling me to behave, and I have, and I will, and …" He stopped.

Harry didn't look forward to the first time Voldemort would make his wishes know to him, in a similar manner. He knew he didn't have Malfoy's protections. He had fought Voldemort at every turn since before he could remember, and he had fought even harder after the war began in full. Battle after battle. Year after year. While watching the world crumble around him. While watching people he knew and loved die, one by one. He wasn't a pure-blood prince with a family and connections. He didn't really have any friends anymore either, just one. Hermione was the best friend anyone could ask for, but she was just one person. If Voldemort decided Harry talked to much or said the wrong thing, Harry didn't doubt, even for a second, that he would lose his tongue.

He swallowed hard and pressed his shaking hands against each other behind his back. They were still clammy, but at least the tears had retreated.

He did this of his own free will.

Because he could think of nothing else to do.

Because no one else could either. Even Hermione.

Because they needed peace desperately.

He, Harry Potter, was marrying the Dark Lord Voldemort, his parent's murder, the murderer of so many families, of so many of his friends, he was marrying him of his own free will.

Maybe it would be the last decision he ever made on his own, but he had made this one. He would stand for it and live with it, but most likely die because of it.

He just hoped it wouldn't be a slow death. That was his one remaining wish now. No matter how hard Hermione wanted to believe that he would live and see peace. He hoped it would be a fast death, without any torture. He hoped …

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, and he reacted. A moment later he was staring down at Malfoy on the floor, his face slowly reddening while Harry's hand crushed his throat. Harry blinked, let go, got up and backed away with his hands in the air.

Malfoy gasped for air, got up on his elbows, coughed and gasped again before he looked at Harry who now was as pale as ghost.

"I'm sorry," Harry said slowly.

"Me too." Malfoy rasped and got to his feet. "You had started to shake, and you didn't respond when I talked to you. I probably shouldn't have touched you right then." He cleared his throat.

"No, probably not. Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's more the shock of it. Why it was a shock I have no idea. I have seen you fight with fists before, when there was no other option."

Harry nodded and forced the memories down before they could jump him.

"Potter, before we go in … I wanted to tell you something." Malfoy hesitated.

"Really, and not something that would make you lose your tongue?"

Malfoy nodded. "Maybe 'tell' is the wrong word." Silver eyes met emerald green. "I wanted to say thank you, for doing this. I know I'm not the one you want to benefit, but still … Thank you."

There was silence.

"Why?" Harry had to ask. "When you know I don't do it for you, why do you even consider saying something like that?"

Malfoy looked at him for a moment. "Do you know how many are left of our Hogwarts's year? Not only from Slytherin or Gryffindor, but from all the Houses in our year?"

"I … I know it's only me and Hermi left from Gryffindor." His throat almost closed at the thought and a list of names wanted his attention, but he kept his attention firmly on Malfoy.

Malfoy nodded slowly and drew a breath. "There are fifteen of us left, Potter, fifteen of almost a hundred children that begun school that year. Slytherin have four survivors, including me. Most of the living are from Ravenclaw, because they decided to leave, leave Britan and the whole of Europe, before the war spread. The numbers are even worse for the years ahead of ours. The year directly before us … they are all gone, every single one of them."

Harry had known it was bad, of course, even an idiot would know that much, but he hadn't known it was that bad. A whole class year … wiped out, and his own year, the children he had grown up with …

The silver eyes were burning into him. "That's why I'm thanking you, Potter. That's why there are a lot of witches and wizards out there who are thanking you today, even if they never will tell you to your face. One more year of this, maybe two, and we would never have recovered. Europe's Wizarding World as a society would have been gone. The losses have been … extreme, on both sides. As a society we are already limping heavily. It will take generations to build up our numbers to what they were before this." He swallowed. "Now, thanks to you, we have the chance to try. I … we … didn't want you to go through the day without hearing those words. Thank you."

Harry blinked at him, not knowing what to say. Malfoy did really sound like he meant it.

"We?" He croaked out at last.

"My wife and me. Astoria Greengrass did me the honour of becoming my wife last winter. She lost her sister, who was in our year, and everyone else in her family. Every single one."

Harry frowned in thought. "Two years younger than us? Quite tall and slender? Blond hair a bit warmer than yours and … blue eyes? Ice blue? I think I saw the two of you in The Prophet, but … I also believe I remember her from school, vaguely."

Malfoy's face softened. "Yes, that's her. She is in there now." He nodded towards the other room. The room where Harry would soon be married. "She would very much like to be introduced to you at the reception, if you have no objections."

Harry blinked again. "I … I mean … Yeah, sure, let's do that." He hesitated. "She was the one that forced you to do this, wasn't she?" Even with the explanation Malfoy had provided, this was simply too weird and too unlike Malfoy.

"She mentioned it first, but it made sense to me too. And really, if I had the good sense to marry the brightest witch of her year - she got the top score three times, I might add - it does make sense to listen to her, too. It's the truth, and a horrific war is between schoolboy rivalry and today. I can give credit where credit is due. Sometimes. If prodded. Heavily. With a red-hot poker."

Harry smirked. That sounded more like Malfoy, and at the same time, not quite. But he was right, now there was a war that separated today and the days when they had exchanged barbs and threats in the hallways of Hogwarts. Things change in a war. Harry knew that better than most. He had changed so much, Hermione even more, and the world … He almost didn't recognize it, most days.

"I think I would like to meet this wife of yours," he admitted. "Anyone who dare prod you with a poker is worth meeting."

Malfoy grinned at him, an actual grin with humour, silver eyes dancing.

"She's looking forward to it." He cast a tempus charm.

Ten minutes left.

Harry tried not to shiver and had to stop himself from looking longingly at Malfoy's wand. He had his own still, technically, but he assumed he wouldn't be allowed to keep it, so it was now in an indestructible box. A box only Harry could open and only if he was in his right mind and wasn't pressured in any way. Say to open the box and give over the wand. He would rather give the box over, than have anyone handle or use his wand. Hermione had given him the idea. It didn't make him happy, but he could live with it. When he died the box would self-destruct. He hadn't told Hermione about that part; it was too morbid when she wanted him to believe that he would survive.

Harry gazed into the big mirror in front of him again. He had looked at the robes, now it was time to look at the rest. He gritted his teeth and looked. His hair was as it always was, black and messy and completely hopeless to tame in any way. The emerald green eyes were no longer hidden behind glasses. It had become too perilous to depend on something that could fall off his face and basically blind him. He had been able to get the magical procedure done in Berlin, ten days before Voldemort's Dark forces had invaded the city.

The scar running from above his right eyebrow and down his cheek had split the eyebrow, but fortunately hadn't taken his eye. Two months after he got his scar, Hermione hadn't been as fortunate. He had felt so relieved when he had been able to save his eye, but looking at Hermione now, he knew he would have traded her in a heartbeat, if he could. It was her fast thinking and excellent spell work that had saved him, after all. Even if he could the same spells, the curse that had taken Hermione's eye had been too vicious. He had saved her life, but now she was blind on the left side and no Healer or spell they had been able to find, had been able to undo the curse.

The scar across his right eye was the most prominent one, by far, but it wasn't the only one. The ear on his right was missing a part and his chin and jaw had several smaller scars in addition to a now very pale scar from the side of his mouth almost to his jaw. His neck had an angry red line across it, the remains of the curse that almost killed him. For a couple of years, he had had a beard, but he had shaved it of this spring, about two months ago now. He wasn't sure if he would grow it out again, or not. The beard hid a lot of the scars and made the rest lest noticeable.

Harry was glad he was dressed from shoulder to toes. His body was worse than his face, the backs of his hands was dotted and striped with pale scars, and there was his missing little finger on his left hand. Bellatrix Lestrange's last malicious act in this life. Hermione had cast an Avada Kedavra that time. Later she had told him she had panicked, she hadn't wanted to use an Unforgivable.

It hadn't been the last time.

For either of them.

When it came down to kill or be killed; both of them preferred killing. And neither of them cared much about what that said about them or what their dead friends would have done or said if they knew. They were dead, Hermione and Harry were not, and they didn't want to join them if they could help it.

"Malfoy, I wonder if you might answer a question I have?" He could as well ask, now that Malfoy was slightly cordial towards him.

"I can try, Potter, but until I actually know the question, I don't know if I am able to answer."

"What are my odds?"

"Come again?" Malfoy just looked at him.

"The … Your side, what kind of odds are they giving me, about surviving this? How long do you think I have? It would be good to know what people that know Voldemort better than me think, even if it hardly is a guarantee. And do you believe that the truce will hold after I'm dead? Hermione made sure to have that as part of the contract - it wasn't in the first draft we got, strangely enough - but well … We don't really trust Voldemort to not find a way around whatever he wants to find a way around. It's kind of shitty, to be honest, to go through with this and not knowing if it will last past my death or not, but it's the only thing anyone could think of, so …Here to hope, I guess." The words rushed out of him, but when Malfoy didn't answer, Harry had to turn away from the mirror and look at him.

Malfoy stared at him with an expressionless face, his silver-grey eyes didn't betray a thought or a feeling.

"Malfoy, are you still with me?"

Malfoy blinked. "You don't know? No one told you?" The words were whispered.

"No one told me what!" Fear rushed in, it was never far away, after all, and his voice shook. "No one told me what, Malfoy?!" It was a snarl now.

Malfoy held up his hands. "I can't tell you, not at this time. It would most likely be my death, and Astoria's too."

"Then … can you at least answer my question, or would that be deadly too?" He had to breathe, he just … had to breathe. Breathe.

Malfoy hesitated. "Potter … In truth, there are some, idiots all, that are having a bet about how long you will last. But they are truly idiots, and …" He gave a sigh and met Harry's gaze. "Personally, I give you great odds to survive for a very long time, if you watch out for yourself and keep your worst … sardonic tendencies in check around our Lord. And if you still were to die … I wholeheartedly believe that the truce will be kept. We simply can't afford to fight anymore, that's the truth of it. And … you don't believe me."

"I want to, I do, I can't remember a time where I have wanted to believe something more … It's just …" Harry protested.

"It's just that you see yourself forever as a martyr and you can't believe a good turn if it bit you in the … on the nose," Malfoy shook his head. "Not that I can't understand it. Dumbledore really messed with your head."

"My head and my entire life, yes. You don't know the half of it." Harry had no trouble agreeing with that part, not now. His perspective on his life and the whole Dumbledore situation had changed during the war, it had had to change. "When can you tell me the thing I don't know?"

Malfoy hesitated. "Because I think that you actually will believe me about your chances, should you know … I will tell you at the reception."

When the deed was done. When the contracts were already signed. When there was no way out for Harry. Not that Harry couldn't understand Malfoy. If his reaction to this news were bad and he refused going through with the wedding, it would most likely really mean Malfoy's death.

"You promise?"

"I give you my word, Potter."

Harry nodded.

"I would … like to give you something else, if you are willing to consider it."

Harry raised a brow.

Malfoy swallowed hard, looked away and then met his eyes head on. "My friendship, if you will have it."

"Did your wife put you up to this too?"

Malfoy actually laughed at that.

"She did, she bloody well did!" He gave a sigh. "But only after hearing me tell tales about you for several years. In truth, I always wanted to be your friend, but I didn't understand you and screwed up from day one, and after that … I was too arrogant to accept the mistake and try again. I still am too arrogant, but Astoria keeps me in check."

He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his ear. This is great, Harry! He might not be a friend, but he can be an ally, and you need that. You have to accept. If he is false, you can kill him later, you don't need a wand for that. For now … accept.

"I really have to meet that wife of yours now, Malfoy. She must be a formidable witch, if she is able to keep even your arrogance in check." Harry held out a hand.

Malfoy took his hand. "She is, I promise. And it's Draco, if you don't mind."

"Call me Harry, then."

Draco nodded at him and gave him a crocked smile. "Harry it is." He cast a tempus charm again. "Should we go out and get you married then, Harry?"

Harry gave the haggard man in the mirror one last glance and nodded to himself.

"Yes, I think … I think I'm as ready as I will ever be."

"You are going to survive, you know, both today and in the future."

Harry only nodded. His throat had closed again, and again he wished Hermione was here. For one last hug, one last word of encouragement and one last guarantee that no matter what happened, she would be there for him, even if they never saw each other again, she would cheer for him and love him, until her dying breath.

He hoped today would help keep her last breath a long way away.