"You look absolutely gorgeous, my dear," Mrs. Weasley sniffled, wiping her tears. Harry tried to pretend they were tears of joy and that Mrs. Weasley was her actual mum and this was a happy day.

But no one could see it that way.

She engulfed Harry in a tight hug and cried hard.

"You're a brave, brave girl. The bravest I've ever met," she wept into her handkerchief. Ginny patted her mum on the back and gave Harry an apologetic look.

"It's the only thing I could do. And well… it's easier than the other thing."

They couldn't argue with that.

Ron came into the bride's dressing room with Hermione, to wish Harry luck. He walked around like he had a permanent lump in his throat. Smiling through the pain, he also hugged Harry.

"You look beautiful. I hate that it's for that bastard," he said.

Harry chuckled and thanked him before turning to Hermione and smoothing her hair back. She was dressed in a bridesmaid dress identical to Ginny's.

Soon it was time for the ceremony, where Remus was walking her down the aisle. He requested some privacy to speak with her alone where he cried and confessed that he didn't know what to do anymore because he didn't want this for Harry. Her parents would be so disappointed if they knew he walked her down the aisle to marry their killer.

"They'd be even more disappointed if I faced him in battle and died," Harry pointed out. "This way, at least I get to live. And we have restored some peace to our world. It's a small sacrifice for the payout."

It took a few minutes to soothe him and reassure him that this was her decision and he had no say in it regardless. Then it was showtime.

Harry kept the guestlist very small, inviting only the Weasleys, and some Order members. Voldemort invited a lot of his Death Eaters and even allowed the press to come. This was going to make headlines and be the hottest news for weeks. Several changes had already been made in the wizarding world to acquiesce Harry's conditions and restore some peace.

Without his reign of terror to get people to do his bidding, Voldemort was profiting the most off Harry's name and using her hero status to get what he needed. He was the most powerful and influential man in their world right now, with his men in positions such as Minister of Magic, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, etc. The only thing he was lacking was the people's support. Which now he can get with Harry at his side. He wasn't not going to milk this for what it was worth.

Harry stared at the ground in front of her as she walked down the aisle in her white gown. When they reached the end, her face contorted in pain and she threw her arms tightly around Remus. She reassured him she'd be alright one more time before pulling away and turning to the altar.

Voldemort was dashing, this wasn't news. He was even more handsome in dress robes, making Harry almost blush. However, the way his eyes roved up and down her body, taking in her appearance, did make her blush.

The bonding ceremony was quick and simple, yet the longest minutes of her life. It required them to clasp each other's wrists and look into each other's eyes as they repeated their oath to support each other and be faithful, their vow to never harm each other and protect the other, their promise to make the best of their marriage and be at each other's side.

When the oaths were taken and vows recited, their rings floated up to them. Harry wondered about the authenticity of their marriage because the wizard presiding over the ceremony didn't state either of their full names as they exchanged rings. She felt the warm radiating from the ring over her finger settle and realized it might be good enough.

Voldemort had probably instructed the wizard not to use their real names. It didn't matter because after they didn't share a kiss like traditional weddings do, they signed the magical contract officially binding them together.

The wizard declared them husband and wife and then waved his wand over their heads making a shower of stars descend upon them.

Harry's breath hitched at the sight of the stars but before she could admire them, Voldemort wrapped his fingers around hers and helped her down from the altar. A photographer snapped their photos while he put an arm around her waist and then all photographers and reporters were asked to leave the premises.

They continued down the aisle as everyone else stood. Harry looked around in confusion before she realized they were headed to the makeshift dance floor and everyone else stood around in a circle. The reception was starting and it was usually opened by a dance from the bride and groom.

"Do we have to do this?" Harry hissed to Voldemort, almost queasy from nerves at all the eyes on them. "I can't dance!"

"You'll be much more embarrassed if I leave you standing here alone," he said back, twirling her once before pulling her in for the dance. Her limbs were stiff as she held herself a foot away from him.

She had to admit that if he did just leave right now, she would look really stupid standing on the floor by herself wondering what to do.

They barely spun around three times before other people joined in the dance.

"Do you want to go or do you want to stay?" Voldemort asked her quietly. Harry's heart hammered in her chest—she didn't even know where he lived. Where they would live. Or how she was going to live.

"I want to stay," she answered confidently.

"Very well," he nodded at her once and walked off, disappearing among the people.

"Harry, dear," Molly jumped up to come to her side. "Some pictures?"

Swallowing nervously, Harry nodded.

Though it made all of them uncomfortable and sad, Harry appreciated her friends' effort to make the best of the party. Fred and George were on the dance floor dancing non-stop with a recently recovered McGonagall. Ron plucked a few of the flowers from Hermione's bundle and tucked them into her hair. Mr and Mrs Weasley took to the dance floor and scared off any of the Death Eaters that had been there with their dramatic dancing.

Harry almost forgot why she was there and just viewed it as an ordinary party, especially when the food was served. She sat with the Weasleys and they all talked as if this was any regular family outing.

"Potter," a delicate voice said behind her, "it's time to cut the cake."

Harry twisted in her chair to see Narcissa Malfoy standing with her lips pursed. Nodding, she got up and followed the woman to the center of the room where a lavish cake was levitated out. Harry looked around the room until she saw Voldemort standing in the shadows with Nott Sr. He downed whatever alcoholic beverage was in his hand and sauntered over to her.

She tried not to feel intimidated the closer he got, but he was still every bit as scary as she knew him to be. Despite how polite he was being today.

Voldemort waved his hand and the cake cut itself, resulting in Harry to glare at him in annoyance.

"What?" he rolled his eyes. "It's quicker this way."

"I wanted to cut it," she huffed.

Voldemort sighed and fixed the top tier of the cake. Harry stood up on her tiptoes, holding onto his arm for support as she cut into the cake. Her guests cheered and clapped loudly, making her smile genuinely at them. Their insistence to be the rowdy and annoying guests was making this whole experience tolerable.

Harry ate four slices of cake in an effort to stall the end of the night. Half of Voldemort's guests had already gone home and a few of the Order members were trickling out.

The Weasleys were staying until Harry had to leave. And Harry was too scared to leave, so she pulled forward another slice of cake and started nibbling on small bites.

Ron was in the middle of telling a story in high spirits—something that didn't happen often anymore but he had enough alcohol and food in him to do so—when suddenly he stopped and his face turned dark. Harry didn't have to guess what the reason for this reaction was as his eyes snapped up behind her. She turned to see Voldemort gazing at them all with a cocky smile and his hand on the back of Harry's chair.

"Time to go, dearest," he grinned, eagerly assessing their reactions. Mr. Weasley was glaring at him, Remus couldn't meet anyone's eyes, Ron was also glaring.

"But… I still have cake," Harry said. Voldemort's gaze dropped down to the half-finished cake in front of her then the four empty cake plates surrounding her. Without a word, he Vanished the cake.

"Now you don't. Come," he ordered, walking away.

"Let me say goodbye, at least!" Harry insisted.

His eyes flashed dangerously as he sighed in annoyance. "You have one minute."

Harry made the most of that minute, rushing her goodbyes and thank you's and reassurances that she will take care of herself and see them all soon.

Harry stumbled forward, nearly falling flat on her face if it weren't for Voldemort holding her up.

"What's wrong with you?" he grunted.

"I had too much cake," Harry mumbled, holding a hand over her stomach and willing herself not to vomit after the Apparition.

Straightening herself up, she looked in awe at the Manor in front of her. It was huge—it was magnificent.

A dark manor, with some broken statues off to the side, and a giant fountain. It was not the most pristine or well-kept. Certainly not as tidy as what she knew Malfoy Manor looked like, but it wasn't dirty. Just a little aged.

The interior of the Manor was even more beautiful. Hauntingly, so. It was fitting of Voldemort to live in a house that was beautiful, opulent and with a hint of dark eeriness. Just like him.

"You can look around tomorrow," Voldemort stated. "Hilsey!" A house elf appeared in front of him with a pop, bowing her head so low that her nose brushed against the ground. "Take Harry upstairs."

With that, he walked between the two main staircases to the darkened hallway and disappeared. Hilsey bowed to Harry as well before walking up the left side. The two marble staircases met on the second floor landing where two other staircases led to opposite sides of the house.

Harry scurried after, hating the heels she was wearing as they headed up the stairs. She followed her all the way to the third floor. Here her mind began to wander to territories she didn't want it to: the sleeping situation.

Were they meant to share a room? Did she have to sleep in the same bed as him? Was he going to want to have sex? Just to consummate the marriage or would it be a regular thing he expects?

Harry chewed on her bottom lip as she pondered this. It took a slow second to realize Hilsey had stopped in front of a set of lavish doors. The doors opened to welcome the two.

It was a huge room, probably the biggest bedroom she'd ever seen. Just this single room alone was as big as the Weasley's living room.

Harry took in the big four-poster bed, the wide closet, the changing screen, the ensuite marble bathroom. She felt like royalty here.

Hilsey softly closed the closet door, snapping Harry out of her reverie, as she reached to accept the nightgown the elf offered.

"Would Mistress like for Hilsey to run her a bath?"

"I'm okay, thank you."

Hilsey nodded once. "If Mistress needs anything, give Hilsey a call."

She Disapparated, leaving Harry alone in a dark room and unsure of what to do.

Harry walked up to the extravagant floor-length mirror and took in her appearance. Her dark red hair was tied up in a low bun, with a few curls sticking out to frame her face. She looked like her mother in her parents' wedding pictures.

Her poor parents. Oh, how disappointed they would be. They did everything they could in their power to protect her, even died for her, only for Harry to end up married to the man who killed them. Now since neither were going to kill the other, her parents' deaths were even more of a waste. If they lived, the prophecy would still exist. They might still come to the same conclusion that marriage was the best loophole out of the prophecy.

Her father would go ballistic and absolutely refuse to let this happen. In Harry's imagination, she's her Daddy's princess, his Quidditch protégé. No man would be good enough for her in his opinion. Perhaps her mother would be the sensible one to see all the good that could come out for their people with this union.

Most of all, Voldemort would have one less crime under his belt. He wouldn't be responsible for the death of her parents and maybe then being married to him would be slightly easier.

Slowly, Harry picked the flowers out of her hair, removed the tiara and her hair clip, watching the curls cascade down her back. She unzipped the dress from the back and stepped out of the beautiful gown. It really was so pretty. If only the circumstances were different, if only she were marrying someone she truly loved…

It was pointless thinking those thoughts.

She pulled on the nightgown and headed to the bathroom to prepare for bed. As soon as the lights were out and she was in bed, her stomach twisted in nervous knots.

Where was Voldemort?

Was he going to come in here? Would he get angry if he saw Harry asleep on their wedding night? Or did he not care for sex? He wasn't affectionate or touchy at all, she learned that much today from how little he put his hands on her. Perhaps he still saw her as a child.

Tossing and turning, Harry didn't get a wink of sleep. She anxiously waited and listened for the sound of his footsteps. A few times she dozed off accidentally, only to jolt awake.

The fourth time she jerked awake was when Hilsey shook her.

"Breakfast is ready, Mistress."

"Br-breakfast?" Harry mumbled, sleepily. She squinted her eyes and lifted her head from under the covers to see light pouring into the room. "Erm, Hilsey?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Is this just my room? Or is it also Voldemort's?"

"This be Mistress' chambers. Master sleeps in the chamber down the hall."

A weight lifted off her shoulders. Harry regretted not asking earlier, maybe then she would have slept better.

Harry quickly got ready to head downstairs. She wasn't sure if she was having breakfast with Voldemort, but she didn't want to keep him waiting and make him angry on the first day of the marriage.

Hilsey showed her the way to the dining hall where Voldemort was sat at a long table, already eating.

He looked up from the paper he was reading and did a double take at the sight of Harry.

"Morning," he said smoothly.

"Morning," Harry mumbled back.

Without another word, Harry took her seat at the table and assessed her options for breakfast. She didn't have the stomach for anything sweet after binge eating cake last night, so she grabbed a slice of toast and buttered it. It'll do. She wasn't very hungry.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, disinterestedly.

Harry's hand ghosted over her wand, just to make sure it was still with her.

"Yes," she responded.

That was the extent of their conversation.

Voldemort left after a short while, leaving Harry alone with the house elves.

She scouted the Manor out, getting acquainted with the house. Voldemort's house. Her house.

It was not only big enough to need a few days to fully explore, but it was also brimming with magic. Not even the Burrow was as magical as this house. There were several different types of magical creatures on the grounds. She discovered secret passageways through the Manor that were for the house elves to travel between rooms faster. The strangest was the second floor—it changed it's own layout every time Harry wandered in there.

At least it wasn't boring.

Voldemort didn't return until late at night, when Harry was already in bed. Her eyes opened the moment she felt a ripple in the air that felt oddly like an intrusion and welcoming at the same time. She wondered whether it was the marriage bond or the Manor recognizing her as an owner and alerting her of the wards letting somebody in.

Regardless, she knew the second Voldemort Apparated in and her heart started hammering.

An hour passed by and she was left unbothered. Harry closed her eyes and fell asleep.

He was gone for the majority of the day almost everyday. It's been a week since they married and Harry's only had breakfast with him twice and never lunch or dinner.

It suited her just fine. The only downside was that the loneliness was driving her insane.

With no one but the house elves to keep company, a witch got bored and restless pretty quick. It was a stark contrast from her life at the Burrow, which was a small house filled with too many people. Harry missed the sound of other people's voices.

She also wanted to know more about how the truce was affecting the wizarding world, the Order and her friends.

The Daily Prophet was always around, either delivered directly to her or left behind by Voldemort after he was done with it. Their wedding was still the biggest news. Surprisingly, the Prophet saw the union as a happy occasion rather than bizarre or uncomfortable.

It made sense once Harry remembered Remus telling them that Voldemort's followers ran the Prophet too now.

She missed Remus. And Ron and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley and everyone else.

One of the agreements to this marriage, that Voldemort was very strict on, was that she wasn't to leave the house. No one from the Order was allowed to come into his house either. At most she can go out if she had an escort but that hardly helped her situation. She wanted to have secret Order discussions—they couldn't do that with a Death Eater present.

Harry was basically confined to the house unless she had permission from Voldemort to go out.

After several long days, Voldemort returned from wherever he went.

Harry came downstairs for breakfast one morning and saw Voldemort once again had already begun eating. He glanced up at her, his red eyes narrowing. It made Harry's insides turn to ice.

"What are you wearing?"

She looked down at her outfit before lifting her head back up in confusion.

"My clothes?"

Her personal trunk arrived the day after she did and since then Harry had been wearing nothing but her own clothes. Some were still Dudley's old cast-off that fit her loose and baggy—but she liked the style. Others were just regular Muggle clothes for girls that she bought with her own money since Aunt Petunia never did.

"It's rubbish. Your closet is full of fine robes," Voldemort stated.

She gulped, piling fruit onto her plate. "They're too fancy. I don't like them."

"I don't care. You will wear them," he said, turning his attention back to the paper.

"Why?" Harry argued. She hadn't expected to fight him just yet. When she saw him her first instinct was to butter him up so he'd let her go out. "It's not like anyone's going to see me. The house elves don't care what I wear."

"I see you and I'm the most important person in your life now," he said, meeting her eyes coldly.

Harry's lips pursed in anger. She felt bile rise to her throat. He was always the most important person in her life but now he was important on a different level. One she didn't like to put him on.

In a marriage, you have to learn to pick your battles.

That was Mr. Weasley's number one tip that he told her and all his children several times over the past few years. It was very relevant right now in this situation.

It seemed like Voldemort would only be around a couple times a week. She could stand to dress up in the fancy wizard clothes for those days. When he was gone, she'd revert to her own comfortable attire.

"Fine," Harry agreed, unhappy. Abandoning her breakfast, she got up and left the dining hall to go back to her room. Even after changing into one of the least fancy robes, she refused to go back down and be around him.

They had dinner together for the first time that evening. Voldemort's eyes lingered on her in a set of green robes. Harry pretended not to notice. As she ate, she waited for him to break the silence, which he didn't.

After dessert was cleared away, Voldemort stood from his chair to leave.

"Wait," Harry said, making him stop. His eyes bore into hers, making her drop her gaze to his chin. "I-I want to go out."

"No," he dismissed the idea without even considering it.

"Why?" Harry huffed. In the script she planned all day, she anticipated this answer and her response was supposed to be please? But the way he rejected her request without even thinking about it angered her.

"Because I said so," he responded, continuing out of the hall. Harry scrambled to get up and followed after him.

"But why not? Please? I'm so bored in here—"

"Not my problem. Find something to do," he clipped, walking briskly up the stairs while Harry struggled to catch up and breathe evenly at the same time.

"It's not that I can't find anything to do. It's very lonely—I haven't spoken to anyone in ages—"

"Again, not my problem," he said in the same haughty tone.

"It is your problem because I'm your wife and I'm unhappy!" Harry yelled, her gut twisting at the first verbal acknowledgement that she was his wife. Harry could barely grasp the concept of being anyone's wife so early in life, much less the Dark Lord's.

"And my responsibility is to keep you safe, which I can't do if you leave."

Shaking her head, she tried to understand his logic. "That makes no sense. Who is going to hurt me out there?" she pointed out. "The only person I ever needed to be safe from was you!"

Voldemort paused and turned around to face her curiously.

"That's not true," he said lightly. "There is someone out there who doesn't have your best intentions at heart."

"Who?" Harry frowned. Did Voldemort have enemies that would target her now that she was his wife? That also didn't make sense because his biggest enemies were her friends.

"Not to mention that I stopped trying to kill you sometime in your fifth year at Hogwarts."

He turned away from her without an explanation and continued down the hall, leaving Harry to sputter in shock.

"Hang on!" she shouted. "What do you mean you haven't been—"

"If I wanted you dead, you would be dead right now," he drawled. "The only reason you weren't dead after that stunt you pulled at the graveyard by escaping is because I needed the prophecy and you were my key to retrieve it." He took a side glance at her shocked face and chuckled to himself. "Don't tell me you actually thought you were that good at staying alive all these years."

"Why didn't you want me dead anymore?" Harry's mind was racing. Nothing made sense, but at the same time everything made sense. She always felt like she was the only one in the Order who truly grasped the idea of how fucking ridiculous it was to believe that an eighteen-year-old barely trained witch was Lord Voldemort's match.

Curious eyes locked on hers, debating how much to tell her.

"It was brought to my attention that you are a Parselmouth."

"That's it?"

"It changes everything."

Before Harry could inquire further, he turned into his room and shut the doors in her face.