Harry was restless. There was an itching feeling under her skin and Voldemort's behaviour was not helping the issue.
"Why do you always do that when you see me?" Harry mumbled angrily, taking her seat at the dining table for breakfast. She and Voldemort had only been in each other's presence a handful of times so far, and he almost always does a double take.
"What are you talking about?" he grunted.
"You do a double take. Like you're surprised to see me. Am I really that easily forgettable? You actually forget you married your fated enemy?"
Voldemort pinned her with an unamused look before opening the Daily Prophet to read more about what they were saying about him.
"If you must know," he said slowly, his voice like dripping honey, "Every time I see you I'm constantly reminded of how lovely you are."
Whatever Harry expected to hear… this was not it.
Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened, trying to rewind her memory and understand if what she thought she heard was true.
"Excuse me?" she asked, genuinely needing to hear it again.
Voldemort pulled the paper down and leaned closer to her, annoyed that he had to repeat himself.
"You're more beautiful than I expected," he explained as if he was speaking to a toddler.
Now Harry was even more baffled. Baffled and quickly turning into a tomato with how red her face was getting.
Smug at rendering her speechless, Voldemort sat back in his chair and continued his reading.
"Er, thanks, I guess?" she mumbled, wishing her brain would unfreeze.
"You're welcome."
"How… What do you mean… You know what I look like… You've always known what I look like," Harry pointed out.
"With blood and dirt on your face. And we were usually busy throwing curses for me to really focus and admire your beauty," he said, not looking up from his paper.
Harry was turning hot so she looked down at her food and convinced herself that running away right now would be a very embarrassing thing to do.
Voldemort's comment stuck with her all day and the next day, and the day after that. Until he returned from wherever he went and she began seeing him around the Manor again.
"Hilsey, I'm not feeling well," Harry said to the house elf in the kitchen.
Hilsey looked up in alarm, passing her chopping board off to the next house elf and hopping on the table to peer into Harry's eyes.
"Mistress should be resting in bed. Hilsey will bring some remedies—"
"I'm not sick," Harry brushed off her worries. "I just feel—"
But there were no words for this feeling.
She felt restless, like she needed to do something now. To scream at the top of her lungs. To jump out of her skin. Something cathartic because this feeling building up inside of her was infuriating.
"Nevermind, forget it," Harry said, leaving the kitchen.
"Stop," a cold voice commanded as Harry was walking down a hallway. She stopped and watched as Voldemort sauntered over to her, resisting the urge to ghost her hand over her wand. It was still hard to let her guard down around him.
"What?" she asked.
"Hilsey tells me you're unwell."
"I'm fine," Harry insisted. He didn't buy it. "I'm not sick, I need to get out. I need to see other people, I need to be doing something productive, something meaningful or fun. I need—"
Voldemort tilted his face and took in her appearance. She was wearing a navy long-sleeve dress that had some jewels across the neckline and sleeves. It was far from the fanciest of her outfits in the closet, but still flashy enough to satisfy Voldemort.
"You don't wear any jewelry?" he asked curiously.
"I—what?"
"I've never seen you wear jewelry. I specifically asked for Narcissa to store a collection in your room."
Trust him to derail her off-topic this way.
"No, it's there. I just feel weird wearing it."
"Why?" he sounded more pissed off than curious.
"It doesn't feel like it's mine," she mumbled, shrugging.
Unimpressed with her reasoning to not deck out in full bling, he came forward until he was barely a foot away from her.
Harry stood rooted in her spot and stared wide-eyed at him. She should have backed away, pulled out her wand, hexed him, anything.
But she stood still and basked in the energy and warmth that radiated off his body.
Voldemort's hand lifted to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. His slender fingers travelled down the back of her ear to her ear lobe, admiring the earrings he just conjured.
Harry's heart hammered against her chest. She could feel the earrings in her ear, she could see Voldemort's appreciation, and she practically melted when his eyes met hers.
"Beautiful," he commented. He let the word hang in the air for a moment before saying, "That feeling you have is not restlessness from staying home all day. It's because we haven't consummated the marriage."
Harry's mind was foggy and in some place far, far away. In a place where she actually liked the feeling the hand touching her face brought.
"What?" she croaked. Then his words registered in her mind and her eyes blew open. "What?!" she exclaimed, taking a step back from him.
His hand dropped and he sighed.
"The marriage bond. It's not fulfilled until the marriage has been consummated. The longer it takes, the worse the feeling gets. It's pushing us to complete the final step in solidifying a bond."
What he was saying made sense but it was not what she wanted to hear right now.
And yes, Harry really thought she could live her whole life as a virgin.
"No," she shook her head, backing away and slipping into her room.
Voldemort didn't bring up the issue again. He was visibly frustrated and restless too, and he took his frustrations out in worse ways than Harry did.
In his case, people could actually get hurt.
So really, she was looking out for the innocent(ish) followers of his who didn't deserve to be Crucio'ed because she was too nervous to sleep with her husband.
Fortunately for her, he left the Manor for the next few days.
Unfortunately for her, this was not a good thing at all because at least when he was near she felt better. The farther away he was, the worse the feeling got for her.
After four days he returned home. After four days of absolute torture, of waiting around in the clothes he liked and hoping to have a mature discussion about how to go forth with their current predicament.
On some level, she was prepared for this. For weeks leading up to the marriage all she did was worry about this instance because she was certain it was going to happen. The only thing that changed was he turned out to not be interested in bedding her as soon as he could.
Clearly he wasn't repulsed by her appearance, in fact he found her attractive enough. And his respect for space was certainly something to admire, seeing as she didn't expect him to have any at all.
For so long, Harry imagined that her life as his wife would consist of stress, abuse of some sort, and regret for condemning herself to this life.
So far, it was quiet and uneventful.
His consideration was also not missed.
That first meeting they had in Dumbledore's office, he stated that she was too young. Only after Harry insisted that she was old enough to do this, did he agree.
He left an entire furnished room for her. He could have made her share his room and sleep in the same bed as her every night but he didn't. And he never came into her room.
And, after filling her in on the fact that not consummating a marriage had its consequence, after all the electricity that buzzed between them in their close proximity, he still let her walk away with the option to not sleep with him at all.
What was more annoying than the fact that he just had to be drop dead gorgeous, was that he was in some ways considerate of her feelings and her comfort zone.
Damn everything, because that just made him hotter.
Voldemort Apparated in and Harry shot up in her bed as soon as she picked up on the alert.
Not caring that she was in a nightgown, she scrambled out of bed and threw open her door, walking down the hall and turning a corner until she came face to face with Voldemort.
His eyes hungrily took her appearance in, turning her cheeks rosy.
"I can't take it anymore," she stated. "Let's just get it over with."
He clasped his hand over her wrist and Apparated them directly into his dark room. Harry didn't get a chance to realize what happened before she was thrown on the bed and pushed herself up as he climbed over her.
Heart racing, she watched as he lowered himself so his body pressed against hers. Every cell in her body was on fire, rejoicing in this union.
He peered down at her with lustful eyes that matched hers. And that's when she noticed the most wonderful thing: his eyes were grey.
Not red.
Grey, just like Tom Riddle's when he came out of the diary. (Her first real crush).
"Tom," she gasped.
If he was bothered by her use of his real name, he didn't show it.
He pulled her hands and kept them in place on the pillow above her head before bending down to press hot kisses on her neck. Harry gasped again, softly, and her eyes shut of their own accord.
Voldemort's lips trailed across her neck, occasionally sucking on the soft skin. When he bit the flesh lightly, she let out a small cry of protest.
Grinning, he lifted his head. When their eyes met, she felt herself swoon. Now was not the time to swoon, now was the time to pull herself together for an act she'd been nervous about for a long time. But she couldn't help it. He had really nice eyes. They were so much more entrancing when he was a fully fleshed human and not a faint memory.
He let her hands go and busied himself with pulling the skirt of her nightgown up high enough to expose her panties. With her hands free, she brought one up to cup his face. Harry caught herself just before she touched him and pulled her hand back before he could notice. She didn't know how intimate you were supposed to be during the most intimate act ever but with someone you hate.
Averting her eyes, she pulled herself back to the present. His trousers were pulled down—also only as much as needed—and Harry gulped, instantly looking up at the ceiling to prepare herself.
A part of her was excited. She was finally going to know what sex was like. Almost all her friends had experienced it before. Ron and Hermione had their first time together. Ginny's first was Dean Thomas. Lavender and Parvati had both lost their virginities in sixth year. And she had a sneaking suspicion that Luna and Neville did it as well during a party when both got really drunk.
The other part of her, the one who hated the man above her for killing her parents, condemning her life to hell, being the main cause behind much of her anxiety and stress, was disgusted.
And there was a third part, actually, that was a combination of the two. The part of her that was disgusted with herself for actually being into it as much as she was. That part was quickly fizzling out.
His hand slipped inside her panties. At first, her gut twisted, and then he looked into her eyes and slowly ran his fingers across her slit. Just by looking into his eyes, seeing the raw lust and desire in them, heightened her own pleasure.
Harry bit her lip to contain her moan as he slicked up his fingers and pushed one in. It was a strange feeling, a little uncomfortable, but he was rubbing her in places just the right way that she (quicker than she liked to admit) was writhing with want.
Voldemort closely watched her reactions as he added another finger, and then a third. Harry, sensing the pattern, closed her eyes and whispered, "More."
Instead of adding a fourth finger, he pulled his entire hand out. Her eyes flew open in frustration, which only amused him.
Before she could argue with him, he repositioned himself so she felt his tip prod at her entrance. Harry gasped as he ran the tip of cock between her folds and circled it around her clit.
"Oh, God," Harry moaned, unable to hold it anymore.
He positioned his tip at her entrance again and pushed in, making her hands clasp over his arms at her side.
Voldemort was looking straight at her, searing an image of each of her reactions into his mind, while Harry struggled to keep it together.
Once he was fully inside her, a smug grin tugged at his lips. He barely gave her enough time to adjust to the foreign feeling before he pulled out and slammed back in.
Harry let out a small cry, her jaw staying open as he repeated the motion and picked up speed. Lost in her own trance, she barely registered him leaning back down to trail kisses across her jaw, except for the wonderful feeling it brought.
Her fingers dug into his arms, struggling to ground herself as he fiercely fucked her.
"Oh!" she yelled, seeing stars in her vision as a rush of pleasure rushed through her and she hit her high. Voldemort's head dropped between her neck and shoulder as he slammed into her repeatedly to catch his own high.
His speed increased before he shot his load into her and fucked her through his orgasm.
Breathing heavily, he rolled over to collapse next to her. It was silent between them as each replayed the last few minutes over again, trying to wrap their heads around the fact that they just had sex with each other.
"Well," Voldemort said quietly, pulling himself up and off the bed, "Let us hope that doesn't make you pregnant."
With a wave of his hand, his clothes righted themselves and he strode out of the room, leaving Harry flabbergasted.
How did she forget about birth control? Hermione lectured them several times on the appropriate contraceptive potions and when to take them. And all of them were to be taken before intercourse.
Would taking a contraceptive have even been allowed? Was the point of consummating marriages to have children or just to perform the act of love?
And what did Voldemort mean by "Let us hope that doesn't make you pregnant"? Did he or did he not want her to get pregnant, because a man as powerful and knowledgeable as him didn't like leaving things to fate.
One of her questions was answered the morning after when Harry trudged down for breakfast.
She felt a little sore between her legs but it wasn't anything that bothered her too much. The only thing that bothered her was that it served as a constant reminder for what happened. How was she even meant to look him in the eye again after what they did?
"Take this," he ordered, placing a vial of potion next to her drink as he walked behind her chair to take his own seat.
"What is it?" Harry asked instantly.
"Contraceptive potion."
So he didn't want kids. Harry didn't know what to make of that just yet. For one, she was happy because she didn't want to bear children so early on. But two… did this mean she was never going to have a family of her own?
"I thought you couldn't take it after?" Harry asked, lifting the vial of clear potion and inspecting it.
"You can. It's less common because it's harder to brew right."
She watched him twirl a finger to pour himself tea and open the morning paper.
If there was anyone she trusted to brew a potion right, it was probably him. If he wanted something done right, he always did it himself.
"You don't want children?"
His eyes flicked to her. She was very disappointed to be gazing into the red irises again.
"No."
"Why not?" Harry questioned.
Raising a perfectly sculpted brow, he pinned her with a curious look. "You, of all people, really want to have children with me?"
"It's not that," she said quickly. "I just always pictured myself having a family."
Why did they not cover this in their terms and agreements? They covered everything from the Earth to the Moon, except for things that actually mattered in a marriage.
"And I don't. I have no patience for children. The less of them around me, the better."
"Don't you want an heir?" Harry pressed. She wasn't concerned about not having kids this instant, but she wanted some reassurance that maybe, somewhere down the line, the option was at least there.
"Heirs are created to one day overthrow their fathers. No, I do not want one."
"But you're Slytherin's last heir. You're the only one who can keep his lineage going—don't you want to?"
He stopped responding, which was plenty answer to Harry's question.
Being Slytherin's last heir was what made him stand out, it was what made him more special than anyone else. He was too selfish to ever share that title with anyone.
At least Harry knew now that the potion was certainly going to do the job.
She uncorked the top and downed the clear liquid.
They were going to have many, many years together. There was time to change his mind about certain things.
