Voldemort was gone for all of the next day and the day after that. It gave Harry time to come to terms with the fact that they kissed twice and to convince herself that it didn't make her a bad person.
When he returned, the first thing he did was glance down at Harry's locket to ensure it was still there. He was actively checking on his Horcruxes to be a step ahead of Dumbledore and keep them safe.
Her Occlumency training began. Apparently she was better skilled at mind arts than he previously expected, which cut their work short but didn't mean that it was easy.
In the first two months of her stay, she was looking for ways to live her old life or spite Voldemort.
Now…
Now, Harry was just tired. Tired of being pushed around, tired of being lied to, tired of having to shoulder the weight of the entire wizarding world's safety because that's what she'd been made to feel like.
Harry had aspirations in life, she had dreams. And though none of them had ever involved Voldemort in any way, she could find a way to still make it work.
Some things she could achieve now were maximizing her knowledge. It was no secret that her education was rocky at best, especially when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts. And Voldemort was an expert in the field.
When she expressed her desire to learn, he was suddenly around the Manor more often.
Harry figured out how to navigate his library—which had a complex layout for no fucking reason except that he liked to keep his mind sharp—and was beginning to find a lot of great material in there. She spent days locked up in that library reading books that would have been in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. Or on any of the shelves, really. Harry wasn't too keen on reading when she was at school.
But around Voldemort, she really needed to up her game. He was highly intelligent and she felt stupid around him. Sure, she had the advantage of being younger than him on her side to account for her lack of knowledge, but it still didn't feel good.
One evening, Harry left the library late after reading up on some advanced charms. Taking a glance at the grandfather clock down the hall, she cursed. Dinner had already been served.
Walking downstairs at a brisk pace, she wandered into the dining hall to check if anything was left over, only to see two men sitting at the table, and one in her spot.
Her wand shot up, pointing straight at them, "What the hell are you doing here?"
They gaped at her in shock, neither offering a response.
"Put your wand down, they're here for me," Voldemort said from behind her as he brushed past. "This is Rodolphus and Rabastan."
Their faces were familiar. "I recognize them," Harry muttered angrily. Rodolphus was married to Bellatrix, who was the one responsible for Sirius' death.
"Dinner is over, you'll have to get some from the house elves," he stated.
"What are they doing here?" she asked him, still frowning. Harry hated it when the house was empty and quiet—but she hated Death Eaters more.
"Go upstairs, we're having a meeting. More of them will arrive soon," Voldemort said.
His attitude was far colder than recent. He had warmed up just a tad around her. It seems like having his followers around changed that.
Glaring at him coldly, Harry spun on her heel and stormed out.
How could he bring his Death Eaters here?!
She would never force him to be around Order members—she would never bring his enemies to the safety of his home.
His home.
It was his home, not hers. She couldn't bring Order members or friends here whether she wanted to or not because regardless of how hard they tried to be civil around one another—this was his home, his life, his rule.
How desperately Harry wished to be seen as his equal in his and everyone else's eyes. But her age and his history and power made that nearly impossible.
It wasn't even a matter of him being the male head of the house and her a docile wife—the patriarchy wasn't in the wizarding world what it was in the Muggle world. It was a matter of him being the most powerful dark wizard of their time and her not.
Harry still had her Invisibility Cloak with her. Under it, she sat at the top of the main staircase and watched several Death Eaters filtering into the house. She critically assessed each of them, logging the information for who knows what.
Then she sat there and read her current book, still under the Cloak. Two hours later, the meeting ended and slowly the unwanted guests trickled out.
Harry leaned against the bannister to watch, waiting for each one to leave before she revealed herself. But she didn't need to take her Cloak off for Voldemort to exit the dining hall and look straight to where she was invisible.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she grumbled under breath. One less thing she can have with him around.
He came around and slowly descended the stairs as the front doors shut behind the last Death Eater. Harry pulled her Cloak off and glared at him again.
"You needn't hide," Voldemort said, amused. "This is your house too now."
"Is it?" Harry deadpanned. "You couldn't have given me a warning that they were coming?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Why should it matter whether they're here or not? Did my meeting coincide with your plans of doing nothing?" he snapped, continuing forward.
Harry fell in step behind him.
"It would have been nice to know!" she argued. "And why are they coming here all of a sudden? You don't hold all of these meetings here, do you?"
He stopped and turned back to face her. Harry had been walking so fast that she nearly bumped into him. Rooted in her spot, she met his fiery gaze.
"For your information, it was Arthur Weasley's idea to host several raids in Death Eater homes. The Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Notts, all of my important men."
Harry froze and gulped.
"If it wasn't for that meddlesome fool, I wouldn't have had to start hosting the meetings here. But as this Manor is Unplottable, it's the safest place."
He walked away again, making her scurry forward after him.
"It's not Mr. Weasley's fault," she insisted, practically jogging next to him to keep up with his long strides.
"He's the one who ordered the surprise inspections."
"Only because Dumbledore made him! I don't know, maybe he's hoping to find your Horcruxes there or something—"
"He is. He's the meddlesome fool I was talking about."
"So you're not going to go after Mr. Weasley?" she asked.
"I'm not going to kill him if that's what you mean," he answered. "But perhaps a short break from work would do him well. Teach him who to mess with."
"Please don't!" Harry said, grabbing his wrist to stop him. He looked back at her surprised. "Please don't do that! His family relies on him to work to—"
"His youngest child is of age," Voldemort said, unimpressed. "They can work."
"Ginny doesn't have a job yet! And Ron can't work, he takes care of Hermione—they have to provide for Hermione too! And Mrs. Weasley wouldn't be able to find work suitable for—"
"Alright, fine, stop yapping, I won't do anything," he snapped, pulling his arm out of her grasp. "If I don't do anything, that means you have to. I'm not going to let them treat my Death Eaters like this."
"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley beamed, opening the front door. "What a surprise!"
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Harry smiled back. Holding up the pie in her hand she said, "I hope you haven't made dessert, I brought treacle tart."
"Oh, you're godsent," she said, taking the tart from Harry's hand and ushering her inside.
Harry wasn't interrogated again since she was keyed into the wards, like she pointed out last time.
Joining them for a spontaneous dinner was nice—but that's all it could be. Dinner. She was to have dinner, chat, stay for only one serving of the tart, and then come back home. It wouldn't be enough time for Dumbledore or Kingsley to hear about her arrival, so she could leave without getting interrogated by them too.
"It's very nice seeing you again, we really miss you around here," Ginny said at the dinner table.
It was only her, Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley was still at work, and the rest of the boys were also either at work or in their own homes.
"Come around more often like this," Ron urged. "Bring more tart, this is the best treacle tart I've ever had."
"I'll let the house elves you said that," Harry grinned. "I wish I could come around more often, but you know how he is…"
The air turned tense. Yes, they all knew how crazy and possessive Voldemort was.
"In fact, the only reason I was allowed to come was to…"
They all looked up nervously, immediately assuming the worst.
"He's not happy about the raids," Harry blurted. Their faces turned blank. "He knows it's Mr. Weasley who ordered them. I told him he was likely urged to do so by Dumbledore and it seems like that's what Voldemort thinks too. But he threatened to put Mr. Weasley out of work for at least some time."
Mrs. Weasley turned pale and rigid as a board. Harry hated the look she was giving her right now.
"I-I tried to convince not to, obviously!" she insisted. "But he doesn't listen to everything I say or want. But if you could speak to Mr. Weasley, tell him to drop the raids—" she implored Mrs. Weasley.
"Everything's already been planned and decided. The orders are in and I don't know if it can be reversed just like that," Ron said.
"It doesn't matter! Do something, anything to drop the raids."
"Unless Dad says he was wrong, there's not—"
"So tell him to say that," Harry said.
"It's Dad," Ron added. "He's not going to ever admit he was wrong about the Malfoys, especially when it turns out he's not. They've found quite a lot of—"
"Ron, will you just listen?" Ginny snapped. "The more Dad is right about the Death Eaters, the more dark artifacts they find, the angrier You-Know-Who will be. It's not worth his life or job."
"I know that," Ron said, "I'm just saying for him it's going to be hard to agree to!"
"He has to," Harry stressed. "I insisted to Voldemort that I can make him stop, and if the raids don't stop, he's not going to let me warn any of you about anything again!"
"We'll speak to him, Harry," Mrs. Weasley spoke for the first time, rubbing the back of Harry's hand. "Thank you for coming to us."
"You have to speak to him and make him agree," she clarified.
"I will."
"Was Dumbledore there?" Voldemort asked when Harry walked into his study after returning from the Burrow.
"No. Mr. Weasley wasn't there either," she said.
"How did it go?"
"I told his family. Told them they need to get him to stop the raids or you might do something about it. I can't imagine a scenario where they don't take that seriously."
"Good," he said. His eyes lingered on Harry for a few moments before he rose from his chair.
Harry sighed, and placed her hands on the back of one of the chairs across from his. She didn't want to step out now that he was because it would mean heading back to the rooms together until they had to separate. Like students going to their dorms.
Voldemort brushed behind her as he passed by, before pausing and turning back to her.
"What?" Harry asked, facing him. His eyes dropped to the locket around her neck, his fingers reaching out to ghost over it again.
Harry's heart fluttered, like it did every time his hands brushed against her skin. He had really nice hands.
"It's still the real one," she joked. "We haven't got around to replacing it with the replica yet."
His glare told her just how little he appreciated that joke. Harry's breathing quickened when his fingers curled around the locket and picked it up.
"What's inside it?" she asked curiously.
"I don't remember," he deadpanned.
"Can we open it? It's not going to let the Horcrux out, is it?"
He looked at her with so much judgement in his eyes that Harry felt stupid for asking.
"No, it's not going to let the Horcrux out," he scoffed. "It takes much more work than that."
"Alright, so," Harry said impatiently, taking the locket out of his hand to open. It took a few tries since it was so old, it was almost jammed shut.
Eventually, Harry opened it to reveal…
Nothing.
Both sides were empty.
It crushed her heart a little.
"There are no pictures," she said softly, looking up at Voldemort.
His face was void of any emotions.
"Who's pictures would I have put in?"
Harry gulped, realizing he was right. He had no family. No parents to look up. Even if he did want to put a picture of his mother in there, how would he have gotten one?
"You could put your own," she suggested. "After all, you're all you ever needed to get by."
"That's a bit narcissistic," he commented.
"As if you aren't one?" Harry shot back.
The corner of his lip tugged upward in amusement. He dropped the locket and silently left the room. She waited a moment in silence before sighing deeply and also heading to her bedroom.
Harry was spending more and more time in the library. She was learning a lot more about the spells they were taught in school that made her understand them better. Perhaps she should have been paying attention in class like Hermione always said to.
Three times a week she trained with Voldemort on her Occlumency—which she was getting better at. The rest of the days, she lounged in the library in her comfortable clothes and read. When it was time for dinner, she'd changed into something fancier and headed down to the dining hall.
Voldemort tilted his head curiously when she entered the room.
"What?" she asked.
His hand slipped into her hair, fingers curling to cup her ear.
"Ah," he said lightly, "you're wearing them."
Harry felt her face heat up. She was wearing the earrings he gave her. Not for any special reason, though! She was simply getting dressed for dinner and thought that while she was at it, she may as well put the earrings on too.
"Yes, and what about it?" she asked, intending to pull his hand off her, but she couldn't bring herself to do that.
He did it himself by dropping his hand only to pick her right one up.
"You don't wear any of the rings, either," he commented with disappointment.
"I wear the one that matters," she said, lifting her left hand up to show her wedding ring. "Isn't that enough?"
"I have given you the finest jewels money could buy, why won't you wear any of them?" he frowned.
"Because I'm not like you," she said awkwardly. "I don't have the same lavish taste as you. I grew up wearing boy clothes. And besides, I have already told you, all that jewelry doesn't feel like mine."
His thumb ran over knuckles, back and forth. She wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, or if he was aware of how it was making her feel.
"But the earrings feel like yours because I gave them directly to you?" he asked, with a teasing smirk, making her blush again.
"Well, I mean, I-I guess… But honestly they were already out, so I saw no harm in putting them on, I wouldn't exactly bother going through the trouble of looking through the plethora of jewelry in the jewelry cabinet just for dinner…"
Her rambling trailed off as he looked straight in her eyes, brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers. A lovely gold ring appeared right on the spot he kissed.
"Oh," she breathed, taking in the jewel. Her eyes flicked back to his, slightly widened. "Erm, thanks, I guess." She didn't sound grateful enough, or genuine. "It's beautiful," she added quickly.
"You're welcome," he grinned, lowering her hand but not letting go as he walked her to the table. He only dropped her hand when they sat.
Harry was flustered for the entirety of the dinner.
With her hands clasped behind her back, Harry slowly walked down the hall filled to the brim with art. This particular wall she was looking at featured paintings of the past residents.
The Manor used to belong to a Slytherin. Salazar's great-grandson or something. It explained why there was so much snake memorabilia everywhere. Typically, it passed down to newer generations of the family until it eventually (judging from the paintings) ended with Horatio Tyndall. He is alone in his painting and not the happiest.
"There you are," Voldemort said, walking down the hall towards her. Startled, Harry's head snapped to him.
"What's the matter?" she asked right away. It was rare for Voldemort to seek her out.
"Nothing, I just thought I'd let you know there's another meeting tonight. So you can make the necessary arrangements to watch dust gather somewhere else."
Harry rolled her eyes and sighed, looking around.
"Hey, do you have any pictures of yourself?" she asked him suddenly.
"Why?" he scowled.
"Well, I thought we could put one in your locket like we discussed," she answered, holding up the Slytherin locket.
"You discussed wanting to do that, I agreed to no such thing."
"Fine," she sighed again and turned her head to the paintings she was looking at. "Are you going to put up a painting here, too?"
She didn't know why she wanted him documented in some way, but she did. Were there even any pictures of Tom Riddle? Perhaps if he appeared in the local newspaper or if he was ever at some Ministry event… But he went travelling almost as soon as he left Hogwarts and when he returned he was Lord Voldemort. And she couldn't imagine Tom doing any good deed around his town to end up in the Muggle news.
Aside from the wedding photos that were used strictly for the Prophet, there didn't seem to be much.
But wedding pictures were wedding pictures. He was a very powerful figure that would go down in history, he must have something else.
"You want to put up a painting of us?" he raised an eyebrow.
Harry froze.
She completely forgot about herself—of course she'd be in a painting with him now. They were married. And for the purposes of this painting—to showcase the residents—she'd definitely be in it.
"I've never been painted before," she commented quietly.
"If that's what you want, we can get one done."
"Okay."
She wore a deep green dress to bring out her eyes and fit the theme of the house. Her red hair fell in neat waves down her front and back. The painter tucked a few strands of her hair behind an ear to reveal the earring she wore. The same ones Voldemort gave her. Her dress had a wide neckline so Slytherin's locket was also visible. She smiled with her red-painted lips and sat straight, hands elegantly folded in her lap.
Behind her, Voldemort was most likely scowling. He had one arm resting on the back of Harry's chair and the other hanging loose. Harry tried to convince him to wear something more colourful, but he refused to wear anything but black robes.
Their painter was very nervous. He was constantly stuttering and blinking. He was also unable to meet Voldemort's eyes. If it weren't for Harry's kindness and positive attitude, he would have shaken too much to even hold his brush (as Voldemort pointed out).
In the end, their painting came out gorgeous. For the first time since their wedding, Harry was able to really appreciate how well they looked together.
The painting moved, of course. In it, Harry looks up a few times to frown at Voldemort, before looking straight again and smiling. Voldemort's scowl either deepens, or he looks to the side and mumbles under his breath.
"I love it," Harry grinned, "thank you so much."
The painter let out a shaky breath of relief and nodded gratefully at her.
"Have we paid him already?" Harry asked Voldemort, who was looking down at the painting behind her.
"No. Here."
He tossed a money bag to the man, who nearly jumped out of his skin and fumbled and dropped the bag. Voldemort rolled his eyes.
"Oh, here, and take this," Harry said, digging through her moleskine pouch that was gifted to her by Hagrid. It was charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm so she could probably fit herself in it if she wanted. Pulling out her own money bag, she scooped up some Galleons and handed it to the painter. "Just a small tip, for your effort," she beamed at him again. Her smile really was the only thing allowing this man to keep his composure.
"Thank you, ma'am, thank you very much," he bowed, walking backwards. His supplies packed themselves and hopped along after him.
"A small tip? How many Galleons did you give him? You saw me pay him with your own eyes," Voldemort growled.
"And I thought he deserved a tip," Harry said, tossing her money bag back into her pouch and pulling the strings to close it.
"For what? For fumbling and failing to put together a coherent sentence?"
"He did an excellent job and I'm really pleased with how it turned out. It couldn't have been easy for him with you around," she said, taking out her wand and levitating the painting. It followed behind her as she walked down to the hall where the other paintings were. "I'm going to talk to my painting everyday," she said to him with a grin.
"You know, you don't have to hide, right?" Voldemort said when he ran into Harry on his way downstairs. "They know you live here."
"I'm not hiding from your Death Eaters," Harry grumbled. "I just don't like to be around them."
"You will have to eventually. You're my wife and as such you will have to get to know them."
She stopped and glared at him.
"We never agreed to that," she said instantly. "I'm not gonna be buddies with your Death Eaters."
"I'm not asking you to. As their leader, they'll look up to my partner. And if you have any wish to be a part of how I run things, you will have to get to know them."
Harry pressed her lips together. He was right.
"Mistress, your dinner is ready, do you still wish to eat in your chambers?" one of the house-elves asked timidly as they neared the kitchen.
Harry had just been on her way to say she'll eat on the terrace when she ran into Voldemort.
"No, bring it to the dining hall. She'll eat with the rest of us," Voldemort commanded.
"No!" Harry hissed.
"You might as well get to know them now," he said, walking to the dining hall.
"You invite them all for dinner?" Harry questioned, picking up her pace.
"Of course not. Only the ones I like."
"Are they here already?" she asked nervously.
"Yes. I don't wait for other people, they wait for me."
They reached the doors that lead to the dining hall. Voldemort spared her a quick glance to ensure she was dressed to the nines. Then he looked straight ahead and the doors opened for them.
Voldemort strode inside without hesitation and barely acknowledged everyone who stood up as soon as he entered the room. They immediately noticed Harry, standing there frozen, and some gaped at her.
Snapping out of her daze, she took long, confident strides after Voldemort.
His spot, as usual, was at the head of the table. Her spot, as usual, was on his direct left. Which right now was being occupied by Bellatrix Lestrange.
Harry slowed to a stop, wondering if she came the wrong way and was meant to sit at the other end of the table. But this was where she always sat—
"Bella?" Voldemort tilted his head curiously. "What are you doing in Harry's seat?"
Bellatrix lifted her wide-eyed gaze to look between them a couple times.
"My lord, forgive me," she said quickly and looked down the line. Next to her was Narcissa Malfoy, and beside her was Lucius. He sighed and reluctantly moved down a spot. Narcissa shifted down as well so Bellatrix could take her seat. They watched as Harry pulled the chair back and sat in it in unison with Voldemort.
Across from her was Barty Crouch Jr. and next to him was Nott Sr., Rodolphus and Rabastan.
So these were all the people closest to Voldemort.
Their gazes shifted between their plates and Harry. Bellatrix was unashamed in her staring, taking in Harry's outfit, hair, jewelry.
The first course appeared and she waited for everyone else to begin eating before she picked up her fork. Once the conversation started, everyone else joined except Harry. She assessed the people she hated and was dining with. Despite not looking at her, her attention was on Bellatrix the most.
The woman was loud and rude. Impeccable table manners, but that was probably because she was raised in a prestigious household. Everything else about her manners was lacking.
They barely acknowledged Harry, except for Barty who had said, "I'd love to go over all the lists with you, my lord. That is if you and my lady," he nodded politely at Harry, "don't mind me coming over."
"Not at all, Barty, you're always welcome here," Voldemort spoke for the both of them. His tone was light when speaking with him, like it was when he spoke to Harry. Barty must be his favourite.
"My lord?" Bellatrix asked, leaning closer to the table. "Does she speak?"
Harry's jaw clenched and she turned her face slowly to glare at the woman next to her.
"Not much," Voldemort answered, before Harry could say anything.
If Harry did say something, it would be very out of pocket and not at all appropriate for dinner.
"Shame," Bellatrix smirked. "Would love to hear some of her thoughts. Can you make her talk?"
Harry hated how she spoke about her like she was a dog.
"I don't want to talk to you," Harry snapped, her hands fisting around her fork and knife.
"She speaks!" Bellatrix said in a shrill voice. The only people joining in were Rodolphus and Rabastan. "You should speak up more, you have such a lovely voice. I remember hearing it first when—"
Harry stood, her chair shooting backwards. Her wand was out and pointed at Bellatrix's throat.
"And you should speak less, or I will make you," Harry hissed. "Don't you ever fucking talk to me again, you slimy bitch!"
Then without waiting for anyone else to make any comments, she pushed her chair aside and stormed out of the room.
"What the fuck was that?" Voldemort growled, slamming her bedroom door shut. Harry set her hairbrush down and stood from her vanity chair.
"That is what happens when you throw me into situations blindly!" she yelled. "That's what happens when you force me to be around your people!"
"Just one dinner is all you had to get through. I didn't even ask anything of you. All you needed to do was sit there and eat your food!"
"She was trying to provoke me!" Harry screamed.
Voldemort reached her in two long strides. His hands wrapped around her biceps and he pulled her close enough to intimidate.
"She was hardly provoking—"
"You don't know what she was talking about! She was going to bring up the—"
"Don't interrupt me when I'm talking," he shouted in her face. Harry flinched and shut up.
Looking down at his neck, because she couldn't stand to look at his face right now, she said, "I hate you. What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem? I'm not the one who made a scene at dinner!"
"Yes, your problem! You know how I feel about those people, you know I can't stand them and you know why. And you still forced me to sit with them and expect me to dine with them like they're my friends?"
"Yes, I fucking expect you do as I say!" he shook her as he yelled. "I'm your husband. If I tell you to come down and see them, you will without complaint. If I tell you to dine with them, you will act as if they're your friends. If I tell you to suck it all up and put on a smile as you talk with them, you will do as I fucking say because I know better than you!"
"Oh, fuck you!" Harry screamed, pushing him away. "Fuck you and your fucking followers and your fucking status and your fucking—stupid—dinners! I will not be bossed around like this, I am not one of your servants you can command as you please! You want to bring them into our house? Fine. You want to feed them for dinner—also, fine. I'll just make arrangements to eat somewhere else. You can do whatever the fuck you want with them in here as you long as you let me stay out of it!"
His hand wrapped around her neck and he pushed her against her closet hard.
"You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you signed that contract," he hissed, his face getting increasingly close to hers. Harry turned her head but he was all up in her face again. "You knew you were going to be in the front and center of my business. You should be so thankful that I'm even letting you dine with us. You wanna know what Nott makes his wife do? He treats her like a—"
"I don't give a fuck what Nott does, I didn't marry him. Save yourself the comparisons because it's not going to make you look like a better husband."
He pushed her head against the closet again. His lips were pinched together until they were practically white.
"You should care. You should care about everything I say."
"Like you care about everything I say?" she choked. Her hands were curled around his on her neck, trying to pull him off her. "This is not the 1940s anymore. You don't order your wife around like a servant and I'm not going to fall at your feet and kiss the ground you walk on. We compromise—that's the only way this marriage works."
"Fine. How's this for a compromise: act like a normal wife around my Death Eaters or never step out of this house again."
She froze.
It was not fair. It was not fucking fair.
No matter how much she tried to get on equal footing, it always came back to his house and his rules. He was so much more powerful than her. If he didn't want her to leave this Manor, there was no way—magical or Muggle—that she'd be able to leave.
"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much," she spat.
"I don't care," he responded with just as much hate. "Tomorrow, they'll be back again for dinner and I want to see you downstairs, on time, in a pretty dress from your closet, waiting to dine with them. You will sit through the entire dinner, speak if you're spoken to and not make a scene again."
Harry's bottom lip shook slightly. He let her push him away this time and she immediately turned her head so he couldn't see her cry again.
"Do we have a deal?"
Harry covered her eyes with her wrist.
"Do we have a deal?!" he shouted.
"Yes!" Harry cried, glaring at him with watery red eyes. "Now leave me alone."
She brushed past him and crawled into her bed, pulling the covers over her head and weeping silently.
The next morning she didn't come down for breakfast. Knowing Voldemort (and she knew him pretty well now), he was going to try to fix things between them so she didn't remain angry. An angry Harry was just going to worsen every aspect of his life, especially if she was going to be at a dinner with his closest Death Eaters.
She didn't want to give him the chance to do so because she was mad and she was going to stay mad.
"Mistress?" Hilsey walked in with a tray of food. Harry rose in her bed and pushed her messy hair back, rubbing her forehead to ease her headache. "Master asked to bring Mistress this tray of food."
And of course it contained all of her favourite foods. Harry sighed and picked up her fork and knife, cutting into the steaming waffles topped with the usual fruit. He even made sure to have the blackberries excluded, knowing she hated them. She didn't even know he knew that.
After she finished her breakfast, Harry took a long bath. She couldn't look at herself in the mirror too long because the reflection that stared back at her made her want to submerge herself under the water and never return.
She was a tired Harry with dark under eyes, overly pale skin, and sporting bruises on her neck. Was he even allowed to do this? Was this not considered harming her? If anything, it proved to Harry that the secret theory she had about him being able to bend certain rules to his benefit was true.
This was not the Harry she wanted to be. It was a downgrade from the version she respected more.
Did you?
No, that wasn't right. She didn't respect her old self either. It's why it was so easy to sign away her life to the devil.
No, this Harry was definitely stronger than the old Harry.
Harry sat in her seat, all dressed up and ready for dinner when the Lestranges and Malfoys arrived. Her eyes didn't leave the table until Barty arrived and took the seat opposite her, with a small smile. She stared at him, trying to figure out what his deal was and why he was being nice to her after he strung her along pretending like they were friends only to set her up for her death at the end of the maze.
Voldemort arrived with Nott. Harry made eye contact with him for a second before staring back down at her plate. He looked pleased that she followed through with their deal.
"Harry," he grinned, sitting down in his chair. "You look lovely."
She knew what he was doing. She would have to be infinitely more naive and stupid to not see through his act. So she didn't react. Not until he reached forward for her hand.
Harry met his eyes as he brought her hand close and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, a new fancy ring appearing on her finger as he did so.
She wanted to pull the ring off and throw it at his face. How is it that this man can know her so well and still think that she can be bought with pretty jewelry?
He may not know her so well, but she knew him well enough to know it would cause more unnecessary problems if she didn't acknowledge his gift.
So Harry pulled her hand back, stared at the ring for a few seconds and then rested her hand back down on the table.
The doors to the dining hall opened again as a latecomer arrived.
"Forgive me for being late, my lord," the man said.
Harry's head shot up to see Severus Snape walk in. He headed straight for the seat next to Lucius, slowing in his stride when his gaze landed on Harry.
As someone who had once vowed to keep her protected, at least for the sake of knowing her mother, it severely disturbed him seeing her like this.
With her hand tucked close to her and the Dark Lord's outstretched one on the table. With the dark circles around her tired eyes, the bruises on her neck. Dressed in lavish clothes that he didn't think suited her at all. Growing up she had always been more boyish. And now she was presented as a fair lady.
"Take a seat, Severus, we were just about to begin," Voldemort ordered. His eyes narrowed slightly at him scrutinizing his wife. He turned his attention back to Harry and took note of the bruises left on her from how rough he was yesterday. Annoyed, he flicked his wand to heal them. Harry didn't bother to react.
The conversation flowed as naturally as it did yesterday, with the hint of nervousness. None of Voldemort's followers were ever truly comfortable in his presence.
It made Harry reminisce of when she was. Just yesterday when they sat in for that painting. How calm they were, how normal everything was. It had been such a good day that went to shit and all because of—
Her eyes snapped to Bellatrix who was sitting on the other side of the table today. Harry noticed her trying to take a glimpse of her hand, the one Voldemort had kissed, and she had a thought.
A thought she was scared of acting out in front of Snape because they never were really sure whose side he was on. If this got back to Dumbledore and the others, she would be too embarrassed to ever want to leave the house.
Deciding to play things subtle, Harry lifted her hand in front of her face, toying with the ring Voldemort had just put on it. She flicked her gaze to the side to see Bellatrix was watching it made her smirk wider.
However, Bellatrix knew better than to talk with her today. At the end of the dinner, Harry stood with the guests and walked out to the entrance hall with them. She hung back by the stairs, leaning against the railing and waiting for them to leave.
"Potter," Snape said, walking up to her while Voldemort was distracted. He wasn't distracted for long and apparently had really good hearing because the moment Snape uttered her name, his gaze landed on them.
"What?"
His eyes roamed her face, unsure of what to say.
"Did you have something to say, Severus?" Voldemort asked smoothly, coming in between them and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder to guide her up the stairs.
"Just saying goodnight," Snape answered.
"Goodnight," Voldemort clipped. He spun Harry around and they ascended the stairs. When the front doors shut behind Snape, Harry shook off Voldemort's hand and climbed faster.
"Come on, you're not seriously still angry at me?" Voldemort said, amused.
"I'm livid," Harry mumbled.
"But the dinner was so nice."
"To you."
"I thought we'd come to an agreement."
"We did," Harry said. "And you had to put your hands on me to do that."
On the third floor landing now, he pulled her hand back to draw her closer to him.
"I'm sorry I hurt you but you must understand that I haven't had anyone speak to me that way in decades."
"That's not a good enough excuse and you know it," Harry said, trying to shake him off again.
"I didn't mean to, Harry," he stressed. "I don't want to hurt you."
Harry was a little confused.
He was constantly keeping her on her toes, that was for sure.
Why was it so important to him for her to know that he meant well? This wasn't the first time he came after her to clarify that, it was technically the third. She never pegged him as someone who wanted to correct his mistakes or apologize for his behaviour because he was simply too proud. And what did he gain from doing this? They were hardly the normal type of couple to actually care when the other was upset at them.
"I lost my temper, it won't happen again," he said seriously. His eyes flicked down to her neck where his fingers were now grazing the skin. "You have my word."
Then he bent lower and pressed the softest kiss to her neck. And he did it again and he did it again.
Harry was breathing heavily, her heart fluttering with every brush of his lips against her skin.
"I'm not going to lie," he mumbled against her neck. "I'm probably going to lose my temper again. But I'm not the type of man who lays a hand on his wife."
"But you did," she breathed, desperately trying not to buy his act.
"Allow me one mistake. I won't do it again."
"That's what all husbands say and then they do it again."
"Other husbands aren't in a tightly ruled contract like I am."
His head lifted to look down at her. Harry's eyes were glazed over as she stared back.
Right. It all came down to the contract. Was that why he kept trying to keep things nice between them? So she doesn't back out?
Harry didn't even know there was a way to do that. She thought once they bonded, they bonded for life.
"Are you doing this so we don't get divorced?" Harry asked, pulling her head back. He blinked at her. "We can get a divorce?"
"You're not divorcing me."
"Hang on," Harry pulled herself away from her and took a few steps back. "How come you knew we could get divorced and I didn't?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," he snapped. "Everyone knows a married couple can get divorced."
"Just like that?"
"No, not just like that. You have to have a reason and the person who officiated the wedding has to agree that it's good enough to invoke a divorce."
"And you don't want me to go crying to them that you're abusing me and thus getting a way out of this marriage."
"Might I remind you that you're the one who initiated this union?" he snarled, stepping closer again.
"But you were always the one with more to lose," Harry said strongly. "Especially now when I know about your Horcruxes."
"You would lose your life, you know that, right?" he said in a dangerous whisper, his eyes flashing in anger. "The moment you're not my wife, I'll Avada Kedavra you on the spot. I don't even care anymore if you have a Horcrux in you, perhaps I'd be better off without this one and you."
"Yeah? And what wand are you going to use on me?" Harry asked haughtily. "Yours will recognize me as it's twin and the curse will rebound again."
"I'll use someone else's wand," he said right away, his eyes cold.
"And will the Horcrux then still recognize you to destroy itself? Or will it simply see an enemy and protect itself? After all, the wand you use was made out of yew, a wand that's especially gifted at death and rebirth. Would other wands work with Horcruxes as well as yours? You can't even borrow someone else's yew wand because they don't respond to anyone who's not their owner."
His scowl deepened with every sentence she spoke.
"Where the hell are you getting all this information?"
"Just some light reading," she shrugged. "I thought you weren't going to keep lies from me."
"I had to keep this lie," he said. "It's not a secret you hate everything to do with this life. Had I made it sound like an option, you would no doubt take it and risk everything."
"That is when you should have remembered that I was the one who proposed this idea. Obviously I'm not going to drop everything we've achieved because of one argument."
"I'm not apologizing again," he said when she looked at him expectantly. "You have your worries and I have mine."
