He was jittering nervously again, dressed in his finery. All their guests were present, the officiant was in her place, and Tom had just offered his arm, which Harry took. He took a deep breath and exhaled, calling upon his tagged memories to pull confidence forward to mask his nerves. He did want this bonding, so the last thing he wished to suggest to their guests was that he was unwilling.
He was very willing, no matter how possessive and domineering Tom could be.
"Are you ready, my dear?"
Harry looked at Tom and smiled. "Yes. Let's."
The walk down the center path seemed to take an age, but he kept his eyes on the officiant, or the table which held their contract. He did not want to see the faces of their guests, see what they might let slip in their expressions. He wanted to be bonded, and then he would pay attention.
For now, Tom had his attention, especially as they had reached the table and had moved to face each other.
The bonding itself was all rather ritualized, but he expected that. Their colours were much in evidence, as the meanings in them fit already, woven together to be used during the blessing of the hands. He did not want a riot of colour. Despite the given meanings, it would look like a crayola box had upchucked over things.
Tom leaned in to kiss him and Harry gladly lifted his face to receive his husband's kiss.
The contract was then taken care of (but only after he assured himself it was the one they had personally tweaked) and the copies distributed, and only then did he look out at their guests.
He saw what he expected. Some were pleased, some were envious (though whether that be because he was now joined to Tom or the other way around he could not tell), and some just seemed a touch confused. He supposed some of them couldn't see what Tom saw in him, title aside.
He was now, according to the paperwork, Hadriatus Jager Riddle Peverell, and Tom was Tom Marvolo Peverell Riddle. Hyphenation, while common enough in the muggle world, was not much of a thing for magicals.
"I'm pleased you kept your surname," he murmured as they walked into the dining tent.
"I decided to own it, as you put it," Tom murmured back, then handed him into his seat. Tom took his own. "After learning what I have, and separating it from events, it is an interesting surname."
He smiled and, as much as he wanted to jump his husband, instead glanced out over the dining tent to see if the guests had figured themselves out. They were still waiting for word of the "epic" duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, so they would know when to arrange for the trap to be sent.
Even if they never did get their hands on the wand to make it disappear, they still owned two of the three Hallows, and as such, they should be safe.
The first course appeared a moment later, which only encouraged the guests to stop dithering, so Harry began to eat. It was to be a six course meal, which meant tiny portions for everything but the main course. The things he had to do for the sake of society!
Thankfully, they were seated at the "head" table, so no one was terribly close by.
"You know, in other places, such exquisitely prepared food would be cause to give a bonus, but what can a person possibly give as one to a house-elf? More work?"
Tom chuckled. "We will be, though, just not immediately."
Property acquisition was looking good. They would have to visit Gringotts in the morning to finalize the details of the joint vault (the goblins were fiddly about names, hence the delay), and thereafter Tom could see to all those purchases they were planning to make. Of course, given that he fully expected Tom to chain him to the bed a bit later on so he could initiate the change with parselmagic, he wasn't sure he would be up to an outing.
He could only pray any pain would be mild. Or at least, not lingering.
"Several different kinds of work," he commented, then waited a moment as the courses changed out seamlessly.
Tentative plots had been marked for the greenhouses, once they had the dimensions worked out. He and Tom had agreed to not break ground until after the bonding, just so none of the guests noticed anything. Even if they had started, no one should be able to see beyond the house, but better safe than sorry.
He would have to head out into muggle London again, to purchase more fountain pens. The metal ones would be better to take apart to see how they worked. Germany had surrendered well before their NEWT exams, in May, with Hitler having committed suicide at the end of April, so there were no worries about anything like bombing runs on London.
If he remembered his history correctly, Japan had just surrendered (though given the time difference, he expected that they had done so possibly before he had even woken up that morning). They would get news soon enough, along with the official surrender and the cessation of World War II.
If nothing else, it made remembering the date of their bonding easier, aside from choosing the fifteenth because it was the midpoint of the month and they were both born at the end of their respective months. Besides, to Harry it made a weird sort of sense. The technical end of the war coinciding with his bonding with Tom Riddle? Yeah.
Tom occasionally brushed his leg under the table as they talked quietly, but not enough to get him worked up. He wasn't that cruel, not in front of so many people, and not with dancing to come. Harry did not look forward to that much, if only because it meant an hour or two of mingling interspersed with dancing, but at least on the floor he could avoid having to politely affect interest in what other people were saying.
Despite his desire to not isolate himself, he simply hadn't done an even decent job of attempting to make friends outside Tom's circle. At least people weren't hounding him. No one was demanding he spill every thought he ever had for them to pick apart (and then tell him he was wrong for feeling or thinking that way).
Maybe he should see a mind healer? Because he was fairly sure even after his examination of his life and all that work on occlumency that he still had a lorry's worth of trauma to work through. Perhaps if he took up writing, instead? It wasn't as if there was any decent fiction in the wizarding world. That could be a way to bleed off some issues. The problem was that Britain was a place of Houses, which made everything needlessly difficult.
And clearly, his mind kept wandering off to odd things to keep his thoughts away from what would be happening in a few hours.
They eventually got around to the dancing and socialization portion of the event, and Tom swept him around the floor like a pro. His look was more possessive than anything, but Harry rather expected that. As much as he wondered if he himself was capable of romantic love, he wondered if a child conceived under the influence of Amortentia was capable of any love.
The very idea that Tom might not feel even affection for their children…
The music came to a graceful end, and a new tune began.
"Have I ever mentioned just how handsome I think you are?" he asked quietly as Tom swept him around the floor.
"No, but I am inordinately pleased to hear it," his husband replied. "Have I ever mentioned just how breathtaking I think you are?"
He was dismayed that his face heated up. "Thank you. When is the first Wizengamot meeting you'll need to attend?"
"September. Every week day, in the mornings. Mondays are for the introduction of proposed new bills, or for requests to alter or remove bills. Tuesdays through Thursdays are for debate, and Fridays are for votes. Trials are generally in the afternoons."
"Is this so that members can do normal business after lunch? I imagine the Lords Ogden and Blishen keep their hands in when it comes to their firewhisky."
"Yes. And so that people can arrange meetings, committees, and so forth. It is not as though any Wizengamot member is paid."
"Aside from a scribe, I'd imagine. I have to wonder how he managed to be Chief Warlock, but maybe that was down to having an award. Maybe? I'm praying to Tyche on this one."
Tom's eyes went unfocused briefly, then sharpened. "Let us take a break after one more, get something to drink, and allow people to congratulate us."
"A drink soon would be nice," he said, leaving out the part where he already hated the idea of having to listen to people lie, but assuming Tom already knew that.
Another dance on and he was sipping a glass of wine. It was a lovely sweet red. As he listened to various guests talk, he wondered how it was that by the time his original life rolled around, Dumbledore could be Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot (it had to be that Order of Merlin 1st Class that net the man a seat) and run a school. Did he always disappear to the Ministry each weekday morning, and Harry had just never noticed? Or had he wrangled things such that the very way the Wizengamot functioned accommodated him rather than everyone else?
Abraxas was saying something about his own upcoming bonding, which made him realize that he and Tom would need to attend a number of those as guests, which meant finding multiple sets of dress robes. Orion would finish Hogwarts in two years (the poor man, having to marry Walburga), though he was uncertain whether that bonding would happen as soon as he turned seventeen or have to wait until after seventh year.
'If it weren't for the fact that I'd be condemning Sirius and Regulus to non-existence, I rather wonder if anyone would lament Walburga suffering a tragic accident,' he thought. 'She's nasty even as a young woman.'
"You have a lovely property," Rasalas Lestrange said.
He smiled. "Hopefully to be lovelier. I was considering a pleasure garden out here, perhaps attract bees for hives so we could have local honey available," he replied, if only to draw attention away from the rest of the property.
Tom nodded, as if this was something they had discussed and not something Harry had just thought up on the spot. "Warding perhaps, so that the various hives would produce specific types. A varied flavor profile would be welcome."
He hummed. "That would be nice."
Orion wandered over and nodded to everyone. "I can only hope my own bonding is half as lovely as this one."
'Poor man,' he thought again. At least their bonding was nothing like the overblown, ostentatious, extravagant, narcissistic mess that many modern weddings were between people with wealth, complete with a "Bridezilla". (Aunt Petunia had some peculiar viewing choices from what he had been able to determine from listening while he was in the kitchen working. Then again, she was an inveterate gossip, so reality tv only made sense, so she could bask in a sense of superiority while people aired their dirty laundry to the masses.)
"I'm sure it will be the event of the season," he said diplomatically. And, having made known extemporaneous plans for bee hives, perhaps a gift of honey would not go amiss at said bonding. Or would that be too common? Some cultures considered honey a gift from the gods, but this was stuffy old Britain, so who knew.
No one amongst Tom's circle was rude enough to inquire about children, though Harry did wonder how they would react when he became pregnant. Would they assume he was born with the ability? Or would they rightly assume it had something to do with the Slytherin gifts?
Orion produced a somewhat plastic smile that would fool anyone not a Slytherin.
Harry wondered if Orion was hoping that "event of the season" translated to "she dies before the ceremony gets underway" and "terrible tragedy".
Pliffy appeared, dressed in a smart little uniform with the Peverell symbol and colours, to take his empty wine glass and offer him another. He smiled and accepted, and she vanished again. It all happened so fast he wasn't sure anyone had actually noticed.
He had just taken a sip when the entire company was interrupted by a flight of owls. Harry frowned up at the sky, then looked at Tom, whose brow was crinkled. Owls dropped copies of the Daily Prophet near various guests and took flight again.
Tom grabbed the nearest copy and held it between them.
GRINDELWALD DEFEATED
'Dear Merlin,' he thought.
For that reason alone, the party wrapped up and their guests departed, all clutching their copies of the paper.
As he and Tom walked back to the manor he said, "Well, that makes it even easier to remember our anniversary."
Tom snorted. "Rather. Our bonding, the surrender of Japan, and Grindelwald's defeat, all on the same day?"
They said no more until they were inside, behind the many layers of wards on the house.
"We have to keep an eye on the school," he said. "We need to know when he's back. I don't remember seeing anything in Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century or Modern Magical History that would suggest he wasn't straight back to work at Hogwarts."
Tom placed a hand at the small of his back and smoothly guided him toward the staircase. "I've just had an idea."
"Oh?"
"The Room. We ask an elf to open it, open a passage to the station so we can get in quietly, and then we require of the room a one-way window to his quarters. With any luck we can watch him open the gift, possibly even take the wand if he has it there."
"Maybe… Maybe we could try to require the Room to move the wand to it? No idea if he has any wards on his quarters that would alert him to anyone entering, means aside."
"A very good point, my dear," Tom said as they ascended the staircase.
He stopped dead when they entered their bedroom. There, on his side table, was a very familiar wand. "Am I hallucinating?"
"No, you are not." Tom turned to look at him directly. "I am beginning to think that the so-called Master of Death is not just a faery tale."
"I…" He blinked, glanced at the wand, then back at his husband. He swallowed heavily. "I refuse to believe that Death can have an actual master. It sounds too ridiculous to be true. Why would a fundamental truth of existence need or want a master?"
"I imagine it would not. However, it may favor certain beings. I'm sure you have wondered how you came to be in that diary."
"Since it happened."
"And you had all three, even if not physically," Tom continued. "Perhaps you are favored because you refused to…"
He nodded. "Well, we already have plans for that wand, so let's at least start on that. If I could, I'd launch the thing into outer space so that no wizard could ever use it again."
"We could try tossing it through the Veil. Records of people thrown into it never talk about their clothing appearing on the other side. The problem, of course, is that we have no idea where the Veil leads to. Wilda. Please bring the lead and iron box we prepared."
Tom carefully levitated the wand into it, then closed it up and used a permanent sticking charm to keep the lid in place. He then set the box aside.
Harry exhaled in relief. Too many people had been obsessed with the thing to not seal it away. He liked to believe he was mostly sane, so removing temptation was only sensible, rather like how Tom had decided against ever using the Stone.
"We could place it under a Secret, but that will break eventually. We can drop it into the deepest part of the ocean, but eventually the muggles will find it. They're like that, ever curious."
"How about," Tom said, "something rather unorthodox."
"Such as?"
"We use the Room, but not just any configuration. You remember the artwork used as a basis for your mental protections? Why not something like that?"
His eyes widened. "And even a muggle-born who found the room would be unlikely to ever dream up something of his as a requirement. Relativity might work. Something like that. It'll mean sneaking back into the castle, but we already know how we can do that. It's more exiting the Room to see if we can get the configuration we want, without tipping anyone off. We could use the cloak for that."
"He is probably still in Austria. We could test it now, but…"
He nodded. But it was the day of their bonding. "Tom? Do you mind terribly if we hold off on the parselmagic until after we're assured of his death?"
Tom pulled him close and gave him a kiss. "No, I don't mind. I would prefer there not be any risk of him interfering with our family."
"Good."
"How about," Tom said, "we try a quick test or two, then return here and relax. I have plans for you this evening."
He laughed. "Sure." He fetched his cloak and map, just in case.
Pliffy was called and given instructions, while they apparated to the station in Hogsmeade. He straightened up when a door appeared where none should be, cast another look around to ensure no one could be watching, then went through it with Tom, into the Room of Requirement.
"I wonder sometimes if Aldreda would like to be somewhere else," he mused. "It seems kind of a shame that she's been here for hundreds of years."
"That could work if you were willing to make a nice cave for her in an area on the property warded against anything sentient. She may not be willing to leave her home. I will ask."
"Okay. Let's…" He pulled out the map and checked the corridor. "Nothing out there except that silly tapestry. I don't know if Barnabas can report anything to anyone."
"So I hit it with a stasis charm the second I exit. Maybe a blinding spell on his eyes, assuming that would even work."
"Right."
Tom promptly disillusioned himself, so Harry slipped under his cloak. Tom went first and Harry followed, seeing immediately that the tapestry was still. It probably did not hurt that Barnabas happened to be looking off toward the back and would not have seen anything anyway.
He set to pacing back and forth, calling up his requirement, then went back through the door once it appeared. He was immediately struck by a headache, literally standing in a space that should be impossible. Harry flipped back the hood of the cloak as soon as the door behind him closed and Tom appeared again.
"Ow," Tom said inelegantly.
"Yeah, my brain hurts. But over there, that door—" He pointed. "—we should be able to hide the thing behind it. Or there." He pointed again.
"All right. We shall do so, after. From what you have said of previous times, we should be able to just require this from right here, back to a normal room."
"Like requiring exits, so yeah." He concentrated and heaved a sigh of relief once the Room swiftly changed to a cozy little sitting room. "I mean, we might have been able to do the other one while already in it, but I was a bit afraid my brain would melt if done from inside, and it already hurts enough as it is seeing what should be impossible. Though, we should also probably make tweaks to the original just so that some muggle-born can't accurately reproduce our hiding spot."
"And nothing that would point to either of us," Tom said, sitting in one of the chairs.
"Okay, one-way window to his quarters, hopefully coming up." Harry set his mind to what he wanted and started pacing. He stopped when a window indeed opened up, and he could only pray it was in fact one-way. "Bit messy, isn't he."
"And not here yet. This is enough, though. We will need a nondescript owl to use, or—actually, let us away. We can discuss this further at home."
Harry nodded and required a door back to the station. Shortly thereafter they were back in the manor, with him aiming a curious look at his husband.
"Bomb him with post," Tom said. "Prepare a multitude of letters and gifts, all of them completely innocent except the one. Send them all on the same day. And with any luck, he'll be inundated with post from other people as well, further muddling the issue. He would then be inclined to take it all back to his quarters and we can just slip the other one into the pile, hopefully via the Room."
"Then we sit there and watch, waiting to see him essentially damn himself. I realize that magicals aren't all over things like fingerprints and DNA, but we should probably attempt to leave no traces of ourselves. Dictaquills, for one."
"Yes, yes. We can start tomorrow. For tonight, however…"
"You're going to make love to me."
"Absolutely, my dear. I plan to make you delirious with pleasure."
Ω
Dumbledore returned to Britain on the eighteenth. Apparently he had been held up at the ICW regarding the disposition of the 'vanquished' Grindelwald. There was already talk of the man receiving the Order of Merlin 1st Class. There was even talk of a bloody parade down Diagon Alley in the works.
He and Tom had been very busy creating all manner of letters filled with gushing praise (such as suggesting he should absolutely get his own Chocolate Frog card). Some had packages to go with them, most of them mere trifles, as if they were purchased by school-aged children.
They set up shop in the Room late that evening, requiring a one-way window, using a painting on the wall as the cover. Harry didn't even pretend to understand how any of it worked; he was just grateful it did. They could spy and not be noticed.
Dumbledore was sleeping in his bedroom, so there was nothing in particular to watch, but they did get to see him stride out of that room come morning and head off to breakfast. A second window was opened, this time under cover of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall.
The was a veritable blizzard of owls perching in the rafters, waiting for the usual delivery time.
Harry laughed quietly when it came, for Dumbledore was practically buried under an avalanche of post, all manner of letters and packages slithering off the overburdened table. It took rather a lot of effort for Dumbledore to gather everything up and set it aside (so he could break his fast), then haul it off to his quarters.
Luckily for them, Dumbledore only managed to get through perhaps a quarter of his post by the time lunch rolled around, so he went off again, giving them the opportunity to slip their special letter-and-parcel combo into the mix.
Also luckily, Pliffy was well able to pop in with their own meals, so that neither of them had to leave. They simply played Scrabble during the boring parts.
Between lunch and dinner Dumbledore got through another quarter of the pile and seemed in no way aware that anything was amiss—which, relief. It was after dinner that Dumbledore finally grabbed their real offering. The letter itself was the usual gushing mess, albeit one that claimed they thought such a hero would find amusing the trinket they found. Dumbledore undid the wrappings, opened the box, and—
It was as if Dumbledore's face transformed. His eyes went so wide it was like watching a caricature of a person. His mouth dropped open, as well, making everything just that more grotesque. And, like a fool, the man reached out, took the ring, and slipped it onto his finger.
Dumbledore most certainly regretted that a second later.
The hand belonging to the Valiant Vanquisher of Grindelwald immediately went black and, in a wonderful stroke of luck, after he leapt up so he could (presumably) dash off to the infirmary, his first step came down on some of that post from the morning, causing him to slip and knock himself out.
Harry stifled hysterical laughter behind one hand. A quick look at Tom showed his husband was having trouble keeping his expression straight as the black crept up the exposed part of Dumbledore's arm. Tom's eyes had an unholy light to them—which, weird, given how dark his eyes were.
They sat there mostly in silence as the black kept creeping, moving to overtake their enemy's throat, then face, and his other hand. Of course, by then, certain things became clear. His chest did not move in the gentle motion of breathing. He was dead.
Ω
Harry hugged Tom tightly once they were back in the manor. "He's gone," he whispered. "He can't hurt us. He can never make me a pawn."
"A service to the world has been done," Tom whispered back.
"You know, I really hope there's no such place as Hell, because that's two people now I've had a hand in murdering."
Tom simply kissed him and guided him off to their suite. "Let's take a nap, my dear."
He was all for that, and hoping he did not suffer a nightmare over what had just happened. He hadn't after Warren. The clothes were banished right off him and he was handed into the bed. Tom was in with him just seconds later, wrapped around him possessively.
"Sleep, my dear."
So he did.
Ω
Dinner was a lovely thing. The elves seemed to have picked up on their happiness and provided all their favorites. Of course, for all Harry knew, they were also trying to get him nice and content on a good meal because they knew what was coming. And that thought alone was a splash of cold water in his face, because he had no idea if it would hurt.
He found out quickly enough.
His clothes were banished off before he even made it into the master suite. He was picked up and laid on the bed, then stared at as Tom banished his own clothing. "Are you ready, my dear?"
"I'm willing," he replied, because he didn't know if he could be ready for that.
Tom politely refrained from leering at him as he climbed onto the bed and loomed over him. His expression switched suddenly to something sober. "I do not know if this will cause you pain. It is not my intent for that to be the case. If it does, well, I apologize in advance."
"Intent can be everything." With any luck, it'd just feel like having sex.
Tom's expression relaxed into a faint smile before he leaned in to ravish Harry's mouth, just in a surprisingly gentle way. Unlike their usual couplings, his husband was being almost careful with him, worshiping his body.
He was going out of his mind with lust because of it. (And perhaps something like love.)
If he could have in his current state of being, he might consider being somewhat upset or annoyed at Tom having squirreled away the book about the process. It had to be deliberate, simply so he could not go back and read things thoroughly.
By the time he had four fingers up his arse he was ready to beg, and Tom seemed to sense that, because he was shortly taking in his husband's length in an agonizingly slow way.
"Please," he whispered.
"Of course, my dear." Tom bottomed out and slid back slowly, the tease.
"Please," he whispered again.
Tom went still. "You want this? You want what will happen? That you will be able to bear our children. Tell me, my dear."
"I want this, so let me have it!"
"As you wish." Tom slid back into him, still being careful, but at least not torturing him with that horrible slowness.
It was just a tad strange that it wasn't like the usual, that he wasn't bent into submission, or chained to something. He was breathless, just for different reasons. This show of tenderness was throwing him for a loop, but maybe it was a requirement for the process to work? Whatever the reason, he lost his train of thought when Tom's hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking him.
And damn did the man know exactly how to manipulate him into doing what Tom wanted, without ever opening his mouth (though that was damn talented, too). In no time flat he was shattering, his back bowed and head thrown back, a somewhat strangled sound caught in his throat.
He came back to himself to the sensation of Tom smoothly thrusting into his arse and the gaze of those dark eyes pinned on his face. «Do you look forward to growing large with our children?»
«I do.» It was only after the fact that he realized Tom had spoken in Parseltongue, and so had he.
«You will willingly bear the continuance of our lines?»
«I will.»
«You accept me as your dominant and the sire of our children?»
«I do.» Funny, his cock was already rising again. Also, Parseltongue was so much easier when you were out of breath.
«Tell me you want this.»
«I want this.»
«So be it.»
Tom really started to move, closer to their usual style of lovemaking, and oh hell that exchange was just the kind of thing that would turn him on all over again, and that was on top of all the pleasure he was getting from being plowed. Tom leaned in to ravage his mouth again.
It was as he was shattering in orgasm a second time that he felt something shift. It didn't hurt—which, good—but it did feel decidedly odd. Whatever was supposed to happen was happening. Soon he would be able give his love to their children, and given the examples he had seen in his previous life, he had a very good idea of what not to do when it came to raising children.
Oh dear Merlin, he was rising to the occasion again. He was going to lose his fucking mind at this rate. On the other hand, it was rather handy as a distraction for the changes he could feel happening. His insides were shifting around, making room for a womb, but Tom's cock in his arse and his mouth on him were enough to keep him from fixating on that.
He hoped three was a lucky (magical) number, because despite drowning in pleasure he was feeling weirdly jittery, as if he was thrumming with energy or magic or who knew what.
«You are mine.»
«I am yours.»
«Good boy.»
And he shattered again, feeling like he'd gone blind from it. Tom sped up considerably, owning him, dominating him, and came as well. His husband rested his forehead against Harry's, his breathing ragged.
It seemed an age before Tom leaned back and slowly withdrew. "I would have taken you from behind so I could remain in you as we slept, but I wanted to see your face."
He hummed. "I like when you take me from behind, but I also like seeing your face as you make love to me."
"You like the former because you get to participate more actively." Tom's tone was almost accusing.
"True. There's a certain thrill to being pushy in bed," he said with a smirk.
Tom snorted and moved off him and to the side, then pulled Harry to him, back to chest. "Rest, my dear."
"Good night, Tom."
Ω
As much as he wanted to return to Hogwarts so they could hide the Elder Wand, it was safer to wait. Hopefully it would not take long before news of Dumbledore's death was front page, above the fold. They might have to wait a few days to a week before they could go once it was reported, simply because it was possible the aurors and/or reporters would descend on the castle.
Their morning shower was interesting in that Tom had an additional place to play while washing him, and Harry was mortified to realize it made him wet in an entirely different way. Dear Merlin. Women had to deal with this when aroused? He could practically smell his arousal, and already knew he would be changing his undergarments on a regular basis with how often Tom got him worked up.
This… This was a downside, he decided. The upside was built-in lubrication.
After they finished eating he was whisked away to their bedroom again, stripped, and laid on the bed like an offering to some dark god. He wanted to be flippant, say something like, "You going to knock me up now?" but it was too … important … trying to conceive their first child.
Instead he said, "Come to me."
Sex was … different … that time. Not better, not worse, just … different. He came far too quickly, but that was because his arousal was supercharged at the idea of being impregnated by Tom.
Tom smirked. "So greedy."
"For you, always," he breathed.
Tom came a second later, sooner than normal. "It seems I am just as aroused by the idea of you carrying our child as you are, my dear." He reached down to glide his fingers through Harry's come, then lift his hand to Harry's mouth.
He obligingly licked those fingers clean, every time they were presented to him, until there was nothing left, then let himself be tugged onto his side, so they were facing each other, Tom still inside him. He tucked his head under his husband's chin and kissed his neck. He fell asleep, one arm tucked under him, the other snaked around Tom's waist, one leg awkwardly canted over his husband's hip.
He woke up only an hour later, mostly because his arm was numb. Harry grunted and started to detach himself, only for Tom's arm to hold fast. "Tom, let go. I can't feel my arm."
A disgruntled sound was his only reply, but Tom did release him. Harry rolled over onto his back and waited for the pins and needles to start torturing him. "You're lovely, you know."
"Yes," Tom mumbled sleepily. "I am."
He wanted to laugh, so much. Tom could be so … him. In some ways he thought that there would always be a small part of Tom that craved, needed the reassurance he got from Harry belonging to him. "So how exactly does this work?"
Amazingly Tom understood what he really meant, even sleepy as he was. "The function of your testes now has a conditional diversion set into place, which is triggered by copulation in your new passage. Much like certain creatures, sex is required to make you receptive to being impregnated, which means our first—and quite pleasurable—act of lovemaking in that manner will not result in conception, but rather your readiness to be pregnant."
"So, like a rabbit."
Tom either had no idea or ignored that. "Now that you have been made receptive, I will be able to impregnate you with our child. I admit, I hold hope that the first two children will be male, to simplify things, but I will not be at all upset if we also have female children."
"As a people, we do all need to be having more children," he said. He wasn't stupid. He could do the math. There were far too many families who stopped at one or even two offspring, which did nothing good for their population. Harry was aiming for four children, but time would tell, that and actually asking Tom how many he would like.
He grimaced as the feeling started to come back to his arm. Maybe next time, should Tom wish to remain inside him, they could lie on their sides, back to chest? They would not be able to see each other's faces, but falling asleep that way would hold less chance of numbed limbs.
The time and date flashed up so he glanced to the side.
Tom had one eye open, though it quickly closed. He sighed quietly and then opened both. "How are you feeling, my dear? Was there any pain?"
"From the, ah, change? No. It just felt decidedly strange, and you kept me more than distracted. I'm just waiting for my arm to get proper feeling back."
"Distracted?" Tom sounded almost offended.
He rolled his eyes. "Drowning in lust and pleasure."
"Ah." So much satisfaction was packed into that single syllable. Tom sat up and ran his eyes over Harry's body, then splayed the fingers of one hand over Harry's flat stomach. "Soon, my dear."
He hummed. "I'm still hoping I don't have any of the nastier symptoms. I want to enjoy this, not always be looking for a way to curb nausea for the first few months."
"I've already asked Wilda to ensure certain things are on hand, peppermint and ginger most prominently. They are long-held treatments for that. Unless necessary, I would rather you not have to take potions for it."
"Most of those taste awful enough to make me want to lose my stomach, so I have to agree. It's downright rude that the potion to take for a sick headache makes you want to be sick." The awful prickling in his arm was fading off, so he sat up as well and brushed the hair back from his face. "How about we figure out what changes we're going to make to that art?"
Tom nodded and slipped off the bed, then extended a hand to him.
In the library they sat at the big table and studied an enlarged copy of the drawing in question, making tweaks in various places, some subtle, some obvious. It really was the best option barring sending the thing into space, and he couldn't even remember when the first anything was launched, only that it was the Russians and that it eventually fell back to Earth. Given that the whole point would be sending the wand off planet, that would not do at all.
Once the changes had been decided and they had both committed them to memory, Tom finally checked the Daily Prophet. Front page, above the fold was the news of Dumbledore's shocking death. It was reported that the aurors had no leads, but it was suspected to have been done by a disgruntled Grindelwald follower via owl post.
"Maybe that'll teach people to always check things before opening them," he muttered. "And maybe update their wards."
"Agreed. Either way, this is being attributed to Grindelwald's acolytes, which is good. Hopefully suspicion will never be aimed at us."
"I imagine most people think we're a bit too preoccupied given that we just bonded. I rather think we did not necessarily do the usual, what with being intimate since the very night I brought you here."
Tom shrugged. "I am going to estimate we can go in at the weekend. That should give the aurors more than time enough to poke around in his suite."
"Right. Lunch?"
Ω
Tom made love to him once a day, a bit more gentle than normal. Whether that was because it was with the aim of creating a child, or because Tom was uncertain as to the … robustness … of his new passage, he had no idea. He also didn't feel like asking. Some things were more interesting when they remained a mystery.
"Are we going to need to put a healer under an Unbreakable Vow? Or at least a vow beyond the usual healer oaths?" he asked one morning at breakfast.
Tom frowned. "I certainly don't want you going to St Mungo's for any care during this period, or any of them. Yes, I believe we shall have to. I shall inquire with my associates as to the absolute best, even if that means importing one. And preferably a woman."
Because of course Tom wouldn't want any other man to see his nudity.
The sneaked back into Hogwarts on the twenty-fifth.
"Maybe if we both close our eyes before initiating the change…"
"Agreed," Tom said. "You have the alterations set in your mind?"
"I do. I'm doing it, then?"
"Yes. I'm closing my eyes now. Say when."
Right, he was doing it, it seemed. Harry closed his eyes and carefully built up in his mind the image he wanted, in as much detail as possible. That, of course, included the alterations they had agreed on, both subtle and not so. Once he had it he pushed for the configuration change and, when it felt right, opened his eyes.
And immediately winced. "Yeah, that's it all right. And my brain hurts again."
Tom's eyes opened in a squint, as if to ward off the mind-bending weirdness. He let out a soft noise of distress, then pointed. "There?"
"Yep."
Tom stayed right where he was, using magic to levitate the sealed lead box so that it slipped between the bars on a high window in a part of a building that had no visible door. "Unbreakable, yes?"
"Yes. And hopefully that works in here as a requirement."
"In that case, shall we?"
He was happy to escape the configuration, as the longer he had to look at it, the worse his head hurt, and he didn't need that in his life. He could only hope that no one would ever find that wand. Antioch had been a fool to ask for it, and died for his idiocy.
They took a nap to make up for having to leave their bed so early to run the errand, then headed off to breakfast after a lovely shower. Harry was still thrilled that one of his elves kept laying out clothing for him. Which reminded him—
"At some point I should probably get a new wardrobe," he said. "Except…"
"Except of course much of it will no longer fit properly for some time. Still, you are correct. We could go today. I myself need to replenish mine, especially as I will have to begin attending the Wizengamot soon."
"I'm still pants at fashion, so is it too much to ask for you to just figure that out for me, or are you going to insist I learn?"
Tom smirked. "You have far more important tasks, my dear, so no. I will decide for you if that is your wish, based on your family colours and a bit of mine. And based on what we have delivered, I imagine our elves could create similar fashions that will accommodate you in the months to come."
He hummed. "A good idea. We'll just have to lay in supplies for that, fabrics, threads, and so forth. Perhaps also buy additional elves, for we'll need help with the construction and tending of the greenhouses. Preferably an elf who does know how to create clothes, so as to handle that."
"And a nanny elf. You will need your rest, my dear. You will be using much of your energy in growing our child."
He said that like he thought Harry would object to help on that front. "That's fine," he said, feeling a touch confused. "I'd have to be an idiot to refuse help with taking care of a child, or children. Quite frankly, I've never understood how Mrs Weasley managed seven children on her own."
"Did she?" Tom said archly. "Most of her children fled as soon as they were able. That strongly implies she never saw them as individuals, never cared for them as she should. What I have seen in your memories suggests more that she saw them as a way to make herself look better. And when they would not comply with her vision of their futures, she wrote them off and treated them poorly."
He snorted. "Percy was the one she liked best, if only because he was an ar—huh, that one is difficult to say without cursing. A toadying stuffed shirt and yes man, and far too self important and superior, all without having anything resembling the same theoretical right to feel superior as a Malfoy might. It's odd, now that I think about it. Percy was forever extolling the virtues of Fudge, and yet Lucius 'I was under the Imperius and not a true Death Eater, really' Malfoy was always there in the background with his honeyed words and campaign contributions. Percy never once said a word about that in my hearing, despite the alleged feud between their families. But yes. Bill, Charlie, the twins, they all refused to do as Molly demanded. They went their own way. I think they still loved her as their mother, but… I think I have to agree, that she never saw them for themselves, and I don't want that to happen to our children."
The post popped into place at the table, distracting him. There was a letter for him from Newton Scamander. The text of it seemed slightly wary—he couldn't imagine why—but also chock full of interesting information about what creatures he could raise should he choose.
"This will need a reply," he said, sliding it over to his husband.
"Still planning to try to get Scamander and Hagrid talking?" Tom asked as he read it over.
"If possible. Granted, now Dumbledore can't get his hooks into the man, but it still wouldn't hurt for someone who mostly has sense to have an in with him. Hopefully teach him all the right things when it comes to creatures. The Hagrid I knew thought everything was cute and cuddly."
Tom slid the letter back over with a faint grimace.
Shortly thereafter they were off to Diagon Alley, so Harry could suffer the immense torture of clothes shopping.
Ω
"My dear, is there something you would like to tell me?"
Harry looked up in confusion from his serving of rice pudding. "Huh?"
"You have had rice pudding with every meal—breakfast included—for the past week."
"I dunno. I just really want the stuff. It's quite good."
"Mm-hm. It is. It also has more sugar in it than I am comfortable with given how often you are indulging. Once per day, my dear."
He gaped. "What?"
"Do not make me call in a forfeit."
'Well, shit,' he thought. 'There are three of those left hanging over my head.' He nodded unhappily. "All right. Under protest, mind you. But all right."
"It is my privilege and duty to take care of you, my dear, and I will take care of you."
He got the warm and fuzzies over that, but he was still unhappy at being denied his rice pudding.
"You can have fruits if you want something sweet, preferably raw ones."
Apparently he was going to have to reserve room in one of the greenhouses for strawberries, then. They were quite sweet naturally, even if he already had severe doubts that Tom would allow cream on them.
He nodded to indicate that he heard and understood.
"If you have no objections, I am going to go purchase more elves."
He shook his head. "I'll head to my office and see about drafting a reply to Scamander. And ask him about creatures that might be good to have in the greenhouses."
Over the course of the next week he felt quite irritable at not having his rice pudding at every meal, but Murty was able to find a supply of lovely strawberries just bursting with flavor and sweetness, so it wasn't all bad. He felt a bit like Luna in a way, what with her obsession with pudding. Pudding pudding, not dessert pudding.
If he ever started talking about nargles and wrackspurts he would have to get himself checked.
Tom was busy every morning with the Wizengamot, but as new things were only introduced on Mondays, that was when they spent afternoons in the library going over possible upcoming votes. Without Dumbledore around as Vanquisher of Grindelwald he could only imagine things were going far more smoothly when it came to fixing the issues in their system of law.
He knew there were muggle-born aplenty with decent parents, but he just couldn't care at that point if every last one of them was stolen the second they showed magic. Failing that, getting them drawn in at age five or six to "special" schools, so they could learn the basics of both the muggle and magical worlds.
And, well, magic on the parents to prevent them from ever breathing a word of magic to anyone.
Getting pure-bloods to breed more distantly would be good, but he had no idea how long it would take to sway people to making it law that one could not breed too close. It would not save Orion, but it could save others. And squibs. Why not just bring in squib spouses from other countries? If there was something to be ashamed of it was not the child, it was the adults for being stupid enough to inbreed to that degree. It was like blaming a child for being born a bastard when the child had no say in being given life.
He rolled his eyes.
It was, to a degree, why he could mostly forgive Dudley his actions. His parents had been absolutely awful and had taught him all the wrong things. He could only hope that the young man he left behind, the Dudley of the rather limp apology, could and would open his eyes and finally be his own man, not the muggle version of Draco.
Other afternoons (Friday through Sunday aside) were spent on discussing arguments for or against anything presented on Mondays. He was happy it was not onerous, because it meant they could spent most of each afternoon working on the greenhouses. They had to dig down for each one, with connecting hallways dug out between them, and everything lined in slabs of stone sealed together.
Building floors that were also ceilings, those of stone also, if only to ensure that the level of light underground could be controlled. Being underground would also help ensure the temperature. The upper floors would all be of a much thinner stone and covered in runes, both to ensure their unbreakability, and to allow light to pass inside as if they were glass, but not allow each greenhouse to be seen into.
Everything was unbreakable. Of course, that meant it would be impossible to expand them. They would simply have to make more as necessary. And potentially something vaguely similar for any creature habitats. No sense having any number of them only for a herd of thestrals to drop by and do some browsing for lunch.
Wizards were a superstitious bunch if they honestly thought being able to see the things was a omen of misfortune or death. Just because they looked creepy was no reason to think they meant something bad.
Maybe he should make the thestral the secondary symbol of the Peverell family? They were "connected" to Death, after all, so a creature that went unseen unless the witch or wizard in question had seen and internalized death…
Really, it was bad enough the family symbol was the Deathly Hallows. The story by Beedle the Bard never mentioned names, but when the Peverell Family was running around flaunting the association, it was no wonder people kept rabbiting on about the Master of Death, such that idiots like Dumbledore and Grindelwald thought it was a swell idea to track them down and become … what, immortal?
He snorted.
"Hm?"
He looked up from the book he wasn't technically reading to see Tom. "Just some silly thoughts. Like wondering if Bumbles and Giggles were silly enough to think obtaining all three Hallows would make them immortal or something. Also, I'm now wondering if Giggles has been told that his Greater Good bestie and presumed lover has kicked it in a tragic accident that his acolytes are being blamed for."
Tom smirked and took a seat. "That would be hilarious."
"I didn't actually check. Is Giggles locked away in Nurmengard, or did they off him?"
"Locked away."
"Huh. Well, in theory, Nurmengard is at least more humane. Or at least, I presume there are no dementors there for the purpose of legalized torture in the name of justice."
"Something to add to my mental list."
"What, herding the lot of them into a massive lead box and sealing them away? Chucking them into the depths of the earth or maybe an active volcano? I wonder if that would destroy the silly things."
"…Silly is not the word I would use."
"Not mine, either, but the word I would use is off limits. I am doing better than I was, if you hadn't noticed."
"I have, and I appreciate it. You've only had one near slip-up in quite some time. I wouldn't doubt you still swear in the privacy of your own mind, though."
"I do, sometimes. Sometimes being vulgar is…" He shrugged.
Tom did not look convinced.
Harry knew damn well that someone good with words, bearing a sharp tongue, could fillet someone without ever once venturing into cursing. He was just not that person. And besides, the whole reason he started was because the Dursleys were so prim and proper in their vile freakishness.
"I have arranged for a healer," he was informed. "They are already under vow."
Which meant that they probably couldn't breathe a hint of anything connected to Harry and any pregnancies, and in such a way that it did not conflict with any healer oaths.
"When the time comes we shall have to provide a portkey and/or coordinates."
"Don't you need a license to make portkeys? Or is that a Ministry-only thing?"
"License. They're simple enough to obtain, too, should you wish to become licensed yourself. And as Lord Peverell, it's exceptionally unlikely they would give you grief over it."
"I just might. I don't particularly like portkeys, but I see no reason not to get a license. What would I even have to do?"
"Well, you would go to the Department of Magical Transportation…"
Ω
He had gone through a truly record number of strawberries before it finally occurred to him that he might, just possibly, potentially be knocked up. He had also started noticing that his sense of smell had sharpened. If he was, though, it was likely that their elves already knew and had that sixth sense for knowing what would set off any nausea. If so, more power to them, the wonderful little beings.
If he was, then it meant their initial copulation … vaginally—dear Merlin that was weird to think in relation to himself—had primed his sperm to go through some magical transformation and produce a female egg, such that any of their following sexy times stood the chance of getting him pregnant.
Which meant, that unless he wanted to be constantly knocked up, they had to stick to anal sex in between times. Muggles usually waited a couple of years between kids. Even Molly Weasley had mostly done so, but perhaps it was less taxing for magicals? As a man, though, he should probably give himself plenty of time in between.
He shot off a quick tempus.
Huh. The days had just sort of rolled by since Bumbles had died. He spent his mornings reading or researching in the library and his afternoons and evenings with Tom. Depending on when it happened, he might be looking at a May birth. He wondered if Tom had already come to the same conclusion.
His husband was in no way stupid (that little issue of leaning toward making Horcruxes had he not shown up aside), and he was the one to point out his obsession with rice pudding. A craving? The strawberries were fantastic, but he really wanted that rice pudding, damn it.
He thought back over the last few weeks. Tom had been looking rather smug of late, hadn't he. Merlin's beard, the man was going to be insufferable.
His husband wandered in and paused on seeing the scowl that Harry had adopted. After a moment he took his usual seat and crossed one leg over the other. "Are you all right, my dear?"
"I'm fine. A bit lost in my thoughts, perhaps." More like wondering if Tom would ever broach the subject or if he was going to have to be the one to bring it up.
A fresh dish of sweet, ripe strawberries appeared on the side table, so he grabbed it and started nibbling. As he did so, he wondered if he could technically impregnate himself by jacking off, collecting the semen, then shoving it up his passage, after he had been primed by Tom. That would be supremely weird.
"I have made an appointment for you, my dear."
"Oh?" he said between bites.
"Yes, with the healer I arranged for. It is long past time."
"I see," he said placidly. "Will you also be getting a check-up?"
Tom blinked at him in confusion.
"I don't recall you seeing Madam Sanger for anything, so when was the last time you were checked? I can't imagine the conditions at the orphanage were all that wonderful in the years prior to Hogwarts. You could have shown up for school with scurvy for all I know."
"Ah. Well. If it would make you feel better, I can also be checked over."
"Yes, it would. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if this healer has a mild heart attack over my own health history. I've been bitten by a bas—er, oh. I wonder how that would show up in any scans. Aldreda did give us immunity bites."
Tom blinked again, that time in consternation. "I haven't the foggiest."
"And when is this appointment?" he asked.
"Friday at two o'clock."
He nodded and selected another plump strawberry to nibble on. "Is any room fine for that, or should we set something up? There is that unused room on the ground floor. Want to go look?"
Tom nodded and stood, then extended a hand to him. As they walked (bowl of strawberries clutched in one hand) he wondered if he could make a killing off fictionalizing his own previous life and selling it as a book series.
Ω
The healer—imported from France—checked Tom over first. Harry waited outside on a padded bench they placed there, with yet another bowl of strawberries, and wondered if they should just expand the room, toss in another wall and door, and make a birthing room. The very idea of going to St Mungo's for anything but an emergency made his stomach heave, and that was without the negatives of a ridiculous fame.
The door opened sometime later and Tom beckoned him inside, so he got up and entered. Healer Cloarec smiled at him and gestured to the padded table for him to sit, which he did, but only after he set his bowl aside.
Cloarec's gaze went to Tom, so Harry spoke before she could, saying, "I don't mind if you stay, darling."
Tom smiled in appreciation and took the only chair.
The healer hesitated only a second before explaining what she was about to do, getting his nod, and then waving her wand at him. It was all very cliché how a nearby roll of parchment began to be written on by an enchanted quill, and it was very not unexpected that it scritched away for longer than he would like, long enough that Cloarec looked unhappy.
Once it finally stopped and the quill neatly returned to its holder, the healer picked up the parchment and perused it, the unhappy look shifting into a frown along the way. When she got to the end the frown vanished and was replaced by a confused smile.
"Well," she said. "I shall write up a list of the potions you'll need to be taking for various issues. Your magic has done a very good job of taking care of … issues. There's just a few things that could some extra assistance. This last bit…"
"Yes?" he said, already knowing what it would be.
She folded the parchment back so as to highlight the last bit, then showed it to him.
"We're going to have a child," he said, a pleased smile aimed at his husband.
— fin —