-Female!harry, Arranged Marriage, Pre-relationship,
"So you would stop this war if I agreed to marry you?" Harry asks, incredulous. In her hands is a long parchment at which she was gawking.
Voldemort smirks, sipping his tea as if Harry's whole life turning upside down is not a concerning matter. And it probably isn't. To him, in the past at least, Harry was an annoying pest that couldn't just die.
And now that he has discovered the existence of his horcrux, a fragment of his evil and foul soul torn by himself on that fateful night —a fucking soul piece, really Tom??— , in her fucking forehead, Harry's role upgraded to an annoying pest that mustn't die.
Wonderful.
So fucking wonderful.
He's literally proposing to her right now.
Well, he's a Dark Lord. He's a clever dramatic weirdo at worst and a clever dramatic egoistical genocidal maniac at best. What do you expect? He literally put his soul in a diary. He's a dramatic bitch with powers.
Not that Harry is going to call the man who could literally kill everyone in the world dramatic bitch to his face. She's reckless and foolish, but not stupid.
"You're correct, Harry my dear." Voldemort replies, that annoying little smirk still on his face. Harry would very much like to throw a punch to that handsome face.
Yes, he is currently in an aged-up thirty something years old Tom Riddle's face. Yes, he aged like fine wine. He is god-damningly handsome and Harry is desperately in need of shouting at the gods. They are responsible for this.
Because one should not be both evil and handsome. That's a rule. That's really unfair since he could have seduced everyone to his side with just his face. Luckily, he thought being a snake-faced monster is a better way to conquer his way through Britain.
If he is in his noseless snake face, Harry would have no problem thinking rationally.
Not that she is having problem thinking rationally. It's just a metaphor. Or is it? Anyway,
"..Why can't i just stay by myself? I won't be interfering with your business anyway. All I want is my friends to be safe." Harry sit straighter in her chair, her spine as hard as steel, confident and brave.
Harry thinks that the marriage is just stupid. Or it's just Voldemort being possessive of his soul. Still stupid anyway. Voldemort wanted Wizarding Britain. Harry literally handed it to him on a silver plate. Harry wanted her friends to be safe. Voldemort swore an oath to not kill them or harm them in any way. They had agreed on not killing anyone connected to each other.
Hell! Harry even made an oath to not seek way to kill him. Not that she needs one since she had the Gryffindor Sword at her deposal.
Surprisingly, horcruxes are easy to kill.
So, why would they have to marry?
Voldemort put his cup of tea on the table and looked at her in her eye. He straightens his posture and seriously says,
"Because I need a wife."
Harry explodes.
"YOU COULD CHOOSE WHOEVER YOU WANT. HELL! YOU COULD RESURRECT WALBURGA BLACK TO LIFE AND MARRY HER AND NOBODY WOULD BAT AN EYELASH SINCE THE FUCKING WIZARDING WORLD IS IN YOUR HAND AND YOU CHOOSE ME?? THE GIRL YOU'VE BEEN TRYING TO UNSUCESSFULLY KILL FOR YEARS??? ME?!!"
Riddle —she refuses to call that pretentious arsehole with that ridiculous French name—Riddle raises an elegant eyebrow —why in the ever-loving fuck is that elegant anyway—and looks at her like she's someone with zero manners.
She only shows her manners to those who deserve them, thank you very much.
"Control your volume, dear Harry. It's unbecoming of a lady. And please do not use that foul language."
Has she said that he's a pretentious arsehole?
"I do whatever I want, Riddle. So, please tell me why you won't just go choose some other girl from a proper wizarding family with proper manner waiting for you to pick her."
Harry is seething.
"Jealous, my dear? Never thought that you're capable of jealousy. And I'd recommend you to not to call me by that name ever again."
Riddle actually looks annoyed by that name. So, for that sake, Harry decided to always call him by his birth name. She's a proud Gryffindor candy she doesn't back off from a challenge.
"Haven't I told you that I do whatever I want, Riddle."
At that, Riddle stands from his seat and walks towards her. She tries desperately to not gulp and succeeds. Cowering before enemy never sits well with her. Has she told you that's she's a proud Gryffindor?
He stands behind her seat and put his large hands on her shoulders massaging her. Obviously it feels really unrelaxing. Uncomfortable. He's a murderer for Merlin's sake.
"You've got that foolish bravery of a Gryffindor, little lion. I'd be more careful with that little mouth if I were you."
Harry is pretty sure that his eyes are blazing with anger right now.
Riddle crouches down and whispers in her ear.
"Afterall, bravery and foolishness is barred by a very thin line. Almost touching." His finger tracing the lighting scar he made years ago.
Harry shivers. Damn him and his ancestors and Salazar Slytherin. Damn his horcruxes. He's a fucking monster.
But Harry is nothing if not stubborn. She must always have the last word. And she does this time.
"You do not have to worry for my mouth, Riddle. I can take care of it myself."
There it is. Great. He's definitely going to kill her. Be there an oath or not.
Riddle sighs, clearly exasperated with her and pinches his nose now that he has one. Harry is definitely sure that he mutters "Gryffindors" under his breath. She pretends to not notice that since she doesn't want to irritate him again.
"Fine! Call me whatever you want as long as it's respectable. Now, on our coming marriage." He summons the tea set and pours himself another cup of tea.
"I'm a Dark Lord, Harry. Now that Britain is going to be united under my rule, thanks to you, I believe that I need to be a strong figure of this currently fragile country."
He stops to have a sip of tea.
"And to show that we don't discriminate the magics, especially the light, I need prove that the figures of light section agree with me. And who better than you, dear Harry, to represent the light side?"
Harry frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. "So I am to be your bride because I'm a figurehead if the light. That's a pretty weak reason, Riddle. I'd decline your proposal if it were the only reason. Any women would!"
Riddle put his hand on her arm in a soothing manner as if she is an injured wild beast. Harry shakes his hand away, angered.
Riddle grips her shoulders possessively and declared, "No, Harry. You're much more than that. You're more than just a woman."
"You're powerful, excessively so. You may not be that sharpest knife in the drawer, but you have that raw natural talent that resembles a storm; wild, untamed and full of power. You're also my horcrux, my soul container. You're my equal, darling. You are the rarest creature in the world and must be cherished as such."
Harry blushes at his words and agreed with the late Headmaster on one thing. Riddle is a terribly charming bastard. Harry prides herself as someone with a thick face and a sarcastic nature. Not that she's all emotionless but she can handle herself in embarrassing situations.
Until Riddle. He's just like his name, a fucking riddle, hard to read, harder to understand. And he's got that charisma that he used in his school days to fool professors and students alike and in his dark lording days to recruit. No wonder he succeeds in that.
Harry coughs to lighten her embarrassment. She took a sip of her tea and asks. "Aren't you just being so possessive? None of these reasons are that good enough. Not appealing. At least not to me."
Riddle smiles. And his smile just looks sinister like himself.
"You want something from me, don't you, my dear?" He asks, the smile looks strained.
It is Harry's turn to smirk.
"You and I both know that blood purity is all bullshit. I know you know that, Riddle. You, me, half-bloods. Hermione, muggleborn. Crabbe, pureblood. I can make a list of powerful muggleborns and useless purebloods if you want. And I want it gone. I want equality for all wizen people."
Harry looks straight into his blood red eyes. Even with his human form, those eyes stay blood red. She wonders if it were the effects of making so many horcruxs. Did some dark rituals do that to his eyes?
Riddle's smile disappears as if it was never there. He stands straighter and nods.
"I have to admit that you actually have a point there, Harry. But it is not an easy matter. You are talking about a revolution. You'd gave to dig deep to the roots to solve this problem."
Harry turns her head in a questioning manner, looking at him from head to toe. Her eyes narrow in thought.
"Hmmm. Not a long time, of course." Harry nods to herself, obviously decided.
"Well, Riddle. Aren't you the figurehead of the dark and I of light? My name holds weight on people as much as yours. You have clearly revolutionized the Wizarding Britain. You call me your equal, but you doubt me of succeeding."
Harry stands up from her seat and stares into the red eyes of the dark lord.
"Trust me. If I set my mind to do something, I always succeed."
Riddle smirks in return. "I wouldn't dare to think otherwise, dear Harry."
He walks harry towards the foyer and summons her fur cloak from the hanger. He takes her hand and kiss it on the back.
"The war will end. The blood purity nonsense will end with it. And after that I'll marry you. As of now, we're betrothed."
"Very well, dearest Harry. I will watch you succeed."