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Chapter Text

Harry wasn't released until the following day, on Monday, which happened to coincide with Professor McGonagall’s release from St Mungo's as well. Everyone had questions for Harry as they so often did following his little misadventures. This time it was less that he didn't know how to explain and more that he didn’t know himself. He didn’t remember much after being tied to the chair, and then he had been out cold for several days. Thankfully, classes were over, with the fifth and seventh years not having standard final exams, given that it was their testing years. 

Instead, he spent that week being forced to review the negotiation and his potential marriage contract until he felt like his eyes were going to bleed. Luckily, Madame Zabini had the foresight to leave a summary and notes with the important parts for him in each section and demand. She had even included responses to demands that were incredibly helpful as he couldn’t make heads or tails of the legalese in the contract itself. 

Oddly enough, Sirius stayed behind even after Harry’s release from the infirmary, and he clung to his side in canine form the entire week. Several students recognised him as Harry’s from the platform at the beginning of the school year, so no one questioned it. While on one hand, Harry was grateful for the time he got with him (even if they couldn’t communicate except via nods and shakes of Sirius’s head), it was a bit much, especially after waking up overheated from the man-turned-dog lying on him after having shared a dream with Voldemort. 

The only advantage was that with Sirius in his animagus form, it pushed Harry into trying to work on his legilimency. Previously, the only time he’d been able to do it was when he was angry, and he didn’t particularly want to dredge that up when trying to peer into his godfather’s head. 

Without Umbridge around, being an absolute menace to everyone, Voldemort agreed to allow the negotiations to transpire at Hogwarts itself. Harry wondered if there was a specific reason he acquiesced, since the man rarely did anything without an ulterior motive, but was glad that they wouldn’t all need to trek into Hogsmeade and cram into a room at the Three Broomsticks. 

Especially not with the crowd they ended up having. While Neville, Blaise, Luna, Ginny, and Daphne were amenable to the idea that Harry could only have so many people in the room with him while they discussed negotiations, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Pansy were not. Never mind that Mister and Mrs Weasley both wanted to be present, as well as Remus and Sirius, and then Madame Zabini, of course. It was she who informed him that Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore would also be present, along with Professor Snape, because why let anything embarrass him by half? 

So on the morning of Friday, June the fifteenth, Harry found himself surrounded by his closest friends and allies sitting at the table of the Staff Room on the seventh floor, across from Voldemort and a small group of his Death Eaters. To Harry’s right were Hermione and Ron, followed by Sirius, Remus, and Mister and Mrs Weasley, while on his left was Madame Zabini, along with Pansy, Draco, and then the Professors. He only recognised about half of the people with Voldemort- Lucius Malfoy was on his left, mirroring Harry and Madame Zabini across the table. Mrs Malfoy was next to her husband with two other men past her, one of whom had been there at the Ministry. However, Harry did not recognise the dark-haired man sitting on Voldemort’s right (though he felt familiar,) nor the other two men seated past him. A woman was also there sitting with them who had also been there at the Ministry’s break-in. 

The only ones who didn’t seem to be uncomfortable with this were Voldemort himself, Professor Dumbledore, Madame Zabini, and the man on Voldemort’s right. Everyone else, Harry included, seemed at least some degree of either nervous or awkward. The air in the warm room felt tense, especially as Professor Dumbledore finally took his seat just off the dead centre of the table. Professor Snape sat on one side of the old wizard, and Professor McGonagall on the other. 

There was an awkward silence as both barristers began summoning piles of documentation and paperwork. Harry attempted to track the notes that Madame Zabini had scribbled on papers, but he had a hard time reading them due to the angle. 

“If Lord Slytherin is amenable, I would be happy to begin,” Madame Zabini said, pulling out one of her expensive-looking fountain pens.

“It would be my pleasure, Lady Zabini,” Voldemort said, sounding for all the world like the dignified Lord he technically was, even dipping his chin slightly. 

“As you are all aware, we are here to discuss a Unification of Peace Treaty between the Lord of Slytherin, Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr, otherwise known currently as Thomas Mavrolo Gaunt, henceforth referred to as Lord Voldemort or the Dark Lord. As well as the Heir to the Potter Lordship, Harry James Potter, is furthermore to be recounted as Heir Potter in documentation due to the magically binding nature of the contract. I will begin reviewing what both parties have already consented to, and then we may move on from there.” She paused and lifted her eyes to the table, but when no one interrupted her, she carried on, “Article I states an immediate cessation of hostilities between the pair and their respective parties or allies, backdated to their verbal agreement made on Friday, the twenty-second of December, nineteen-ninety-five. Hostile actions are defined as, but not limited to: curses, hexes, jinxes, physical violence, psychological misleading or harm with an intent to circumvent contracted stipulations, as well as kidnappings, assassination attempts, property destruction, and strategic military movements against the opposing party. These are agreed to with the stipulation of “training” or “practice” scenario, wherein physical and psychological harm may be unavoidable by the Parties-” 

Harry’s head began to spin as she spoke, trying to pay attention the best he could, but his palms were sweating, and he had to physically restrain himself from bouncing his leg, biting on the edge of his tongue instead. Madame Zabini continued on, discussing further sections, all of which included things they had talked about explicitly.

“Article IV references several specifications discussed in Articles II and III, which we will circle back to, but the general agreed-upon nature of the section refers to an understanding of Mutual Political Cooperation, wherein both parties agree to work together to further each other’s political goals and objectives as outlined in the previous articles, provided those objectives are lawful under the existing wizarding law. Alternatively, to seek change of the law through proper legal channels as long as sought revisions do not directly contradict each other’s core requirements outlined in previous Articles, and do not pose an imminent threat to public safety.” Madame Zabini said, her voice somehow still strong and solid and not sounding dizzy from the mass amount of legal-speak that was flowing from her lips. 

She paused, casting another glance around the table, and paused when Draco’s mother cleared her throat, “Yes, Lady Malfoy?”

“What is ‘Good Faith’ being defined as, in this context?” She said, her voice clear and neutral. Before Madame Zabini could respond, Voldemort reached over to the papers in front of Lucius and tapped the stack, copies appearing wordlessly and wandlessly in front of everyone at the table, and Harry felt his stomach flip dangerously when their eyes met across the table.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Madame Zabini said, “As you can see on the fourth page, ‘Good Faith’ is defined as an honest intention, reasonable effort, and fair dealing, along with an absence of malice or intention to deceive. Both parties retain a right to an absolute veto over a specific political action proposed by the other party if the request would violate a specific provision of the contract, would commit a serious crime under wizarding law, or in cases where the proposed action creates a severe moral conflict based on genuinely held ethical principles, and the vetoing Party can articulate specific, substantial-harm that could result.” 

There was another pause, but this time there was the shuffling of the parchment as people skimmed through the contents, and Harry tapped his fingers gently on the textured surface of the parchment that had appeared in front of him. 

A movement to his right caught his attention, and he turned to see Remus raise his hand slightly. “Pardon, does this imply that any piece of legislation either puts forward would need to be reviewed pre-emptively? What about in cases where an ally to the Party is proposing something that is problematic or would validate a veto?” 

Lucius gave a small sigh and Harry wondered if it was because of who was speaking, or because he found any questions irritating, “Ideally, both will have reviewed any major legislation together, but, given Potter is still in school and will not necessarily make a career out of politics, section four-point-three discusses that each party retains the right to act independently within their capacity as a member of the Wizengamot, and submit either a veto to the party who proposed the legislation or offer alternate amendments that align with section four-point-one.”

There was another lapse, and Harry hazarded a glance around the table. Ron was fiddling with the edge of the paper on his copy, given that he, like Harry, knew its contents inside and out. Hermione was already scrawling notes in the margins, about what, Harry couldn’t be sure. Sirius had one elbow on the table, forehead in his hand, while his eyes darted back and forth over the words on the parchment, looking too pale. Remus had a hand reassuringly resting on his leg, by far the calmer of the pair. Finally, Mister and Mrs Weasley both looked a little uncomfortable, but Mister Weasley was nodding his head as his wife also read through the papers. 

“With that, I will move us back to Article II, which are the stipulations put in place by Heir Potter before he commits to an official union of peace and marriage. The first, the release of any and all unwilling collaborators who exist under the purview of the Dark Lord. This includes, but is not limited to: anyone who works under the effects of the Imperius Curse or other similar mind-altering or physically influential magic, as well as anyone who was coerced into cooperation through threats to themselves, loved ones, or anyone that could be used as leverage in such a manner. Those released will be provided safe passage and a guarantee against any retaliation. Lord Voldemort will agree to submit a complete account of all such releases, including under Veritaserum, if it is requested.” 

Not that it would help- the only real defence against Veritaserum was a mastery of Legilimency, which they all knew Voldemort had in spades. 

“And if there are no unwilling collaborators of that nature?” Lucius asked stiffly. 

“Then the list would be very short indeed,” Madame Zabini said with a sharp smile, “After all, this is a magical contract. Suppose the Dark Lord truly had no unwilling collaborators of any kind not either placed under a spell to put them into a more complacent, altered state of consciousness, or threatened in some way into compliance. In that case, there are no concerns regarding magical retaliation or backlash from breaching the contract.” 

The next section was entirely about limiting Voldemort’s ability to advocate for any legislation that discriminated against Muggleborns, including several subsections and clauses that explained and defined it in long, rambling words that made Harry’s head spin. Luckily, the rest of the article was fairly short. The third section outlined that Voldemort needed to lift the alleged curse he had placed onto the Defence Against the Dark Arts Position, so that they could hopefully get a teacher who knew their arse from their elbow, and also would be around longer than a single year to actually make an impact on their students. The fourth section was a reassertion about not allowing any attempts to overthrow the Ministry of Magic through any violent means, and then detailing and outlining what “violent” entailed. 

Madame Zabini was very good at her job. 

Harry did flip to Article III as Lucius took over from Madame Zabini. There was only one thing there that had been added, which was the entire reason they were there, reviewing all this before his Emancipation hearing had even happened. He felt a blush spread over his cheeks as he skimmed the words, though it was more due to Lucius casually outlining to the entire room that he and Voldemort would be required to spend all of their ruts and heats together going forward. 

“Article III contains the stipulations from the Dark Lord, the first being a Mating Cycle Proximity Requirement. Heir Potter would need to agree to spend the entirety of each of their respective mating cycles with the Dark Lord in the same warded location, though the location must be mutually agreed upon. He will also provide the Dark Lord with at least forty-eight hours’ notice of the impending cycle when physically possible. Article III also stipulates that both will maintain good faith cooperation to ensure the health and safety of both Parties during such periods,” Lucius said, his voice droll as if he were bored, even though Harry was certain he’d seen his eye twitch when he said “mating cycle” the first time. 

“And what if Potter is ill or has an emergency of some kind that keeps him from being able to fulfil said requirement?” Madame Zabini asked, looking ahead to the next page to make sure she didn’t miss it somehow.

Lucius made a noise of acknowledgement, pulling out a quill as he began scratching away at his own copy. “Pardon, I expanded upon the stipulations and exceptions in Article V, Subsection five-point-five, which gives the specifics for the exemptions. We can circle back to it when we finish this section, and I will add a line to reference the Proximity stipulations.” There was a moment of silence as he finished scratching out his notes and flipped to the next sheet of parchment. “Section two of Article III references the efforts for Ministry Reform through cooperation, in which Heir Potter agrees to actively support the Dark Lord in his reformation and restructuring of the Ministry of Magic, provided that such reforms are pursued through legal and non-violent means, and do not violate Heir Potter’s stipulations as outlined in Article II, aiming towards a more efficient and bipartisan governmental structure.” 

“More efficient, less corrupt, and bipartisan, was the phrasing we agreed upon, I believe, Lord Malfoy,” Madame Zabini said, staring at the other man until he made said notes on his copy. “We should also include a bullet stating said-cooperation is still subject to Heir Potter’s right to veto.” 

As the pair continued back and forth, bickering over the exact wording, Harry felt a soft, almost intangible breeze against his occlumency shield. He looked up at Voldemort instinctively and regretted it immediately. When he made eye contact, the breeze turned into a hand trailing down his hip and thigh, gripping his leg tightly. Harry swallowed as his mouth watered slightly, the sensation of a hand running up his back making him shiver. 

You react so nicely to me in all things, Voldemort’s voice purred in the back of his mind, and his skin pimpled as the invisible hands teased over his skin. 

Harry took a slow breath and looked at Madame Zabini, but she was still going at it with Mister Malfoy, and so he looked back to Voldemort, who had a very slight smirk on his lips as he watched Harry, not unlike some predator stalking his prey. 

How are you doing that? Harry thought and then bit the side of his mouth as the hand on his thigh trailed down slowly between his legs. Harry squeezed one hand and curled his toes as he tried to ground himself and keep focused, but then Voldemort’s fingers were pressing at him through his boxers, teasing his entrance. 

Doing what? Voldemort asked coyly as his fingers pressed into him, and Harry swallowed again, sitting still in the chair as Voldemort’s fingers began to slowly press into him. Fuck- he had Madame Zabini on one side and Hermione on his other, he could not do this just then. 

How are you touching me? Harry thought, trying to feel as annoyed and put out by it as he should have been, instead of wanting to lie back and spread his legs for his alpha. 

I’m not, it’s not my fault you have such an active imagination, Voldemort murmured, and the fingers spread him open, followed by a pinch to his nipple. 

To disguise his growing arousal and discomfort from the public teasing, he rolled his shoulders and shuffled. Stop, Harry hissed silently. 

“-correct?” Harry stared as Madame Zabini looked around the table, worried he’d missed something important or that something had been asked of him. 

“I would put forth a stipulation or limitation on Harry’s required agreement,” The Headmaster said, steepling his fingers as he stared ahead of him, at no one in particular. “Not necessarily a veto, but the right to not actively support amnesty legislation, given his own personal history with several of them. It would be…” He paused as if he were trying to find the word, “...distasteful to force someone who has been so negatively impacted by several members of Lord Voldemort’s organisation to actively campaign or champion for them.”

Harry relaxed slightly and looked to the section Professor Dumbledore was referring to, even as his mate pressed into his occlumency barriers. He didn’t fully dislodge the alpha- he wasn’t certain he even could if he wanted to, but Harry wanted the distractions to cease and focused as best he could while Madame Zabini made notes on a spare sheet of parchment. 

“I agree,” She said with a decisive nod, her pen scribbling the words quickly but neatly onto her notes, “Something to the effect of, ‘Heir Potter’s agreement to support amnesty shall be understood to mean, one, Heir Potter will not actively oppose general amnesty legislation for Death Eaters not currently incarcerated, two, Heir Potter will reserve the right to not advocate for, or support any measure that would result-” 

Harry licked his lips as it became harder to ignore Voldemort’s presence in his mind. He gave up on keeping still, instead allowing his leg to bounce slightly as it kept him distracted while several people carried on the conversation around him. 

I have missed our time in the evenings, my soul, Voldemort growled in his mind, his fingers curling just inside of Harry’s entrance like a phantom limb- not there, but Harry could still feel it and also feel his body responding to it. He was getting wet, and his cock was thickening in arousal. Your godfather cannot continue to sleep in your bed forever. 

“Amira,” Sirius said sharply, and Harry was grateful for the distraction once more, magically and mentally shrugging off his alpha’s attention. “If Harry is granted emancipation at his hearing, does that mean he has officially reached his majority, or would that still be his seventeenth birthday?” 

Harry looked at Sirius and then back to Madame Zabini, who tilted her head slightly in consideration. 

“Legally speaking, someone’s majority is defined as being legally considered an adult, with the full rights and responsibilities of an adult, so it would be his emancipation date, rather than his seventeenth birthday,” She said thoughtfully, nodding her head slowly. “Why?” 

Sirius wrinkled his nose in agitation, and Harry wanted to reach over and touch his arm, but it was difficult with Hermione and Ron between them. Thankfully, Remus was there, leaning slightly closer, as if worried Sirius was about to do something dangerous. 

“Because the very first line of Article V specifically states they need to be married within one year of Harry reaching his majority.” At this, Sirius glared in Voldemort’s direction, but the alpha ignored him, still keeping his eyes on Harry and Madame Zabini instead. 

“Is there a problem with that?” Lucius asked, still sounding bored, which only agitated Sirius further. Harry froze in confusion, his eyes darting back to the woman on his left, hoping she would explain in the Queen’s English what all that meant. 

“Considering Heir Potter will only have a window of potentially six days between turning seventeen and the deadline should the Emancipation Hearing proceed as planned,” Madame Zabini said cooly, sounding a touch annoyed, “And that he would enter into his final year of schooling likely the only of his classmates wedded, it would very likely ostracize him further from his peers, so yes, I do believe that is a problem.”

“Plenty of omegas and women spend their seventh year juggling studies and planning their weddings to their betrothed, yourself included, Madame Zabini,” the woman from the Ministry, Selwyn, said, her eyes narrowed as if she’d taken the words as an insult. “By marrying before his seventh year, he will not even be adding the study of his N.E.W.T.s to the mix, which many of us also had to contend with. Are you implying that Potter is better than his peers?” 

“Yes,” Madame Zabini said decisively, lifting her chin, even as several of the Death Eaters scoffed. “Heir Potter is the most eligible omega alive, in England, in Europe, in the entire Eastern Hemisphere, I would wager. He is known across the entirety of Eurasia as the Boy-Who-Lived. He is the only living direct Heir of the Potter Family, including their estate and holdings, and the Heir to the Black Family, per Sirius Black’s Will. He is the last-living direct descendant of the Gryffindor line, and also first in line to inherit should he complete the family rites-”

Harry and several others snapped their heads over to look at the woman beside him. He was descended from Gryffindor? Since when? And Sirius had- well, that made a little bit of sense at least, given Sirius didn’t have any children. But still. What were the family rites? What did any of that mean? He flipped through the parchment quietly as she continued speaking, trying to see if there was anywhere that listed all of this. 

“He is also fifth in line for the Peverell house, and the only living Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, is an exceptionally powerful wizard, AND is already bonded to the Dark Lord as his mate,” Madam Zabini said as she folded her hands and leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowed. “So yes. Heir Potter is, by the very narrow and obnoxiously ancient codex on which each of you weighs your own children’s marriage contracts and betrothals on, better than his peers, and by all of which I have just stated, including what he is emotionally and psychologically sacrificing in marrying the killer of his parents-”

“Allegedly,” the man to the right of Voldemort said. 

Madame Zabini’s lip curled in irritation and ignored him, “-simply to protect the magical community of the British Isles means that his Bride Price far outweighs the collective fortune of the vaults of every person sitting at this table.” She finally leaned back, sitting straight in her seat again, and she lifted her pen back into her hand. “Five years after reaching his majority.”

“Unacceptable,” Lucius said immediately. 

“Might as well propose there be no time limitation at all,” Another one of the Death Eaters Harry didn’t know snapped. 

“Five years sounds excessive, but given the emancipation, he will be reaching his legal majority a year before the rest of his peers,” Madame Zabini shot back immediately. “Two of those years he would be enrolled here at Hogwarts completing his schooling, and given that Heir Potter has expressed an interest in becoming an Auror-”

“Of course he has,” Macnair, who had been thus far silent through the exchange, said, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. 

“And the Academy for Aurors takes three years to complete, so he would not have any actual downtime following his graduation. Spacing it out accordingly gives him enough time between now and then to extend the planning of such a wedding out to a more manageable timeframe.”

Harry blinked, not understanding the point she was trying to make, but also unwilling to open his mouth and mess anything up. He definitely didn’t want to return to Hogwarts for his seventh year bloody well married, but he also didn’t understand what was so time-consuming about planning a wedding. How could it take several whole years? He looked over and found Sirius still glaring at Voldemort and those around him, but he looked less like he might throw himself across the table, especially with Remus running a thumb over his shoulder reassuringly. Mrs Weasley looked irritated as well, her lips pursed, and she was making her own notes in the margins, and Harry felt a sense of trepidation about it. 

Some of the Death Eaters were still arguing the point with Madame Zabini, and Harry returned to reviewing Article V. More had been added to it, most of it tied back to Voldemort’s new request to require them to spend their mating cycles together. Apparently, just that added seven pages of parchment alone to the treaty, and he had a hard time focusing on the words. He caught sight of the term “Gaunt-Potter” and grimaced. 

But then he had an idea. 

“One year after I turn seventeen,” he said, loud enough to cut into the argument still transpiring, and Madame Zabini looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows raised in both confusion and a touch of worry. “But, in exchange, he has to take the Potter name.”

There was a loud, echoing silence as everyone swivelled their heads to look at Voldemort. The Dark Lord’s eyebrows raised and quirked slightly, and his eyes widened only a touch as he considered Harry’s words. Most of the Death Eaters looked appalled and worried that the man might try and kill someone then and there. 

“That is highly unorthodox,” Lucius refuted, shaking his head. “The Dark Lord was being generous in offering a combination of names, as most omegas take their alpha’s surname-”

“You told me that you were giving me back the family you took from me,” Harry snapped, ignoring the fact that it was the Locket who had said as much, but they were one in the same now, so it didn’t matter. He could feel several of the people around him looking at him, but he ignored them and held Voldemort’s gaze. “How can you do that if it's no longer the Potter line?”

And you don’t even like your family, he mentally added, hoping the alpha, who was still just barely lingering there in his mind, heard. 

Everyone stilled, waiting for Voldemort to respond. His hazel red eyes narrowed a touch in thought, not leaving Harry, and he tapped his fingers in a soft rhythm on the parchment. Then he finally nodded his head slowly. “This is acceptable.” 

The Death Eaters in general around him seemed unsure of how to feel about this- Voldemort had agreed, so none of them dared contradict him, but it was clear that they didn’t like it, which pleased Harry just a bit. 

“Very well. Given there are several spots in here that mention Heir Potter specifically gaining his legal majority, we can include a section in the first Article which outlines and defines 'magical majority as opposed to ‘legal’ majority, and further stipulate in Article V; that the marriage obligation will be entered within a year upon reaching his magical majority, as defined by Heir Potter’s seventeenth birthday,” Madame Zabini said, flipping through the parchment until she located what Harry assumed was the correct page and began marking it with several asterisks before writing on her spare paper once more. “Section one-point-five, Definition of Magical Majority. For the purposes of this Contract, ‘magical majority’ shall be defined exclusively as reaching the age of seventeen on one’s natural birthday. Legal emancipations granted by the Wizengamot or other competent magical court prior to-” 

Harry began to lose track of what exactly she was saying once more. It happened any time she began using “shalls” and “regardlesses” and “including but not limited tos”. He didn’t know how she or Draco’s dad managed it. Neville, Blaise, and Hermione seemed to also be able to understand it well enough, but Harry felt a bit like he was treading water when he tried to read through the paragraphs. He resisted the urge to look around for a clock. They couldn’t have been in there more than an hour or two, and he dreaded the knowledge that there were likely hours left before they got through it all. 

If they got through it all. Madam Zabini had said it was very likely that they wouldn’t finalise everything there and that they’d need to continue fleshing it out until he was granted his emancipation. It took almost an hour for Zabini and Malfoy to agree on the exact phrasing of the Definition of Magical Majority to add into Article I, and by then, it was clear that everyone, not just he, needed a break. 

Professor Dumbledore was the one to officially request a two-hour recess, and Harry rested his forehead in one hand as he reviewed the final verbiage Madame Zabini and Lucius had come up with. It was after noon, and Dumbledore mentioned something about having lunch brought up, but the thought of food wasn’t appealing. Harry wanted a nap more than anything- if he had a choice, which he was sure he didn’t. 

At least half the group departed to use the lavatories, and Harry looked over when someone dropped into Hermione’s vacated seat. 

“Hey,” Harry said softly, giving Sirius a small, tired smile. 

Sirius tried to return it, but it didn’t stick. “Are you okay?” He asked, looking concerned. 

Harry raised his eyebrows pointedly, looking Sirius up and down. He wasn’t looking quite as emaciated as he’d been a month or so before, but he still looked sickly, his skin an unhealthy pale bordering on grey with large bags under his eyes. Harry was grateful he seemed to be slowly putting on some weight, his cheekbones were no longer quite so sharp, and it didn’t look like a strong wind would knock him over. “Really?” He finally asked. 

Sirius glared, folding his arms over his chest. “Harry,” he started and then paused, looking around briefly before going back to his godson. “Harry, you don’t have to do this.”

Harry blinked and shook his head, annoyed but not very surprised. “Yeah, Sirius, I do.”

“No,” Sirius said, a genuine grief in his voice. “You don’t, we can still stop all this, you don’t need to do this, this isn’t your responsibility.” 

Harry dropped his forehead to his palm again and then ran his hand over his face. “Sirius, we talked about this.” 

“I know, but- Harry, you’re only fifteen-” Sirius managed to get out, clearly becoming agitated. “Fifteen-year-olds don’t need to be worrying about- ‘Mating Cycle Proximity Requirements’ and ‘Ministry Reform Cooperation,’” he said, smacking the parchment Hermione had left at her spot.

“Sirius, please stop,” Harry begged quietly- he didn’t know if he had it in him just then, not when he thought they’d gotten past it. He knew Sirius didn’t like it. Knew Ron didn’t like it, but as long as they trusted him and were there, Harry could deal with it, would deal with it. 

“I’m your godfather, Harry, that means I’m supposed to protect you and take care of you, and this? Your parents wouldn’t have wanted this,” Sirius hissed, leaning forward, getting too close. 

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty certain my parents didn’t want to be dead, so,” Harry snapped back viciously, and Sirius blinked at him, his eyes going wide. “Unfortunately, their opinion doesn’t mean very much.” 

Sirius’s eyes darkened. “They died so you could have a life, they died to protect you, not to throw it away doing this.” 

“They died to make sure I could live, Sirius,” Harry said, aware his voice was getting harsher, but having a hard time stopping it. His and Sirius’s frustrations were both bubbling closer to the surface, and he should have known they’d have a row about this. They’d avoided it thus far, but it was inevitable, “I don’t think they would judge me for trying to do what I think is best to help keep everyone else I love alive, too.” 

“That’s not the same,” Sirius hissed, running a hand through his hair, which was coming loose from the band he had it knotted in. “They were twenty-one! They were adults!” You’re a kid hung there, unsaid, but clearly implied, and Harry stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. 

“I’m not a child,” Harry hissed, wanting to scream, pull his hair out, his shoulders tight with stress. “Don’t you get it? I have never been just a child, Sirius, not since my parents were killed. I spent all of my childhood being treated like shite and called a freak by the only family I had, the people who should have taken care of me. I was locked in a bloody cupboard and treated like a house elf so they could pretend I didn’t fucking exist- and then, even here, the one place that feels like home, I didn’t get to suddenly be a child,” Harry snarled. The words were an echo of a similar conversation with the Headmaster a couple of months before, but they still hurt to say, to rip the bandages and scabs off the healing wounds. 

Sirius’s face fell, and Harry knew he’d feel guilty for it, guilty about making Sirius feel bad, but he needed to understand- he and his parents had made sacrifices when they were only a little older than he was, and now Harry was going to make sacrifices, but they were going to be on his terms. He could feel some of the others who were still in the room watching, but thankfully, they stayed away, giving him and Sirius room, and he didn’t want to look and see who it was because he would lose his entire train of thought and his power to have the conversation if he did. 

“I killed Professor Quirrel in my first year!” Harry snapped, holding his hands out, “One of my professors actively tried to kill me, and I had to murder a man with my bare hands, Sirius! I was eleven! Just to stop that ponce from getting the Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry jerked his hand in Voldemort’s general direction, unsure of whether he was even still sitting there for now, but didn’t dare look to see. “And then in my second year, I spent the whole year thinking I was mad because I could hear a basilisk in the fucking walls of my school that no one else could hear! I had to find and go into the Chamber of Secrets and fight a fifty-foot basilisk and get bitten by it to off that idiot off again to save Ginny! Third year, I was nearly killed multiple times by hordes of dementors and thought I had yet another loony nutter out to kill me, only surprise, it WASN’T YOU, just Wormtail- and you already know what I went through in my fourth year, Sirius!” Harry balled his hands and felt his voice going hoarse from trying not to scream- he was so angry and tired and sick of these fucking games- “I have never once in my entire bloody life been allowed to be JUST a child, JUST Harry, so why the fuck are we going to try and START NOW?” He demanded, jabbing a finger into Sirius’s chest, the man looking so stunned he just stared. 

“I’m already used to the dildo of life fucking me raw, I might as well take control and use some GODDAMN LUBE,” Harry shouted, throwing his hands wide again before all the adrenaline washed out of him. Harry swallowed, feeling tears at the corner of his eyes, and he turned, wiping both hands over his face, unable to look at anyone or anywhere.

“I’m- I’m going to the loo,” he choked out, hurrying for the door. 

• ⋅ • ⋅ ⋅ • ⚡️ ⋅ ⬩ ⋅ ❤️ ⋅ ⬩ ⋅ 🐍 • ⋅ ⋅ • ⋅ •

Severus did not sprint from the room so much as walk very fast out of it with the excuse that he needed to piss. 

If anyone had ever told him, even six months ago, he’d be sitting in on a Marriage Negotiation between the Dark Lord and Harry bloody Potter, he would have dropped them off at St Mungo’s. Likely in a body bag. It was tense and horrible, and he hated every moment, even more so because both the Dark Lord and Albus had instructed him to be there. Thankfully, Minerva seemed as uncomfortable as he did about the entire affair, but she at least made the effort to read through the Treaty and Contract they were discussing. Severus wouldn’t touch it. Potter had Zabini as his barrister and enough adults at the table rallying for him that he did not require Severus, and therefore, he refused to continue his descent into madness further by reading about how the Dark Lord was requiring to bugger the teen during each of their cycles. 

He felt dirty just having listened to Zabini and Lucius discussing it. So, he took the long route to the furthest set of lavatories from the seventh-floor Staff Room and spent far too long in there. He dallied and adjusted his robes and splashed water on his face until he could linger no longer and eventually wandered back. He managed to kill maybe half an hour, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach lunch. Not in a room with the Dark Lord and Potter and- he didn’t want to think about it. 

When he finally returned, the room was half empty. Madame Zabini was already revising as she took tea to the side, and the students were entirely gone. Only a few others remained, off in tight groups discussing what had transpired. Severus had no desire to confer with the Weasleys, so he caught Lucius’s eye instead and moved to stand beside him and the dark-haired man who had been sitting on the Dark Lord’s other side. 

He should have realised immediately who it was, though he had rather suspected. His face was altered ever so slightly, nose a different shape, cheekbones higher, hair darkened and cut closer than he’d worn it previously, though a few blonde streaks still highlighted it. Barty’s eyes remained unchanged, though, the same pale blue he’d had before, and the same feral, toothy smile that made Severus want to hex him. 

“Well, you missed a show,” Barty said, and when Severus ignored him, he sighed dramatically, “Really, Snape? So rude.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know you,” Severus said casually, his eyes still on Lucius, whose eyes looked tired under the indifferent expression.

“Severus, may I introduce you to Bartholomew Crouch?” Lucius said, raising his eyebrows slightly. 

“Bartholomew Benjamin Crouch,” Barty amended, still smiling like a maniac.

“How unoriginal,” Severus sneered, rolling his eyes before looking back to Lucius, “Where is the Dark Lord?” 

“Likely trying to figure out where his little omega went,” Barty said, pouting, and Severus sneered in irritation at the constant interruptions. “He was mighty upset after all.” 

“Why?” Severus asked, ignoring Barty and looking at Lucius still. 

The blonde gave a deep sigh, rolling his eyes. “Potter began screaming at Black rather dramatically and then ran out, nearly in tears. The dog is pouting out on the parapets, I believe, and the Dark Lord followed after Potter.” 

“Screaming?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I believe the words ‘I’m not a child,’ ‘I had to murder a man with my bare hands,’ and, my personal favourite, ‘I’m already used to the dildo of life fucking me raw’ were all said so…” Barty shrugged, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“He didn’t,” Severus said slowly, looking at Lucius, who closed his eyes for a moment and nodded, as if he hated it just as much as the Potions Master.

“You could give Black a quick shag and sort him out,” Barty said with a shrug, and Severus nearly choked on his own spit. “Is he always that angsty?” 

“Why-” Severus snapped and then snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. Do not engage with the madman. “What was the purpose of you even being here?” 

“I’m his favourite,” Barty said with a shrug, and Severus had no way of knowing if he was being serious or not, so he looked to Lucius, who just gave him a look as if to say ‘leave me the fuck out of this.’

“So, how does it work- exactly?” Barty asked thoughtfully. “Is the werewolf a cuck, or do you bugger them both?” 

“I’m going to kill you,” Severus hissed quietly, his chest tightening with the desire to wrap both his hands around the younger man’s neck. “How many times must I tell you I am not involved with him?” 

“Mhmmm,” Barty hummed, looking contemplative for a moment. “Well, then, I’ll take a crack at him; he seemed to like my scent enough when we were in Azkaban together, and someone needs to try and butter up the godfather of the Dark Lord’s omega…” He paused, his smile growing into something mischievous, and Lucius let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Severus didn’t understand either’s reaction immediately until he realised he was growling slightly, a low threatening rumble rising up from the back of his throat, and his lips were threatening to curl into a snarl. He huffed indignantly before he took a deep breath and schooled his expression once more. “Do whatever you like, Barty.” 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of infringing on your little love triangle,” the man said, still looking like the cat who got the canary. “But if you’re going to growl about him, you might as well go comfort him.” 

Severus felt his eyelid twitch and cast a glance around the room, looking for Remus.

“The werewolf left for the restroom and has not returned yet. He was not here during the little exchange they had,” Lucius supplied quietly. Severus levelled a look at Lucius, who was refusing to make eye contact. 

Severus could feel the start of a headache, the dull pounding behind his eyes. “You’re both delusional.” 

“I heard from a little bird that your house is under the impression you and the werewolf are together,” Barty said, his smile somehow becoming even more feral, and Severus dug his nails into his palms and tried to count backwards from twenty, but found it lacking. 

“Who could possibly have told you that? Lucius hissed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“Nott, for one, from his son,” Barty said, his gaze shooting over to the older man who was standing with Yaxley and Rosier, talking quietly. “Apparently, the werewolf went into his room, spent an indecent amount of time there, and both emerged freshly showered.”

Lucius gave Severus a look, but he couldn’t read what it meant, so he just shook his head. “I will go talk to Black only so I don’t have to listen to you any longer,” Severus snapped, turning and heading towards the door that led out onto the small walkway. 

The walkways to the higher portions of the castle were narrow and edged with a half-wall made of the same stone as the exterior walls. This particular side was less popular with the students because the only access point was the Staff Room, and there was little point when the more popular spot, the Astronomy tower, was just on the other side of the same floor. He didn’t see the other wizard immediately and stepped forward, following the path along the parapet. It would have been uncomfortably warm with the sun out, but this high up there was a strong breeze, and Severus squinted as his hair whipped around him. 

Around the second corner, close to where the walkway ended, he found the omega. Black was hunched forward, his hair re-tied into what might have been an even messier knot than before. He was resting his elbows on the stone wall, twisting a beat-up pack of cigarettes in his hands, his chin tucked tightly to his chest, shirt pulled up to cover part of his face. It was one of those baggy muggle band shirts he seemed to favour, and Severus rolled his eyes as he stepped closer. 

Neither said anything, and Severus leaned on another section of the wall, looking down at the castle below. He was grateful he’d never had much of a fear of heights. He even enjoyed it, to a degree, seeing the world shift so dramatically the further away one stood. As the wind shifted around them, he was hit with that smell of cloves and tobacco again, and he hated that it made his mouth water. He refused to acknowledge that it made his dick twitch in interest.

“I’d offer, but I only have one left,” Black finally said a few minutes later, tapping the box on the stone and pulling the last cigarette out. “Unless you want to share.” 

Severus took a step closer and raised his chin in agreement, and Sirius pulled a lighter out and curled his other hand around it, trying to get the damn thing lit despite the harsh wind. Finally, he got it lit and took a deep drag, letting it catch fully before he handed it over. 

“This entire thing’s fecked,” Black said, blowing the smoke out. 

“I’ll be honest,” Severus said before he took a puff, “I couldn’t bring myself to look at the damn thing. There isn’t a cleaning spell strong enough to use that would warrant it.” 

“I tried to- to ignore it, to just pretend it’s someone else, anyone else,” Black said, his voice tight. Severus prayed to every god he could think of that the man wouldn’t begin crying. “But him? He’s- he’s-” 

Severus watched Black’s throat bob and handed him back the cigarette. 

“I feel so useless,” Sirius said quietly before putting the cigarette back to his lips, “life just happened without me, and it's still going on as if I'm not a part of it, just watching from the outside.”

“That is how life works,” Severus drawled. “The world is not centred around you, as surprising as that may seem.” 

“I’m not- I know-” Black spat angrily, pushing himself up and pacing a few steps, “But- I can’t do nothing. I can’t let Harry throw his entire life away to protect us.”

“The decision at this point is entirely out of our hands, regardless of how anyone feels,” Severus said, raising an eyebrow. 

“You would think that, but you’ve always been a coward,” Black snapped, baring his teeth.

“Better alive and a coward than dead from bravery and stupidity,” Severus hissed back. 

“Yeah, because I’m the stupid one here,” Black growled, getting too close and shoving his finger into Severus’s chest, his eyes wild, “I’m the one who figured out how to turn into an animagus as a teen, I’m the one who was strong enough to do what was right instead of kowtowing to my family’s bullshit, I’m the one who was able to escape Azkaban and evade capture from the Ministry and the Dementors to protect Harry. All while you’ve been sitting here in a cushy castle with an easy job letting him go through hell each year at school-” Black broke off and Severus wanted to grab his hand, twist it around, and slam the omega into the wall, but he wasn’t done, “I can’t believe I ever thought you might be half-decent, that maybe under that sneer and grease you might be just a bit attractive-”

Severus didn’t feel his composure snap so much as one moment he had his arms folded and the next he had Sirius pinned to the wall, one hand gripping Sirius’s jaw firmly in his hand and the other squeezing the omega’s neck. Instead of freezing or stiffening as one normally would, Sirius seemed to relax into it, a breathy noise coming from between his pink lips, his eyelids fluttering, and if Severus wasn’t hard before, he was now. 

“I think you’re just angry with yourself because of how much you liked me fucking you,” Severus growled, leaning into his grip. “If you really want the pleasure of it again, then you need to get on your knees and beg for it.” Severus pressed his leg between Sirius’s, feeling how hard the other man was growing. He could feel Sirius’s pulse thumping under his hands and squeezed tighter, if only because Severus enjoyed the way he could feel Sirius’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed before he panted. 

Severus let go, took the cigarette out of Black’s hand, and inhaled. With Sirius, it felt like a fifty-fifty chance- he’d either tuck tail and run, or he’d listen; either way, it was one problem dealt with. Severus watched with feigned disinterest as Sirius fell to his knees, scooting slightly until he was right in front of Severus, damn near settled between his legs. His fingers quickly reached up and pulled at Severus’s belt and then his buttons and zipper. The moment Severus’s cock was free, Sirius’s mouth was on it, taking it to the hilt like a professional, moaning greedily around it. 

Severus sneered, his free hand sinking into the dark curls, roughly grabbing at the roots. “Such a stupid little whore, you can’t even follow basic instructions,” he scolded, and Sirius moaned deeper, lifting only slightly before bobbing his head back down and inhaling deeply, eyes rolling back into his head. “But we knew that,” Severus said quietly, enjoying the feeling of Sirius’s tongue on the underside of his dick, his moans pulsing through Severus in just the right way. Sirius was a brat and certainly knew how to push Severus’s buttons. He’d need to adjust further so he didn’t let him pull his chain- if anyone was going to be on a leash, it would be Sirius, with Severus holding the other end tightly. “Only useful for your holes.”

Severus took a final drag, the cigarette basically at its end, and dropped it, snubbing it out with his heel before he began fucking into Sirius’s mouth in earnest. Sirius became putty in his hands, and he panted as the omega took his cock like he was born to suck it. It had been three months. Three agonising months since he’d woken up hungover in Black’s bed, the omega tucked between himself and Remus. Severus hated that half the time he’d bothered to have a wank in that time, it was thinking about how perfect Sirius had sounded when he’d moaned the word “Daddy,” or how hungry Remus had looked as he’d watched Sirius ride Severus. He hadn’t even had the time or energy that week to touch himself in any capacity, passing out the moment he lay down every night with everything that had been going on. 

It took only a few minutes, which felt horrendously short, and then Severus was spilling his seed down Sirius’s throat, the man moaning, his eyelashes fluttering. 

“That’s my princess,” Severus muttered softly, stroking some of the curls out of Sirius’s face. The omega closed his eyes for a moment before he rumbled out a loud purr, making something tighten in Severus’s chest. Instead of pulling off, he swallowed Severus’s softening cock and pressed his nose into his pubic hair, eyes glassy as he slipped into subspace while purring contentedly. “Taking Daddy’s cock so well,” Severus praised quietly, and Sirius leaned in further, his weight pressing into one of Severus’s legs. 

Apparently, Sirius enjoyed the praise as much as he did the degradation, which was a nice change. Severus had always been partial to both and found that most who bottomed for him tended to prefer one over the other. Severus listened to make sure no one had come to find them, that in the few minutes he’d lost himself inside the omega’s mouth, no one had stumbled upon them. Severus tightened his grip and guided Sirius off of him, earning an unhappy noise from the omega, which went ignored. He hauled him to his feet and flipped him, pulling him up roughly against Severus, Sirius’s back to his chest. Severus pressed his cheek to Sirius’s neck as one hand wrapped around to cover his mouth while the other hand dipped down. Why did Sirius always wear such tight fucking pants?

“Do you like it when Daddy calls you princess?” Severus growled, nipping Sirius’s ear, and the omega sagged against him, shivering slightly with glossy and barely open eyes. Severus resisted the urge to growl as he was barely able to get into Sirius’s jeans, his hand wrapping around the omega’s rock-hard dick. He swiped his thumb over the top, making Sirius’s whole body shudder, and then he dipped slightly lower, slipping two fingers to graze his pussy, feeling how soaked the omega was. He couldn’t handle that just then, not out in the open with them needing to return before someone came looking. So instead, he wet his fingers enough that when he pulled his hand back and stroked it over Sirius’s dick, the glide was wet and slick. Once more, the man bucked, gasping under Severus’s hand, clinging to his arm desperately. 

“Soaking wet for me, princess,” Severus praised, “too bad I can’t fill you with my cum right now, but after being such a good little whore for me, I think you deserve to get off,” he said, abusing Sirius’s cock, his thumb coming up under the ridge and finishing off each stroke with a tight squeeze on the head. Sirius was bucking, his whole body shaking violently, and Severus held him tight in his grip as he focused on getting the omega off. 

“So desperate and needy,” Severus growled, “next time we do this I’m going to put a collar right here on your pretty neck, get you some pretty silk panties-” Sirius let out a guttural noise under Severus’s hand, his whole body tensing suddenly as he came and Severus paused, abusing his cockhead with sharp strokes as he worked the omega through his orgasm. 

“There you go, princess,” Severus cooed, his voice softening, and Sirius gasped, shivering as the alpha lapped his tongue on his neck. “Such a good girl for Daddy, cumming so prettily for me-” Severus finally lifted his hand from over Sirius's mouth and brought it up to stroke his hair, pushing it out of his face as he sagged further in Severus’s arms. It wasn’t optimal for proper aftercare, and he wondered what Sirius’s rebound time would be. 

Shit. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d let the brat push him into domming him out in the open. He looked over his shoulder, but they either didn’t know he or Sirius were still out there, or they weren’t ready to resume yet. He hoped to whatever God there was or wasn’t that no one came looking for them. 

Except maybe Remus. That would be fine, for obvious reasons. 

• ⋅ • ⋅ ⋅ • ⚡️ ⋅ ⬩ ⋅ ❤️ ⋅ ⬩ ⋅ 🐍 • ⋅ ⋅ • ⋅ •

Harry sat on the floor of the only secret passage he knew of on the seventh floor, his back to the wall as he tried to focus on his occlumency. Now that he knew how to do it, he found it calming, but it was hard to find that feeling of safety when one of his main safety nets had been the one to rile him up. 

Besides the Room of Requirement, it was the only secret passage on that floor to Harry’s and to the Marauders’ knowledge. Said map was open on the floor in front of him as he kept half an eye on it. He wanted to make sure Sirius or Remus didn’t come looking for him, but otherwise tried to focus on his occlumency. 

He kept feeling Voldemort reaching out, a wisp here, a tap there, but he didn’t particularly want to deal with him either. He thought he’d gotten over all of this- the doubts he’d had about the deals he’d made with Voldemort. Thought he’d ripped off all the bandages of opinions from the people he’d loved, but…

Movement on the section of the map he’d folded over caught his attention. The name Thomas Riddle moved past the portrait, paused, then backtracked a bit. He stared at it as he felt a brush against his occlumency and debated whether he wanted to have a discussion with the man when his bracelet moved. 

He froze as the snake shifted gently on his skin, and then he could hear Voldemort’s voice, hissing, “My soul, where are you hiding?”

Harry swallowed and took a deep breath before slowly pushing himself to his feet and moving to the portrait of George von Rheticus. He grabbed the metal handle that was installed on the side and popped the frame loose, swinging it forward slightly, poking his head out. Voldemort was a few portraits down- his face blank with the mask of indifference he so often slapped on, and when Harry poked his head out just enough, he turned, his eyes widening at the sight. 

“Now see here! Does this scoundrel know the password?!” Sir George protested from his portrait frame as Voldemort walked closer, and Harry rolled his eyes, stepping back into the passageway, making room for the obnoxiously tall alpha to join him inside. 

“I take it you never found this one then,” Harry said quietly, leaning down to grab the Marauder’s Map from the floor. 

“No, a great many others, but not this particular one,” Voldemort mused, his eyes flickering to the map as Harry folded it up. Harry could tell he wanted to ask but held back, and he was grateful for that, at least. It felt wrong, right after his fight with Sirius, to show Voldemort their creation. 

“How did you know where I was then?” Harry asked, leaning against the wall he’d been on before, tucking the map into one of the pockets inside his robes. 

The corner of Voldemort’s lip twitched in the smallest of smiles, the one he wore when he felt he was particularly clever. “The same way that I found you when you summoned me here last week.” 

Harry blinked, his eyes narrowed, because he hadn’t thought about it. 

“In parseltongue, instruct your bracelet, ‘Show me Lord Voldemort,’” Voldemort explained, stepping closer, leaving only a bit of space between them. 

Harry wrinkled his nose, feeling a bit ridiculous as he lifted his right wrist and tugged back the sleeve of his robe and looked at the gold snake. “Show me Lord Voldemort,” he said firmly, just glad the words came out as a hiss and not in English. 

Immediately, he felt something, not that he understood it, but it felt like a string connecting him to the alpha in front of him, strong and tight. It felt solid enough that he might be able to reach out and grab onto it, but there was nothing physically visible between them. Voldemort lifted one of his hands and touched Harry’s, entwining their fingers, and the magical connection dimmed until it disappeared. 

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling stupid. He should have asked more about the bracelet before then, before the week previous. He should have tested how it worked and figured out the intricacies of it, but then again, Sirius was right in a way, he was just a child-

He swallowed and ducked his head, feeling guilt and shame wash over him again, tears prickling at his eyes even though he’d thought he’d dealt with them already. 

Voldemort lifted his other hand and reached out, grabbing his cheek and cupping it in his palm, and Harry turned his face into it to rub against before he could think not to. The smell of pine and campfire was safe and warm, and he whined as Voldemort crowded into his space further, pressing into him. 

“You’re safe, my brave little lion,” Voldemort said softly, and Harry gasped out a pathetic laugh. 

“Not feeling very brave right now,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Just went and hid in a secret passage and cried for a solid five minutes and all.” 

Voldemort exhaled an amused sounding breath through his nose as he rubbed his cheek against Harry’s hair, scenting him, “I believe you insisted to a Dark Lord that he would take your family’s name to continue its lineage in front of his followers and then yelled obscenities in front of several of your professors while you berated your godfather, who is a wanted felon.” 

Harry dropped his head, thunking it into Voldemort’s chest, trying to conceal the smile and the tears equally, worried he might let out a cackle or something. “It was stupid.” 

“It was important to you. And, you were correct that I have no emotional attachment to my own family names,” Voldemort hummed, and Harry felt his arousal through their robes and trousers. “But Madame Zabini and your little friends seem to have taught you that anything you truly desire is worth bargaining for in this game.” 

“Why does it always have to be a game?” Harry complained and then hissed as Voldemort’s hand drifted lower, to his ass. “What-”

“Your godfather’s presence in your bed has kept you from wanting to partake in our nightly rituals, and I have been very patient, have I not?” Voldemort said quietly, lifting Harry’s robes and sliding a hand down the back of his pants, roughly grabbing at him. 

Harry whined loudly, trying to pull away from Voldemort’s hand, which only pushed him further into his arms, “We’re supposed to be negotiating, not-” 

“My soul, the last time I was in your presence and you were well enough to be aroused in such a way, you left me pinned and in a rut,” Voldemort's voice deepened to something dangerous, and Harry panted as he found himself pressed into the wall. “Haven’t I been very composed?”

Harry swallowed, remembering the lazy, phantom touches from earlier, and blushed, knowing that Voldemort was going to find him soaking wet, “I- yes,” he hissed out as Voldemort tugged once at Harry’s belt and trousers and the offending garments loosened and fell down his legs, clinging to his calves. Voldemort untwined their fingers and grabbed Harry’s thigh, forcing it up to rest on the alpha’s hip as he ground into Harry.

He wasn’t wrong- being together in person, a physical connection, was so much stronger than the dreams. He’d thought it was just his heat making him feel that way while they were in the Ministry, but Harry found himself having a hard time as Voldemort got both his legs up around his waist, grinding their hips together. He felt like he was on fire, like he wanted to live like this, wrapped around Voldemort with his dick buried inside him. 

“My gorgeous queen, you’re already slick for me,” Voldemort murmured, and Harry gasped as the older man slid two fingers into him, curling them for a moment before withdrawing to press immediately back in, fucking Harry with them slowly and consistently. 

“Please-” Harry panted, “I want-” He cut off with a gasp as Voldemort withdrew and added a third finger. 

“I know, my queen, my soul,” Voldemort said, his voice sounding nearly as wrecked as Harry felt. “I will give you everything you want and need.” Harry felt more than saw Voldemort tuck his hand between them, freeing his dick from his trousers, and then he pressed it against Harry.

Even with how wet he was, worked up from the foreplay from earlier, Harry was not in heat. He was not soaked with heat and hormones. He gasped at the press of Voldemort’s head against him, forward into him, felt the burn of his shaft on his insides, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt it tip from pleasurable to painful, the pressure too much for him. 

“Let me in,” Voldemort murmured, and Harry almost cried out that he was bloody well trying when he felt Voldemort’s presence pressing on the back of his mind again and understood. 

It only took a moment, but then the pain and pressure of too much was relieved momentarily as he received a backlash of sensations from the alpha- the slickness and warmth around his cock, the feeling of the heels of trainers pressing into his lower back, and a soft body opened to him. 

Harry moaned loudly, and Voldemort kissed him roughly, swallowing it as he sank the rest of the way in, the start of his knot bumping against Harry’s entrance, his head bumping the end of him and making Harry’s body jolt with pain and pleasure all over again. 

“Too much,” he panted, wiggling, and Voldemort hissed, rutting into him.

“Do you feel that?” Voldemort growled, his cock bumping up against the same spot again. “Do you know what that is?” 

“Nngh, I- what?” Harry asked, having a hard time keeping a coherent thought as he kept becoming overwhelmed by the pressure, by the feeling of Voldemort splitting him open, by the way he could feel Voldemort’s pleasure through the bond, and he wondered what Voldemort was feeling from him.

“That’s your cervix, my pretty omega, the only thing keeping me from filling your womb with my seed,” Voldemort growled, and Harry saw his pupils were blown wide. “I don't know how well your preventive potions will do against that, but we shall find out, won’t we?” 

Harry keened as Voldemort began to rut into him with increasing speed, unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of the alpha’s dick, the way it stretched him, the way it grazed his cervix on each thrust. He was getting hard far too quickly, his cock bouncing between them with each thrust, especially with the feedback from their connection of what Voldemort was feeling as he fucked him- the slickness, the warmth. Harry could feel his balls begin to tighten when Voldemort’s hand wrapped around him and squeezed tightly. 

The omega cried out, the orgasm cut off, and he whined as he tried to fuck into the fist around him. His mate only tightened his grip, making it impossible. 

“Not yet,” Voldemort hissed, and Harry almost sobbed, clinging to his robes. “I want to feel you come on my cock, want to feel your cunt milk me for all of my cum.” He roped his other arm around the small of Harry’s back, keeping him up on the wall for the alpha to fuck into mercilessly, and Harry panted, tightening his thighs around his mate’s hips. 

“Please,” Harry begged, and Voldemort growled in his ear and ground against him, teasing Harry’s entrance with his knot that was already inflating, and his cervix with his spongy head. Harry started to wail, in pain or pleasure he wasn’t entirely sure, but the Dark Lord’s mouth swallowed the noise, lips and teeth biting and sucking at him like he was trying to consume him. 

Voldemort pressed more of what he was feeling into Harry, and Harry was overwhelmed by it, by the feeling of Voldemort in him, but also the feeling of his pussy squeezing the alpha so tightly, and he felt himself going lightheaded from it. 

“Stay with me,” Voldemort groaned, still grinding slowly and deeply, making Harry’s whole body twitch, unable to handle the sensations both of them were experiencing at the same time.

“Too much,” Harry gasped, his hand white with how tightly he was gripping Voldemort’s robes. “Please-”

“Please?” Voldemort asked, his voice teasing as he withdrew slowly and then ground back in just as slow, making Harry feel the drag through both of them. 

“I can’t, I can’t, not like this, it’s too much-” Harry whimpered, trying to raise his occlumency shields and then finding himself unable to with his mind and body so overwhelmed. 

“Focus on how good it feels,” Voldemort growled, sucking on Harry’s earlobe, teasing it between his teeth before he moved lower, sucking on the skin, lingering on the scar on Harry’s mating gland. “Focus on how full you are. How I stretch you wide and make you take all of it. Feel how your pretty little cunt clings to me, tries to suck me in and keep me inside you.” 

Harry tried, he really did, but every time he began to feel his cock swell, his mate would squeeze his dick until the need to cum had passed, leaving Harry whimpering and crying. Voldemort made a pleased noise, smiling sadistically as he wiped the tears away. 

“If only they could see this, my mate begging and pleading so desperately to be bred,” Voldemort hissed, nipping at Harry’s jawline, “I kept imagining you kneeling between my legs and sucking me down while we handled the contract-” 

“Ah, ngh, please,” Harry begged, and Voldemort finally began picking up speed once more, but still far too slow, slamming into Harry and then slowly withdrawing so they could both feel Harry’s channel squeezing and fluttering as it tried to keep Voldemort inside. 

“For my birthday next year, I want you with me, sitting between my legs on your knees or astride my lap, letting me fuck into you as my Death Eaters watch,” Voldemort growled. “Let them watch me fill your womb with seed-” 

Harry’s balls tightened again, but with Voldemort’s hand still gripping his dick painfully tight, nothing came of it. This time, however, his pussy spasmed and his eyes rolled back into his head as his whole body tightened up, his back trying to arch into the wall as he threw his head back, giving the alpha full access to his neck as he came. 

“Perfect, my beloved little soul,” Voldemort groaned and released Harry’s dick, spitting into his hand once before he stroked it. Harry wailed loudly, his dick coming from the one touch, nearly blacking out as his body was rocked with a second orgasm and then immediately with a third as he felt Voldemort’s wash over him through the open bond. 

Everything was fuzzy, and Harry couldn’t see straight or really even feel his limbs- like he was floating. The only thing he could focus on was the feeling of Voldemort’s dick as it pulsed with each shot, could feel warmth deep inside of him like he’d never really experienced in their shared dreams. It felt like fire in his belly and made something in his chest tighten with emotion and pleasure. He could also feel Voldemort’s knot, pressed against the outside of his entrance. It wasn’t locked into place, but the pressure still kept anything from immediately escaping. Voldemort made another pleased noise and pressed himself in deeper, as if to try and bully his knot into Harry’s entrance, and Harry whined, his pussy tightening and spasming, making Voldemort moan and Harry whimper. 

Voldemort pulled back slightly, and Harry assumed he was going to manoeuvre them to another position, but instead the alpha wiped off the mess of Harry’s cum that had landed on his robes, and licked it from his fingers before crashing his mouth back onto Harry’s hungrily, making Harry whimper and wiggle around further. Voldemort's knot constantly stimulated the lips of his stretched pussy as he quivered. 

“We need to get back,” Harry hissed, even as he could feel his pussy periodically squeezing down, as if to assure him he was still stuffed full. 

“It is not as if they can continue without us,” Voldemort said, dropping a kiss to Harry's forehead. “Let me enjoy you a little while longer.”

• ⋅ • ⋅ ⋅ • ⚡️ ⋅ ⬩ ⋅ ❤️ ⋅ ⬩ ⋅ 🐍 • ⋅ ⋅ • ⋅ •

Harry was ultimately the one who forced them to leave the passage so he could actually head to the lavatory before returning to the Staff Room. 

While Voldemort originally planned to set them both right so they could return to the Staff Room, it was as he was spelling their clothing free of bodily fluids that he became distracted by the scent of his cum intermixed with Harry's. He kept them there for nearly an additional half hour, kneeling on the ground with Harry's thighs resting on top of his shoulders as the alpha devoured him. He was able to wring one more orgasm out of the teen in short order and was trying for a second, riding high on the stellar explosion that was experiencing Harry's orgasms through their open bond, when his stubborn little omega managed to pull away. 

Despite not having succeeded in a second orgasm on his tongue, Voldemort was pleased nonetheless. Harry made no attempt to shield further against the alpha, physically or mentally. Voldemort could feel the calm buzz of pleasure that relaxed every inch of his body, making him pliant and relaxed as he allowed Voldemort to keep his arm wrapped possessively around his shoulders. The alpha also had the taste of their combined cum on his tongue and found it more fulfilling than any meal ever would be. 

“Harry!” Voldemort scowled at the werewolf as he hurried towards them while they came around the corner. He scowled at the way he hugged Harry to his chest and tried to scent him like Harry was his. Thankfully, the werewolf, with his magically enhanced nose, smelled Voldemort's scent all over the omega and pulled back. Remus blushed when he saw Harry's neck- it was pink from having been bitten and sucked on. 

Voldemort felt a flicker of possessive pleasure in his chest and resisted the urge to snarl and yank Harry back into his arms. 

“Molly told me about you and Sirius, but then I couldn't find you-” the werewolf cut off and shook his head. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Harry nodded his head, returning the hug with an arm before he pulled away. “Yeah, I should have known we'd- y'know. I just thought it would be over the summer.” 

“He's just worried about you, and feeling guilty he hasn't been able to do more to help,” the werewolf continued, very deliberately refusing to look Voldemort in the eyes. At least he understood his place. He might be a parent figure to Harry, but that did not make him worthy of him or deserving of Voldemort's time. 

As his mind drifted towards thoughts of ways to permanently remove the unnecessary parasite from Harry’s life, he felt a dull but deep tug in his chest, like a snake had suddenly found its way into his chest cavity and begun to compress ever so slightly on his organs. 

The moment his focus shifted to the sensation, it snapped- releasing, and he blinked with a sense of mute horror dawning on him. The betrothal contract, while more simple and limited than the treaty, forbade him from harming anyone unless they were an imminent threat.

Odd. Voldemort, while not in the habit of spending a considerable amount of time scheming up ways to remove obstacles from his path via murder, had never been averse to it. He'd certainly spent a solid twelve hours plotting out ways to destroy Umbridge after she'd nearly killed Harry, but that wouldn't have been triggered, as that had been immediately after Harry had been attack. And defense of himself and his mate were exceptions to the rule.

Before? His moods had been more stable since combining the Ring and Cup back with his soul, and he hadn't entered the binding agreement of the Betrothal Contract until the end of March. 

A hand touched his, and he stiffened, but Harry had spoken, and he'd been too lost in thought to notice, and he tilted his head slightly in question. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Not just sounded it. No, Voldemort could feel fondness and concern seeping into the open link between them. Only to immediately be reminded that the bond went both ways. He intertwined his fingers with Harry's for a moment, lifting his hand and kissing the back of his knuckles. He was granted a beautiful blush of pink in return, and he smiled lazily. 

“Of course, my soul,” he said quietly. “Just contemplative.” 

Harry nodded his head slowly, obviously suspicious but accepting of the answer. “Okay, I'm going to go to the loo… I'll meet you both back in the Staff Room?” 

The werewolf opened his mouth as if he might object, but Harry had already turned and was walking away, leaving the pair behind in an uncomfortable silence. 

Not that Voldemort needed to abide by it. He had no intention of wasting energy playing nice with Harry's faux family. The werewolf was the weaker link of the two and the more likely to be won over, but he had no plans to sink to such a level. The werewolf was very good at dressing up and pretending to be a proper wizard, but that didn't mean he was. Black had significantly more resources to his name, a legacy in his circle with his brother and cousins and his own father once having been a part, but he acted even more like a werewolf than his half-breed mate. 

When he stepped back into the room, he found Lucius and Barty sitting at their end of the long table with Rosier, Nott, and Macnair. They all had plates that were left untouched, except Barty, who had developed the habit of eating like a man starved since his stint in Azkaban. 

“My Lord,” Lucius said, the first to see him, rising to his feet. Macnair rose as well, but both Rosier and Nott simply straightened their backs, their eyes narrowed and serious. They were two of the remaining three from the old guard, his Knights of Walpurgis. They knew he was their Lord, their leader, but they had never grovelled, never given up their dignity, and for that, he did reserve a modicum of respect. He’d been infuriated that they hadn’t sought him out to return him to power, and their excuses had earned them each a Cruciatus after his resurrection, but they were still useful in their own ways. 

When the negotiations resumed, the rest ran more smoothly- there were smaller details to discuss and barter over, especially as it came closer to the actual marriage itself and the wedding. There was only one element that needed to be finalised, given Harry hadn’t yet been granted emancipation and was still legally under the supervision of Zabini and the Weasleys.

“Given that Heir Potter thus far in his cycles and courses has largely seemed to have four Heat Cycles a year, if they progress as planned, the next shall likely occur within a fortnight,” Lucius said, and Voldemort watched as another pink blush spread across Harry’s cheeks while he looked down at his hands. “As his emancipation hearing is scheduled for this summer, I believe it is wise that an agreement is put in place, verbal or otherwise, regarding where the pair will spend it, especially considering that there are minor concerns as to Heir Potter's adult guidance and efforts to attempt keeping him from fulfilling this part of the agreement.” Lucius’s eyes flickered deliberately to where his godfather and the Weasley parents sat. Only Black seemed to bristle at the insinuation, as the matriarch didn’t respond other than to raise her eyebrows, and Arthur Weasley conceded the point with a small nod of his head. 

“Do you have a suitable location to propose, Lord Malfoy?” Madame Zabini asked, her glance shifting from Lucius to Voldemort almost immediately. 

“Yes, Dyfroedd Graddedig is the seat of the Slytherin family in Flintshire and has been properly restored. It is highly warded and protected. Only a handful of people have been keyed into the wards,” Lucius stated with a brief nod. 

“That’s a fucking joke, right?” Black snapped.

“Here we go,” Barty said quietly, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back. 

“Omegas traditionally are the ones who select meeting grounds for their heats,” Harry’s Head of House said, looking from Black to Voldemort, her eyes narrowed. “For safety and comfort, among other reasons.” 

Lucius opened his mouth to retort, but Voldemort raised a hand, silencing him before looking at Harry and Madame Zabini. “Do you perhaps have an alternative location in mind that is as safely warded as an ancient family estate?” 

“Here,” Zabini said, her head held high, even as Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly. She ignored him, however, and continued. “Hogwarts is considered the most strongly warded location in the entirety of the British Isles, and has the appropriate accommodations for mating cycles and already has a precedent for allowing bonded pairs to share their cycles.”

“Unacceptable,” Voldemort said calmly. 

“On what grounds?” Zabini shot back. 

“On the grounds that a staff member tried to and nearly succeeded in killing Heir Potter, and residents are openly known to be hostile, if not at the very least antagonistic with the Dark Lord,” Lucius said immediately, and Voldemort dipped his chin in agreement. “If Heir Potter had a residence that could be otherwise used, then that would be an acceptable alternative. But, as he has not yet reached emancipation and does not have access to any of his estates, this leaves him with no other secure options that don’t also include the same issues as Hogwarts.” 

“Does Lord Slytherin perhaps have a more central location?” Zabini asked cautiously, “A townhouse in London that would be less isolated?” 

“I have a suggestion,” Harry said almost hesitantly, less confident than his previous interjection when he suggested Voldemort take the Potter name. Voldemort was curious to hear what his omega had thought of. “I’ll agree to Duhfro- Dy-” He started trying to pronounce the estate and then shook his head, “-whatever the name of the place is in Flintshire, if we add the stipulation that you recover Regulus Black’s body to return to the family.”

“Harry,” Black hissed from his spot, looking horrified, but Harry ignored him, staring back at Voldemort instead. The Dark Lord said nothing and instead steepled his fingers in thought. He needed to try and find a way to bring Harry’s godfather to heel, or at least find a way to lessen his ire, even marginally. It was not a need for approval, for himself or for his bond with Harry, but the man would continue to be a thorn in his side in his attempts to couple with Harry, whether it be in person or in their shared dreams, and when the summer came, he would be there, hovering at Harry’s side. 

He had several ideas, but each of them required excruciating attention to detail, especially with the wording of the Betrothal Contract. 

“Regulus Black has been missing since after the Dark Lord’s initial fall,” Lucius scoffed, his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, but he was also a known associate of multiple high-profile Death Eaters,” the werewolf interjected, his eyes on Harry as well. Voldemort could see the gears turning in his head. “If anyone would be able to find any clues that the aurors were unable to, it would be Lord Voldemort.”

The mongrel was trying to offer flattery, which was unnecessary, and Voldemort ignored him as he allowed his own brain to swirl in a flurry of thoughts and ideas. 

“This could be acceptable,” He finally allowed, ignoring the side-eye that Lucius was giving him. “Allowing, of course, for conditions or provisions accounting for risks associated with retrieval, depending on where specifically his body is. Especially given it’s unknown if he’s dead or simply in hiding somewhere on another continent entirely,” Voldemort gave a slight wave, and Macnair and Yaxley chuckled slightly. “A clause of some kind if the body cannot be provided, but specific information detailing his end and how he met them, including where his remains are located so his brother may pay his respects if he so wishes, or something to that nature.” 

Zabini blinked once and looked to Harry, who nodded his head slowly. “Yeah, I think that’s fair, as long as it’s done ‘in good faith’, or however you put it previously.” 

“Harry,” Black hissed, looking incensed, “do not-”

Harry ignored him, looking more sure of his decision, and Voldemort felt the corner of his lips twitch in amusement. It was more fun to play the game when his partner was eager and willing.