Chapter Text
Dumbledore.
Why must it be Dumbledore-
Selwyn was droning on and on, the Dark Lord had long appreciated the man's devotion to details; it was useful.
At this moment though, he felt the blabbering away tongue needed to be wiggling on the stone floor, under his feet-
He would help the thing achieve peace.
Harry had met Dumbledore. Again. Not a happenstance, this time. The Dark Lord had known of course, his beloved’s success in occupying a seat in the Wizengamot. He, however, drunk off the possibilities, hadn’t known how Harry had enjoyed this victory.
In the lap of decadence, with a company such as Dumbledore, of all people-
Selwyn was smug in his enactment, tone pitching high as he mimicked the voice of the headmaster in excitement.
Lord Voldemort didn’t care to hear any more.
The man fell silent under the twisting coils of magic flaring its hood- warning well received.
"Perhaps, Lord Peverell is yet to know the duplicities of the Headmaster," Wilfred Rosier mildly commented, apart from the habitual sneer over the address of the much loathed old man
Is he?
His darling treasure that somehow seemed to know too many things and not a lot, at the same time?
Is he truly unaware?
The Dark Magic ebbed and frothed.
It might be so that-
His treasure would sparkle brilliantly for, he was clear of heart, unknowing of the webs settled carefully over the land and upon words.
He might not even know until the tender ankles were already caught and claws nudged against bones.
Yet-
He thought back to Hadrian's strange words
Of the knowledge never explained
And suspicion was a beast sharpening its canine on his heart
Madness a fickle step away
His hand clenched over the table, nails protesting as they were painfully bent backwards at the gesture
He remained utterly expressionless
"Hadrian… had a perfectly reasonable reason to speak with the man. Whether we wish to or not, Albus Dumbledore is a man of some influence. We failed to discount for how he could manipulate to his will. And Hadrian doesn't know better." Yet
The death eater's eyes glowed in anticipation, eager to see a Peverell being toppled from the high seat.
Scavengers circling the stride of a predator- hoping to pick, if nothing, at the bare bones.
And his dark magic stopped brooding at that, rose high and mighty to open its maws.
"Hadrian Peverell,". He spoke softly, control a waspish leash around his throat, "Is mine. Mine to control, mine to command. He is not answerable to any of your queries, do you understand?".
Wilfred Rosier smiled at the ground, and yet, when he spoke his tone remained perfectly neutral, "The others should know as well, shouldn't they?" He mused, "As long they do not, they will continue to question."
The Dark Lord pulled back his teeth, "Question me? Dare they so? To question my will?"
The death eaters quieted their greed, lowered their heads and murmured their assent.
But the damage was already done.
==.==
Harry gazed out to the barren land, hands clasped together prim and proper as if he was prepared for any and all.
He wasn’t.
If he had thought dealing with a Dark Lord had robbed him of the scant peace he had-
Then, dealing with a Dark Lord and a conqueror of another Dark Lord who simply could not resist rubbing his nose curiously-
Harry breathed in once. Deeply.
It did naught for the rabid thoughts, prey one after another as did, what with the two men being exceptionally intolerant of each other and insisting on dragging him in this decade long animosity.
Harry finally gave up and rubbed his forehead in frustration.
He wanted to make them sit down and speak or even simply hex each other to heart’s desire if they could relieve themselves of this- he sighed.
Perhaps he was the one expecting far too much from the two who had resentments and stubbornness worth a Hypogriff’s respect, especially with Marvolo, chiselled from year long resentments.
Yet-
He felt himself far too burdened with their games. As if by and by-
“Are you ready, beloved?”
Harry looked up at Marvolo, dressed immaculately, if simply, with not a curl out of a place, and felt the apprehension return.
“Where are we exactly going?” He didn’t deny the man’s stroke against his cuffs and hair, as he determined appearance barring any flaw. But he kept a steady gaze upon the dark wizard, didn’t let himself soften at the subtle press on his wrist, a tap upon his pulse, as if the man lied down on his breast to listen to the beats clearer.
“To meet… my friends. They haven’t had an opportunity to meet you- and this is better to clear up any misunderstanding they might have about you.”
Harry wanted to be stubborn, wanted to rip his grip from the sweet coils of the serpent and deny him this… this…
He wanted to remind the Dark Lord of the words he had sworn, of the disdain he had for the toelickers he called his friends-
Did the man forget so soon, of the irreverence they had suffered? Of the humiliations Harry had gleefully handed out as favours, lest they forget his true stand?
Or, did they think it was the indulgence of a delusional man, favoured too high, to fall too hard?
So, Harry let Marvolo pull him gently by the elbow, closer to him, entwined as if one and did not protest. He said nothing of the suspicion, let no reminder escape his lips.
For, once and for all, he will tear away all the self-anointed veils past their eyelids.
It was not a festivity.
But it might as well be, for Lord Voldemort himself had graced the halls of House of Dolohov. The long table would be groaning with irrational amount of food if it weren’t for magic. Less tragic than the fact that the masterpieces drew none of their attention.
All those adorned and bejewelled watched with cavernous gaze to the entrance when the Dark Lord entered with his companion. Hadrian Peverell walked with the decency of one traipsing the path of honoured, but not the humility.
Wilfred Rosier woke up the man working up to a fitful rage with a stinging hex and leaned back to watch the entertainment.
“My Lord.” He completely ignored the man besides, “It is my honour to have you in my house.” He bowed deeply. “Lord Peverell,” The man didn’t bother to give more than a sharp nod. “I hope you had a comfortable journey.”
It was a lovely. The House of the Dolohovs was a manor as well, but not as grand as Malfoys and certainly not as cold. Perhaps it had something to do with the brick work as opposed to marble. It looked aged too, the wood sometimes literally moaning as Harry walked across the threshold. Harry had been surprised at the welcoming feeling, at the vines drooping upon the entrance and the spread of flora that was in constant struggle with bricks and mortar.
They were led past the dining hall, a side door taking them to the courtyard. Harry didn’t know whether it was from caution or genuine intent to let them enjoy the spring.
“You have a lovely house,” Harry said frankly.
Marvolo turned to him with brows ticked, “Are you not satisfied at ours?”
Harry shrugged, long strides easily bringing them closer to others, “It certainly could be better. A bit more life,” He said pointedly.
The Riddle Manor… was a desolate thing. It wasn’t the first time Harry grumped at the state of it. He didn’t know what happened to the Gardener- the one who had been accused of murdering the Riddle Family- perhaps he was in prison still. There was no one to tend to the weeds that ran amok and the rats that sprung around and under the house.
The flowers had all died, long before Harry had set foot inside. All because of a certain person.
Marvolo shook his slowly, a faint smile curling at the end, “Too much dark magic.”
Harry harrumphed, chin tilting up, “Then you cleanse it. Can you honestly tell me you genuinely tried to?” He was sure the man wouldn’t have, would have instead wanted to see the ground wilt, life wither and watch his Magic predominantly reign upon it all.
Every bit of a pretentious wizard.
Marvolo watched his treasure with hooded eyes, fingers twitching as they hungered to dive past the clasps and chains of the dark robes, tongue lightly marking the roof his teeth as they remembered the taste of the sweet flesh as his love descended into obnoxious demands of another kind.
After all there was a reason Harry hadn’t managed to do anything more than offer soft complaints. He had been too pre-occupied at the hands of a ever cavernous lover.
Voldemort watched Hadrian turned bodily away from him, a soft flush marking his knowledge, and unspoken reciprocation, if it weren’t for the clamouring noise around them.
“Yes, Antonin?” He drew out the syllables, biting them off as he wished they audacity of the man to interrupt him thus.
The man swallowed soft and lowered his gaze, thankfully aware of his misstep, “I was merely curious, my Lord. Lord Peverell doesn’t seem approving of Dark Magic.” Saying so, he turned questing eyes upon the other.
“Perhaps,” Marvolo spoke softly, ever so soft the way serpents pursue their prey, “after we may have been seated first, then, you could continue this interrogation?”
And, the left-over courage of the man fell completely at that, bowing and scraping at the remainders of mercy he might be bequeathed at the end of the day.
Marvolo looked over at the other, still turned away from him, glittering gems of a gaze that must be tracking the architecture of the house he knew and he longed to tear down the pretty hovel that drew the ever-curious eyes of his beloved, keep them all to him.
His fingers twitched by his side.
Yet, he knew- Hadrian wouldn’t want parting with his cordial distance from the rest of the populace.
Just as he wouldn’t want to exhibit any of their true emotions bared for any and all.
He would sooner cast a Blinding spell upon them all, let their cried join in the symphony of his obsession.
“Hadrian?” He called, seeking the warmth of the other’s hand and yet, he kept them to himself.
It was not the day of self-gratification.
His treasure hummed softly in acknowledgment, eyes still curious of the string of dolphins that swayed happily down pillars and vases, of the spiderwort that trailed up instead, a splash of red topping the chaos of the manor.
If Harry had thought the indoors were resplendent, the outdoors was fairly bursting with peachlife bellflowers, cottage pinks and untidy bird’s nest spruce. He would have thought the wizard wouldn’t have allowed such discordance- the ones so adamant upon scything down the weeds of the society.
They entered the multilevel courtyard, led by a brick path under rose covered pergola- the hedges and balustrades separating them from a small pond.
And came upon the space that could rival the entrance hall, thoughtfully spread with ivory painted chairs, and crepe cloth upon which piping tea waited.
The group of wizards got up at once and knelt on one knee. Harry had forgotten their faces as soon as he had seen them before and only remembered the flaxen head of Malfoy as well as the sullen face of a Selwyn.
Marvolo was saying something, perhaps commenting upon the perfect synchronism he had.
Harry ignored it all, ignored the questing, enraged gaze on him for daring to slight a Dark Lord so. Instead, he looked for their seat, knowing that the host would lead them to theirs anyway.
It did no one any harm to look.
Willfred Rosier, as the man re-introduced himself, surprisingly understanding that Harry might have felt overwhelmed with the rapid slew of introductions, was one of the few who hadn’t greeted him with cascades of sneers and scoffs.
Harry found it fascinating; these were the very men who would cheer him on and deride their own brethren when Harry would crow victory upon the brash and arrogant. Didn’t they offer smug smirks when Harry bested them at Riddle Manor?
Yet, here and now, they were all apart from him, in their disapproval for him.
Disapproval for whatever reason?
“Europe must have…been dreadful for you. All alone out there- or, doesn’t any of your family bother to… intend to come with?” A thin faced man commented.
Harry almost wanted to ignore the quaffle landing in his arm, wanted to sigh at the blatant provocation. Then he looked at the man beside him, still and silent; Harry neatly deflected the query, “That’s an interesting question. Marvolo, do you have something to say?” Amusement unexpectedly flooding in. “Don’t you think I should be with my family now?”
For, was this not the man who had torn apart his illusion, sunk to his knee in unspoken apology, showed the wretched man behind the Dark Lord- all for the sake of keeping Harry?
Marvolo did not like the thread of conversation.
“You will have to forgive them, Hadrian, sometimes a true nature escapes one’s upbringing,” He remarked quietly.
His hands were folded over his stomach, ankles crossed and the demure posture against the chair should proclaim nobility. Yet the scarlet gaze burned, warned the callous ones of consequences one must suffer for further offense.
“Do I have to?” Harry asked airily, never missing an ounce of interaction but refusing to be cooperative anyway, “Forgive them, I mean. I was asked- by you, if you remember- to meet your illustrious friends formally.” Harry tilted his head mockingly, “They don’t at all look like they care for your idea,”
It may be the way of Slytherins, those of minds conniving and ways charming, to keep the veneer of civility between them. Pretentious laugher carrying them forward, even as they sharpened the dagger to carve that much deeper into the other’s back.
Harry might have been once the Ambassador to the New World they had created, might have learned to walk the path of pinched mouths and careful gaits, but had never been anything than a Gryffindor at heart.
Or, just mischievous really, he mused to himself and silently saluted the generations of marauders influencing him as he watched the Knights of Walpurgis fall over themselves to reassure their Lord that they … never dared to slight him.
“It is not often any of us meet a Bloodline as illustrious as the Peverells, none of us would ask you to forgive Yaxley, of course, he tends to react badly at being surpassed- something that happens too often for his pride to bear-“ the man got a glare at that non-subtle derision, but Rosier carried on smoothly, “We are, I admit, curious,”
Harry smiled back calmly, “I may or may not choose to indulge you,”
The man didn’t get offended at all, rather bowed his head in acceptance, “Very well, let’s not speak of the past. We are looking at the present anyway. What, say you, then, the future member of the Wizengamot?”
Unease throbbed in his heart.
Harry didn’t trust the bright-eyed curiosity. No, none of the death eaters had gotten to be where they were by innocence and dull thoughts at all.
He didn’t look back at Marvolo, didn’t look for reassurance. Nor affirmation.
Harry Potter had never backed away from a duel.
Hadrian Peverell wouldn’t either.
“Surely, I can’t be the only one here?” He looked around in open surprise, at each of the faces turned to him, “So many of the Pureblood Pride gathered, surely I can’t be the only in the Wizengamot.”
One of them snapped, flustered, “Of course not-!” But he didn’t go any further- didn’t dare go any further- and chose to clench his fist impotently on the cream table cloth.
Rosier didn’t react to his provocation, his smile rather curving all the more, “Of course not. But it is a matter of celebration, is it not, to have our strength rise in the Wizengamot?”
Harry blinked back innocently.
Voldemort had reacted quite the same. Harry had wondered how to correct his mis-conception.
Perhaps, it was better to be brash in the nest of snakes.
“I am sure one member after a hundred more won’t make a difference? I am happy to serve the people, in anyway,” He added, “It is really not much of a celebration.”
Dolohov couldn’t stop his snappy retort anymore, “Oh, come now, there is no need to be facetious. We are all among friends. It is a matter of celebration that we are getting more support within the Wizengamot. The Ministry is blind and deaf to the way the winds are starting to blow, Lord Peverell. It is all presumptuous of course, but it is still better to have someone in the Judicial Council in case one of us lands in a boiling cauldron for a little bit of trouble.”
Selwyn laughed, “Like the one where you made that muggle family dance a night away?”
Dolohov smirked, “You should have seen the way they panicked- chanting and sprinkling water about as if that would ever do any good,”
Selwyn turned triumphantly to Harry, “Have you enjoyed in such a manner? We could have another one of those soirees now that we have a new member among us. Won’t that be fascinating?”
Harry didn’t disappoint the ill-hidden joy in the man’s sly grin, “Fascinating indeed. Running and chasing after hapless muggles makes you better about yourself. It must be the peak… of Pureblood fashion,”
Avery sat down the tiny cup cooly on the saucer, “You disapprove?”
Harry smiled at the slow-simmer of a fury, “Did you expect anything else?”
A sharp inhale of breath, made all the more loud, for, many expressed their shock simultaneously, “Then, the seat in the Wizengamot,”
Harry tilted his head in mock acknowledgement, “Don’t expect it to tilt in your favour every time.”
The Elite death eaters had all lost their affability. Well, truth be told, they had never had it. But now, even the ineffable façade had fallen to the wayside. “You- you stand next to him. How dare you mock him like this?”
There was a flash of a wand and Harry looked at it coldly, “Does he need to be defended by the likes of you? Is he so inept? Even if any of you do, have you forgotten just how you fare against me?”
Dolohov curled his upper lip, “Against all of us,”
Harry’s temper rose as did his fingers and for a second the garden seemed brighter in its loveliness as sunlight fell- but it didn’t temper, no, the light grew brighter still, until-
Thin fingers tapped possessively around his wrist and Harry sharply turned to glare at the man who had been a mute spectator all this time, “Did you finally grow a-“
“Against the two of us,” Marvolo stated firmly.
The defiance begun to falter, the wands begun to lower and the jaws fell open in sheer disbelief.
“My Lord-“
“He is openly declaring his intention against us-“
“Against you-“
“His treachery knows no bounds-“
“My Lord-“
Marvolo stood up then and the squabbling group fell mute as if by a spell itself. But it was no spell that could hold this crew of purebloods, no, the fear demanded by the Dark Lord, by the Dark Magic that fell from his shoulders like bleeding wound, corrosive and feral, had them stoppering their breath lest they invite more attention from the terrible thing.
“I told you once. To look away from him. But I suppose my words don’t hold much weight now-a-days, do they? After all, it has been years since we have been acquainted well, yes?”
They fell to the grass- throwing away their civility, their dignity and the last of their reserves as they begged for mercy.
Well they remembered the tolls that Dark Lord’s reminders left behind, welts that wouldn’t heal, wounds that wouldn’t bleed but drive them insane resisting the temptation to scratch, claw, dig gouges into them and find nothing wrong with that action.
The exalted ones were reluctant to accept this fate- reluctant to let this lion strut in to their den of serpents. It left them aflutter, hoods flaring- and yet, the King had already decreed.
Harry pursed his lips, mildly appeased, but still peeved at having to explain himself to a pack of hyenas. His clenched fist subconsciously loosened at the faint touch, even as he startled, and he found it held, savoured in Marvolo’s palm as he lifted. He watched still, in stupefaction as Marvolo lifted to his lips, cold and thin imprints burning away recesses of his detachment, leaving behind a yearning felt beyond what the gentleness bore.
“Marvo-“
“But perhaps, I am at fault as well, for not have this declared sooner.”
The Death eaters were holding their breath no doubt, as was Harry. But soon, he was unable to think of anything but for the iridescent gaze upon him, burning and moulting away the vexation, the cold fingers caressing him softly, scorching his flesh as they did, and the wrap of a ring that slid into his fingers, ugly and big.
Familiar.
With a wand and a ring inside a triangle.
“Will you forgive my boorishness, my dear, to have kept you waiting you this long?” The words shook him out of the moment of confusion Harry had fell into.
Harry’s breath was rattling away in his lungs, a desperate bid to keep calm.
His fingers grabbed onto the palm that shielded him, frantic and confused, exhilarated and terrified, as his eyes blew open, pupils cowering as he sought the truth, to demand and verify. But his lips remained frozen, stitched through the secrecy and the love that burned in his ribs, for there were witnesses still present to watch him heaving and gasping at the present of a ring.
A beloved, whose grip tightened to the point of intolerance, whose body stiffened as if struck by the curse of Medusa, for the silence Harry still weaved insistently around himself, for fear that something unexplainable and terrible would leave past his trembling lips.
Marvolo remained waiting, terrible and quiet, as the silence encompassed them all in its damning existence.
But Harry couldn’t speak.
And thus, he left his seat, let it clang harshly to the table or fall to the floor, as he threw his hands around the Dark Lord that awaited still, even when the question was naught a question but a demand, a statement.
It had been stated and so it was. The man refused to yield control under the probing gaze of his followers.
Yet, he had quietly waited for a response nonetheless, baring himself like never before, open to condemnation in front of his entire entourage, having irked Harry well and good.
The man was an impossibility, but Harry adored this as well and thus, he let hie heart stutter purely for the sake of gesture and nothing more, as arms came around to hold him as well.
Hard and unyielding.
==.==
“Do you have to make a spectacle out of the proposal?”
Harry bit at the skin in front of him, complaining and reprimanding and felt the answering exhale of a chuckle against his nape.
“You couldn’t wait to declare your sovereignty, could you?” He turned around minutely, to watch the flickering emotions in the scarlet depths, that bared itself for him alone.
“Of course not.” Marvolo murmured, mouthing thoughtfully the bared feast in front of him, sparing with a hint of teeth as his hands made to dipped past the shallow depths. Harry inhaled sharply, but the man held him tightly to him, making his interest clearly known. “You break my heart so often, my dear, roaming around here and there- but you wouldn’t take any other leash, would you?”
Harry paused in his unconscious movements, “Leash, do you think this is a leash?”
Marvolo stopped as well, sitting up a but from where they were lying supine, Harry nuzzled under Marvolo’s throat, “Isn’t it?” Scarlet eyes were roving his expressions, watching him carefully, “Aren’t you stifled under my adoration? Don’t you keep fighting for your way out every time?”
Harry didn’t let him go far, this irascible and unpredictable Dark Lord of a beloved, but moved swiftly, with his thighs clamping the other’s legs tightly and his arms gentle around the other’s shoulder, “Love isn’t a leash,” He blushed to the ears as he said it, but persisted, “Not the true kind. And our disagreements are just that, us learning together.”
Marvolo blinked slowly, and accepted his embrace, held him by his thighs and tugged him impossibly closer. The warmth was an agony to his skin, especially when he felt the other breath right near his left ear, “And if I say, every time I feel you drifting away from me, I feel like breaking a piece of you so that you can’t help but lean on me when you walk? Is it still just a disagreement, sweet one?”
His hands spanned the narrow waist in wonder, and arced it upward, letting Hadrian’s hair fall from his shoulder akin to a chaotic waterfall, letting his throat bared just so and Marvolo stared at it with obsession bright and heavy in his panting breast.
How would you know, oh beloved one, of the claws clipped and the fangs muzzled, of the wretched need that still plagued him?
Marvolo had thought it would quieten, the frantic wailing for the muse of his life, after he had Hadrian in his arms and his bed, would settle for watching his beloved treasure prance his halls forever.
And yet, the man turned out to be a terrible one after all, never sating his need and dragging it to new heights.
His nose traced along the quivering throat, feeling the swallows under his attention, and yet his gums itched, longed to be wetted, longed to be closer still.
Even so, he couldn’t bear a minute most scar mar this treasure, not when they weren’t spoils of a war.
And Hadrian spoke of such innocence.
It invited him really, to watch the concerns in those bright, dewy gaze fade to wet apprehension, as the prey beneath him finally noticed the coils around his waist, to flail for the last time before it surrendered.
Mind wrapped in the dreams of the most kind, Marvolo couldn’t quite react as sudden when the beloved in his arms turned and bit his nose.
Quite sharply at that.
Even the most exalted Dark Lord couldn’t hide a wince to the attack on such a sensitive place.
He looked at Hadrian sharply and the spring in his eyes were as lively as ever.
“You speak of chains,” Whispered his beloved, “But didn’t you hand me one to bind you as well?” He looked pointedly down at the ring.
The relics of the Gaunts.
Sheared with the brand of Slytherin.
His Horcrux.
Hadrian knew then.
Just as he suspected. Just as he knew.
He lifted the thin fingers, too delicate for the heavy burden they bore, and kissed it softly.
“You must be careful then, darling, to safeguard me properly.”
But the man didn’t relent, the worry lines did not fade away, rather continued marring the lovely face.
“Marvolo, I adore you, I do. But, don’t you think it is risky, considering how often I seem to meet the headmaster?” He quizzed insistently, “You may not like him, but he defeated a Dark Lord on his own. Are you saying he can’t recognise the dark magic? I will be tempting fate all the time!”
Pretty loquacious lips trembled with the concern, a barrage of them slipping past; the Dark Lord heard none of it.
Spelled quick by the first sentence, he never recovered.
How easily his dear one spoke! How fluently did he let his soul to be left bare! No grandiose gesture could ever surpass the confidence, the wonder of words spoken from heart, unpretentious and sans hesitation.
He moved, a quick-fire lunge of a serpent driven to mindlessness, and sealed his lips over the other. Swallowed; the entire heart that was offered to him in a lilt, the blemished skin smooth under his touch, and the last of thoughts from his beloved.
It was alright, he had intended to say.
There were far many hexes and spells on the little ring than the headmaster could fathom in his leisure even, he had meant to assure.
There was no way he would let Harry flit out and over the threshold without a declaration, was one he wouldn’t say.
He trusted Dumbledore’s intentions less over his own control over the death eaters, was one he wouldn’t admit.
But words were unnecessary at that moment.
He hungered, therefore he devoured.