Chapter Text
Fourteen Years Later
September 1st.
It was Victory Day—the day the wizarding world celebrated the execution of the most powerful and deadly dark wizard in history. The day on which—fourteen years ago—Lord Voldemort had passed through the Veil of Death and had finally been vanquished forever.
It was also, of course, the day the Hogwarts Express left Platform 9 ¾ every year, which—truth be told—was a relief for Harry because it meant it was a busy day for him and no one expected him to participate in any Victory Day activities.
Still, for the last couple years since Teddy started at Hogwarts, Harry had apparated into Muggle London—a secluded corner of Regent’s Park that was concealed from view by a tall row of hedges—so that he wouldn't have to deal with exuberant witches and wizards shooting off sparks from their wands and wishing him a Happy Victory Day as he passed them.
Granted, as the years went on, such open celebratory behavior had become less and less ubiquitous in magical communities as it gradually became just another holiday, but Harry continued to stick to Muggle areas until he got to the actual platform.
It was just easier to not feel like he had to perform the appropriate sentiments, and once he was at Platform 9 ¾, everyone was generally too busy rushing around with trunks and owl cages and saying their goodbyes to bother much with Victory Day.
And now, he even had his friends here to distract him.
At the moment, Harry was talking to Fred and George, who had come to see off Rose and Leander for their first year at Hogwarts. Or to subtly “advertise” Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to impressionable first years by generally causing trouble on the Platform with some of their sillier products. One of the two.
Harry looked up and spotted first Hermione’s characteristic bushy hair and then Ron’s bright red hair moving through the crowd towards them. Both their kids’ hair really was a perfect mixture of theirs, Harry mused as Rose and Hugo came into view. Hugo, who was just being dragged along for the ride as he was still too young for Hogwarts, had straight brown hair, while Rose had the reverse: bushy Hermione hair that was Weasley red.
Harry smiled and waved at them, but before he could say anything, Fred rushed forward and flung himself to his knees before Hermione. George followed.
“My Lady—”
“Her Highness—Nay, Her Majesty—”
Fred gave his twin a shove. “It’s Your Highness if you’re talking to her…”
“I wouldn’t dare presume to talk directly to Her Majesty,” George countered with an elaborate flourish of his hand and a submissive bow of his head.
“Oh, stop it—get up, you two. Last thing I need is some reporter getting pictures of you kneeling in front of me…”
“We daren’t stand in your presence, Your Honour.”
But they did dare under the withering look Hermione gave them.
“Congrats, again, Hermione,” Harry said, grinning. “I’m really proud of you.”
Hermione blushed slightly. “Thanks, Harry.”
For his part, Ron was still looking a little dazed even though it had been a couple of days since they found out.
“I just really…I still can’t believe that I’m married to the next Minister of Magic,” he murmured in awe.
“And she’s the first Muggle-born witch in history to become Minister!” Rose piped up.
George clasped a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Honestly, none of us can believe it, Ronniekins…One day you’re puking up slugs all over yourself, and before you know it, you’re wedded to the most powerful woman in magical Britain.”
“What do we call you, anyway?” asked Fred. “Sir Ronald Granger-Weasley, First Man? That’s quite a mouthful.”
“Yeah, you could have blended your names instead of going the hyphenation route. Would’ve been a lot shorter. I was partial to Sir Ronald Greasley, myself.”
“—Or Sir Ronald Wanker…I mean Wanger.”
Hermione just rolled her eyes at this. “I believe the traditional term is First Gentleman.”
…Which absolutely delighted the twins.
“Sir Ronald Greasley-Wanger, First Gentleman!” they shouted in unison.
“Although…” Fred looked thoughtful. “Since the Auror Department is part of the Ministry, doesn’t this mean Her Highness is your boss now, Mr. First Gentleman?”
“Yeah, seems like there should be some ethical concerns about that—Right, Harry?”
“Oh, I’m not part of this—leave me out of it.”
“Yes, well, that would be quite the scandal, now wouldn’t it? Can you imagine—the Golden Trio…?”
Nervously, Harry glanced around for the kids, but Hugo was too young to get it, and Rose was…predictably missing already. She was strong-willed and independent, and she had a habit of disappearing without notice, then reappearing randomly, acting as if she had never left.
Ron growled at his brother. “Shut it, Fred. Merlin, you’re even more disrespectful now that Hermione is an authority figure.”
“Yeah, even I thought that was too far, Mate,” said George.
“Oh look, Ginny’s here!” Harry was very grateful for the distraction.
She looked somewhat frazzled.
“Ginny! You okay? Where are Draco and Leander?”
“Oof. I’m fine. They’re outside. Leander was saying he didn’t want to go to Hogwarts. Draco’s having a little man-to-man with him.”
“Whaddya mean, he doesn’t want to go to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, aghast. He had never heard of such a thing.
“Oh, he’s just nervous, you know. I just loaded his trunk on the train, though, so he’s definitely going.”
“Yeah, but all first years are nervous…” Except for Rose, but she was, well…Rose. Absolutely fearless. “I’ve never heard one say they don’t want to go, though.”
Ginny sighed. She glanced up at Hermione. “Well, I think it’s because we were there for your acceptance speech at the Ministry the other day—which, by the way, congratulations again on that!—and afterward, Leander was running around playing with some older kids who went to Hogwarts. Anyway, I don’t know exactly what happened, but one of the boys called him a—a slur, and—”
“What?! But he’s a Pureblood!” Ron interrupted.
“No, not that kind of slur. Because of his, you know, his hair, and other…mannerisms, probably. Anyway, I think he’s worried he’s going to be bullied for being gay. Not that he is, of course, but you know how people make assumptions…and kids are so mean sometimes…”
Truthfully, Harry wouldn’t be terribly surprised if Leander did turn out to be gay, but not because of anything to do with his hair. It made him feel sick to his stomach though that someone was so cruel to him that he would say he didn’t want to go to Hogwarts.
“You mean they called him…the F-word?” Hermione gasped.
Ron glanced around to make sure Hugo wasn’t listening, but the boy was now sitting on a curb several feet away, and he was distracted playing with the miniature version of Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs—Weasleys’ Wildchild Whiz-bangs (“Portable and Kid-Friendly!”).
“... Fuck?” the First Gentleman whispered, confused.
Ginny nodded her head at Hermione, and Hermione shook her head at Ron. “I’ll explain later,” she muttered to Ron before turning back to Ginny. “But…I didn’t think terms like that were very common in the wizarding world. The kid must have been a Muggle-born…or maybe a Half-Blood…” she said sadly.
Ginny shrugged, but then looked up, distracted. There was still worry in her eyes, but she smiled a little. “Here comes Draco!”
Draco nodded hello to everyone as he approached the group.
“How’s he doing?” Ginny asked.
“Better. He’s on the Platform now.” He gestured to a spot a ways away near the train, where some kids were standing around talking.
“First Teddy and then Rosie came out into the main station while we were out there—no idea why. Gotta watch those two. Anyway, Teddy talked to him a bit, and then they all went back through the wall together.” He paused, turning to Harry. “I gotta hand it to you, you raised your kid right…
“...Still can’t believe you just gave him your Firebolt, though,” he added, muttering under his breath in faux (or mostly faux) jealousy.
Harry didn’t bother correcting him that Teddy wasn’t actually his kid. He was as good as. But he didn’t know what Draco was talking about until he looked back over at the group of kids, and it dawned on him…
Before Leander was born, they had all made bets on whether he would have the distinctive bright red hair of a Weasley or the equally characteristic white-blonde hair of a Malfoy. Both traits were strong in their respective families, after all.
Unsurprisingly, the Weasleys had virtually all picked red, while Draco had advocated for white-blonde. Harry voted blonde, as well, mostly just because Draco was so outnumbered.
George had helpfully suggested that it might come out striped like a candy cane.
But only Fred had got it right: Leander had naturally hot pink hair.
And now, so did Teddy.
Teddy, of course, had inherited Tonks’ Metamorphic abilities, so he could change his appearance at will. He was also a third year, and very popular—the star of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. At thirteen, he was already thought to be quite handsome, and girls loved him. And this year, he would even be flying Harry Potter’s vintage Firebolt...
In short, his opinion held a lot of sway at Hogwarts. And he had changed his hair to match Leander’s, a lowly first year.
“Hey, Gin, why didn’t you tell us you had twins?!” exclaimed George excitedly.
Harry grinned. The group had shifted so he could see Leander better, and he was engaged in the conversation with the kids around him. He had even started smiling a bit.
Harry draped an arm around Ginny’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “See, he’s gonna be just fine, Gin.”
“Why do I have a feeling those three are going to get into so much trouble this year?” Ron said, shaking his head as he looked over at Leander, Teddy, and Rose, who—with their brightly-colored hair—all stood out from the group around them.
“At least they’ll be easy to spot,” laughed Draco. “...Unless Harry gave them his Invisibility Cloak, too,” he added teasingly.
“I can’t believe you’re still on about the stupid Firebolt. My godfather gave it to me, and I’m his godfather. And anyway, he’s on the Quidditch team now. He needs a proper broom.”
“He was on the Quidditch team last year, too,” Ron chimed in.
“Yeah,” said Ginny, smirking. “I’m sure it didn’t have anything to do with Harry wanting the new LightningStrike that came out this year and is supposed to be the best new broom in a decade.”
Harry made a face at her, but before he could respond, Hermione spoke up, looking at her watch. “It’s almost 11. We’d better say our goodbyes.”
“I have a feeling he’s going to be embarrassed when we go over there and interrupt him talking to his new friends,” Draco said quietly to Ginny.
“I don’t care. We’re not going to see him again until Christmas—he can deal with it,” she replied, resolutely tossing her hair over her shoulder and striding toward the group of kids.
Draco started to follow her, but then paused, turning back to Harry for a moment. “You’ll…look out for him, won’t you, Harry? Make sure he’s okay?...Not take too many points?”
Harry laughed. “Why would I take too many points from my own House?” he said innocently.
Draco scowled. “He’s going to be in Slytherin. He’s a Malfoy, after all, and he’ll carry on the proud Malfoy lineage…”
“Yeah, a Malfoy whose mum is a Weasley and whose dad beheaded a giant venomous snake with the fucking Sword of Gryffindor.”
“Be that as it may…” He did swell a little with pride at the mention of that, though.
“Yes, Draco, I will always look out for him, even if he does end up in stupid Slytherin.”
“Thanks, Harry.” Draco’s lip twitched, and he looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.
“He’d better end up in stupid Slytherin,” said George from behind them. “I’ve got a lot of money riding on that.”
“Why Slytherin?” asked Fred.
“He’s a Malfoy, and he inherited Draco’s prissiness—No offense, Draco. Well…what did you bet on?”
“Hufflepuff.”
“Why Hufflepuff?” Harry, Draco, and George asked in unison.
He shrugged. “Just wanted to stir the pot.”
His twin shook his head. “...Some people just want to watch the world burn.”
“Okay, I really gotta go say goodbye to him. Don’t forget to write, Harry!” Draco ran off to join the others.
Harry went over to wave a quick goodbye to Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Hugo (as well as Tonks, who by then had joined them), then left them the rest of the time to say their goodbyes to the three kids who were leaving for the school year. Not long after, the Hogwarts Express gave a warning whistle that it was time to board. Harry jumped on and made his way to the compartment reserved for any staff taking the train.
When he got to the Great Hall, Harry hurried excitedly over to his usual place at the staff table at the head of the room. He always enjoyed the Sorting Ceremony, but this year was especially important because two of the kids in his life were about to be Sorted.
“Professor Potter,” came the familiar drawl from the seat next to his as he approached. Harry noticed suddenly that Snape’s once jet black, greasy hair had noticeable streaks of gray in it now—something which must have happened gradually, but which only now seemed to register.
“How d’you do, Professor Snape?” he said, returning the mock-formality with a slight flourish of his hand and a little bow as he took his seat—an action which earned him a somewhat exasperated look from the Potions Master.
“Back for another year, Harry…If I’m not mistaken, this officially makes you the longest tenured professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts since Galatea Merrythought retired.”
Harry supposed there must have been someone teaching the subject in the interim between the legendary Merrythought retiring and the position getting cursed, but he hadn’t really thought about it.
“Ten-eleven years for me, I think? It doesn’t feel like that long.”
“Indeed, not so long at all. Though it is curious no one lasted more than a year while you were finishing your education and attending the Auror Academy. One might even be tempted to think the curse was broken just for you.”
Harry smirked at him. “I do always seem to get that special treatment, don’t I? Well, regardless, I’m just glad the curse seems to have been lifted.” He shrugged, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice that had appeared in his goblet when he sat down. “Anyway…how was your summer, Severus?”
“Interminably dull, I must say…”
“...Because it didn’t have me in it?”
“I quite enjoyed it. There will be more than enough excitement, I’m afraid, with all the trouble not one, but two of your crew starting school this year is sure to cause.”
Harry rolled his eyes and laughed at him. He and Snape were used to trading barbs, but it didn’t carry any of the venom it once did. “So what House are you betting on for them?”
“Gryffindor.”
“For both? I thought you’d say Slytherin for Leander. He is a Malfoy, after all.”
“A Malfoy whose father wielded the Sword of Gryffindor.”
“That’s what I said!” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Do you think people… change Houses ever, Severus?”
“Technically, no. But in reality…people are always changing, Harry. Always.”
Harry hummed, thinking about it. Wasn’t it almost kind of strange how they put children into such rigid boxes so young? He didn’t have much time to contemplate the question, though, because Professor McGonagall had started giving her opening speech.
As the Sorting started, Harry looked over the line of trembling first years at the front of the room. All of them appeared terribly nervous, except, of course, for Rose, who—tall and gangly as she was—stood almost a head taller than any of them, and was perfectly calm and collected. Harry tried to catch Leander’s eye to give him a reassuring smile, but the boy was apparently too nervous to even look up. Rose didn’t look up either, but only, he was sure, because she didn’t need Harry’s reassurance, thank you very much.
Even though he shouldn’t have been, Harry was a little thrown off when McGonagall called out “Granger-Weasley, Rose!”. He’d almost forgotten she would be going with the Gs and not near the very end like Weasleys normally did.
Rose strode forward with more confidence than Harry thought he’d ever seen a first year approach the four-legged stool. Her bushy, vibrantly red hair fanned out behind her as she walked.
When McGonagall placed the tattered old Sorting Hat on her head, Harry leaned forward a little in his seat in anticipation.
Over a minute passed, and Harry turned to Snape. “It’s—it’s taking longer than normal, isn’t it?” he whispered.
The thought had occurred to him when he realized he had been holding his breath, and he was running out of it. Well, Hermione had said the Hat seriously considered putting her in Ravenclaw, and Rosie was an awful lot like her mother in many ways. Still—
“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat finally shouted. Harry’s jaw dropped open, and the Hall fell unusually quiet for a moment. Certainly no one was expecting the firstborn child of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger to be a Slytherin.
He turned to glance at Snape, who had begun clapping enthusiastically. Once the Head of Slytherin House started, others quickly joined in.
“Oh Merlin—Ron’s gonna lose it!” Harry murmured as he too started tentatively clapping.
He shook himself back to the present. Rosie, who hadn’t bothered to look up at him once since the first years had entered the Hall, was looking up at him now, and she looked worried. Scared, even.
Harry gave her the most reassuring smile he could and began clapping whole-heartedly. When she didn’t move, but just continued to stand there, frozen, he gave her a gentle nod and motioned her in the direction of the Slytherin table. “Go on,” he mouthed.
“Who would have guessed?” he heard Snape murmur, but he didn’t respond.
Harry was worried for her. A snippet of a memory he’d accidentally seen so many years ago suddenly rose to the forefront of his mind…
Eleven-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle, sitting alone now at the edge of the Slytherin table as his Housemates all scooted away from him like he was diseased. ‘Mudblood…’ they were hissing angrily, and he didn’t know what that word meant, but it sounded like ‘Freak’...
Would the Slytherins accept Rosie? Or would they shun her and call her a blood traitor? He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not be accepted by your own House—at least not long-term. On the rare occasions his fellow Gryffindors had turned against him, it had been short-lived, but even that had been awful.
He was so preoccupied worrying about Rose that he completely missed the next two Sortings, but he was pulled back in when he heard McGonagall call out, “Malfoy, Leander!”
Unlike Rose, Leander did glance up at Harry as he walked up to the stool. Harry grinned and mouthed, “You got this!”
The Sorting Hat fell down over his eyes like it had once done to Harry.
Although he had been rooting for Gryffindor all along, Harry suddenly hoped Leander really would be in Slytherin so that Rosie wouldn’t be alone, at least. They could watch out for each other. Protect each other from the other snakes.
“Better be—HUFFLEPUFF!” the Hat shouted.
“Evidently, today is full of surprises,” commented Snape.
“You’re telling me,” Harry said, clapping.
Leander looked back up at Harry as McGonagall removed the Hat from his head, unveiling his bright pink hair. He looked nervous, but also a little relieved.
Harry supposed he shouldn’t have been all that surprised by Leander’s Sorting. After all, he and Teddy were close, having grown up together, and Leander looked up to the older boy. Especially after the events of that morning—where Teddy had made him feel like he could be accepted at Hogwarts—it made sense that Leander went into Hufflepuff.
Rosie on the other hand…Harry had always thought she had that classic Gryffindor energy like her parents. She was fierce, bold, and stubborn. She was also whip-smart like her mother, so Harry could have imagined her going into Ravenclaw maybe, but Slytherin? He didn’t really see it.
He sighed. Sadly, it seemed like a couple of new items just got added to his agenda for the evening before he could go do what he really wanted.
When the feast began, Harry ate quickly. Fortunately for his plan, Snape was also not one to linger around festivities longer than necessary.
“I need to go to the Owlery to send Ron and Hermione a heads up before they talk to Rose. Walk with me?”
Hermione had told Rosie they would firecall her this weekend, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they also owled her before that. Harry had to get a hold of them first—he didn’t want Ron overreacting and saying something he was going to regret in the heat of the moment.
Snape raised his eyebrows, looking vaguely amused. “I wasn’t aware you needed someone to escort you to the Owlery.”
“Actually…would you walk around to the different tables with me first? Just to welcome the first years and all that? I’ve been thinking that as Heads of rival Houses, we have a really important role. Kids need to see right from the time they start at Hogwarts that Gryffindors and Slytherins can…not only tolerate each other but actually be friends. You know, openly.”
Other than sitting next to each other at the staff table, Harry and Snape weren’t often seen together—walking beside each other in the corridors and such like some of the professors were.
“Oh? Do you consider me a friend now?”
Harry was surprised. He’d thought of Snape as a friend for a long time. Had they really never said it out loud before? He couldn’t remember.
“Er—yeah, I thought it was obvious.” He shrugged, giving a slightly nervous laugh. “Kind of part friend, part…self-appointed father-figure.”
Snape studied him quietly for a moment. “... All the tables?” he finally said with an air of resignation.
“All the tables.”
“You do know that there are very few people for whom I would agree to such a request?”
“I know,” Harry said, grinning. “That’s kind of the point.”
The other benefit to walking around to all the tables with Snape was that it gave him an opportunity to check in on Rose and Leander without singling them out and embarrassing them as they tried to make new friends. Harry knew they knew they could always come to him, but he wanted to remind them (and Teddy, of course, though he was already very much in his element) that he was there for them, no matter what.
Overall, all three of “his” kids seemed to be doing fine. Teddy was boisterously discussing Quidditch with a large group of third years. Leander was tentatively making conversation with a couple of the first year boys about stories they had heard from their older brothers who went to Hogwarts (or in Leander’s case, stories he had heard from Teddy). And even Rose seemed to be getting along well with a Slytherin girl with long, sleek black hair, who was showing her photographs of her family’s Abraxan horses.
When they had finished their rounds of the tables, Harry and Snape continued walking to the Owlery. Most people were still at the feast as it was still relatively early in the evening, so the corridors were quiet.
“I can’t believe Rose is going to be in Slytherin,” Harry said when they were alone.
“There’s more to Slytherin House than Machiavellianism, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he said quickly. And he did know that now—had known it for a long while. Of course he still joked about hating Slytherin from time to time, but he couldn’t really hate it too much anymore. “I just always saw her as a Gryffindor. She’s so…well, brave, I guess.”
Snape nodded. “Brave enough to go her own way, even having been raised under very different expectations of her.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape continued, cutting him off. “I’m not saying Hermione and…Ron—or you, for that matter—raised her with the intent of directing her toward Gryffindor and away from Slytherin…” (Harry noticed his reluctance to give Ron credit in addition to Hermione, here). “But we all make assumptions about other people, about the world. And very often people grow to fit those assumptions that others have about them.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. I’m just worried about her—worried she’ll be an outcast because of who her parents are.”
“A reasonable fear. And I can’t promise her experience in Slytherin will always be a happy one. But I can say, Slytherin has changed a great deal since I was in school, definitely, but even since you were in school. Pureblood Supremacy still exists, to be sure, but it has lost a lot of ground. It is certainly no longer central to the definition of the House. Rose is too strong to let Slytherin House bring her down. If anything, having a student like her will lift Slytherin up.”
Harry thought about that for a moment. And he knew it was true—Slytherin had changed over the years. In fact, all the Houses had, as well as the relations between Houses. People still mostly stuck to their own House, but…it was more and more common to see inter-House friendships and romantic relationships. And Harry almost never heard a student call another student a Mudblood anymore. Not that it didn’t happen, because it did. There was still a long way to go, but…Snape was right. Rosie was strong as hell, and she would not only be alright, but would probably be a positive influence on the rest of her House.
Having sent a note to Ron and Hermione, as well as one to Ginny and Draco, Harry yawned as they left the Owlery. “Well…it’s been a long day and—”
“You’d best get to bed at this late hour of—”, Snape checked his watch, “quarter to eight?”
“Is it that early? I must be getting old…” he joked. But there was something in Snape’s expression that made him uneasy.
“I suppose you’ve always been one to get to bed early. Well, since you’ve been teaching, anyway. As a student, I remember you being rather prone to…sneaking out at night.”
“Lots of people sneak out at night when they’re teenagers. And going to bed early is a normal thing to do.” Dammit, he hadn’t meant for that to sound so defensive.
Snape hummed. “Yes. I’m not sure I would classify you as ‘normal’ per se—”
“Well, it’s not a problem, is it?”
“No.” Snape was looking at him steadily. “No, merely an… observation.”
He definitely didn’t like the way Snape said “observation.” He’d known the man long enough to know that tone. Harry’s mouth felt dry.
He glanced around quickly to check that they were alone. “I see. And what do you…intend to do about this observation?”
For what felt like an inordinately long time, Snape just stared at him. “As your… self-appointed father-figure,” he finally said, “I intend to remind you of the need to consider your own safety… ”
Harry swallowed audibly. Fuck fuck fuck.
“But, seeing as you are not currently dead, as your…friend, I intend to consider your perspective and leave well enough alone.”
Harry blinked at him. How long had he known? In the back of his mind, Harry always knew—if he was honest with himself—that Snape was going to figure it out one day, but…it was just so surreal to think it was actually, finally happening. After all this time. And Snape apparently wasn’t going to do anything about it, after all…
“Er—thank you,” he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know what else to say.
“As they say, ‘Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.’”
“I’m sorry—what?”
“Honestly, Harry? How can you not know the Hogwarts motto?”
“Oh! Yeah, the—erm—on the crest! I know it…Something about dragons…”
“Never tickle a sleeping dragon.”
“Right. Well, that sounds like…decent advice.”
Snape hummed. “Indeed. Well, I must be getting to bed.” The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry, when you arrive fashionably late for breakfast despite having gone to bed so early.”
Harry didn’t waste any time. As soon as he got to his room, he pulled out the three items he needed for his evening routine during the school year. 1) The Marauder’s Map, 2) the Cloak of Invisibility, and 3) the most badass broom on the planet, the LightningStrike 7.
This would be his first time using his new broom for this, he thought almost giddily.
His Firebolt really had stood up to the test of time. A new broom of one kind or another came out almost every year, but improvements in the enchantments had plateaued. For a long time, many believed that it wasn’t possible to make a faster broom than the Firebolt—that the speed of brooms had basically been maxed out.
Moreover, many of the newer brooms were inferior in other ways. A second edition model of the Firebolt had come out several years back as original Firebolts became increasingly rare, but it was more cheaply made. All of this, of course, was why Draco was still somewhat miffed that Harry had just given his away to a thirteen-year-old boy.
This year, however, there had finally been new magical innovations in the Quidditch equipment industry, and the LightningStrike 7 had at last surpassed the Firebolt in speed while retaining the former reigning champion’s quality.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Harry was so eager to get outside.
Harry watched the Marauder’s Map until he was sure the coast was clear, and then snuck back out of his room under the Invisibility Cloak, his new broom in hand. Once he made it out onto the lawn, Harry breathed in the crisp night air and, still under the Cloak, took off flying over the Forbidden Forest.
It had been tricky to find the first several times he had done it. Not only was it difficult to discern differences in the forest canopy at night, but there was also a protective charm that deliberately made the place he was looking for less noticeable than if it had just been a normal spot in the treetops.
The place was so hard to find that even Harry, who knew exactly what he was looking for and approximately where it should be, had got completely lost and failed to find it a couple of times early on. By now, however, it had become muscle memory, and he found it effortlessly.
The canopy here was too dense to fly through, so Harry landed on one of the upper branches, cast a Cushioning Charm, and hopped down to the forest floor.
Even if one landed in exactly the correct spot, nothing was immediately visible—just the normal, dense forest with trees all around. It was only when Harry got close that anything out of the ordinary appeared at all.
Where there once had been only trees, an enchanted opening in the air itself peeled open like a tent flap and revealed a small, unassuming cabin. Harry pulled off the Cloak and scrambled up the steps to the door.
While the door unlocked automatically for him, he still always knocked as he came in.
“Hey.” Harry’s voice sounded a bit breathless, which he blamed mostly on flying in the chill night air. Mostly.
Tom sprung up from the kitchen table and pulled Harry into his arms. “I missed you,” he murmured into Harry’s windswept—and therefore extra messy—hair.
Harry let out a low laugh. “I’ve only been gone two days.”
Tom hummed and kissed his forehead. “Two days too long.”
The corners of his lips still curving upward with a smile he’d tried and failed to suppress, Harry pulled Tom’s face closer to kiss his mouth.
“So, Harry, tell me—what is the answer to the riddle?” Tom said as he poured him a cup of tea. “In a genetic battle between lion and snake, who reigns victorious?”
For a moment, Harry didn’t understand what Tom was talking about as he was distracted looking at the soft pink lips he’d been wanting to kiss for two days.
“What? Oh—neither. A fucking badger appears and slays them both,” he laughed.
“You mean to tell me the young Malfoy heir is a Hufflepuff?” He hummed. “I imagine Lucius will be none too pleased about that.”
Harry nodded, brightening at that thought. Though he’d briefly wished Leander would be sorted into Slytherin with Rosie earlier, the prospect of Lucius’ annoyance made Hufflepuff seem like a decent outcome.
“You did get one, though.”
Tom gasped in mock horror, clutching his tea cup with both hands. “Say it isn’t so! The little Rose, a Slytherin? What will her father think?”
“Yeah, I know. I already owled him to let him know before he says something rash and stupid.”
The heir of the very House in question was looking thoughtful. “...Yes, I can see it. The girl is indeed a Slytherin…Her family ought to be proud.”
“You’re only saying that because I told you. You’ve never even met her.”
Harry felt a pang of sadness at that thought. It was irrational, he knew. He’d always known the kids absolutely could not know about his relationship with the man formerly known as Lord Voldemort.
But they were all such a big part of his life—Tom and the kids. Maybe when they were of age…maybe they could take the same vow his closest friends had already taken when Harry finally told them…?
It wasn’t an Unbreakable Vow, of course, as Harry would never subject his loved ones to something that would kill them if they messed up, but a variation of it. Anytime one of them tried to speak or write anything that would reveal the secret, they would find themselves confused and unable to express the thought coherently, the words coming out jumbled and nonsensical.
“Harry, dear—I have listened to you talk about her quite enough to be able to recognize her as one of my own House.”
“Do you—do you think she’ll be…okay in Slytherin? She’s a half-blood and half-Weasley and—”
“And Slytherin’s last heir is a half-blood. From what I know of her, I’ve no doubt the girl will be commanding her own little army within the House soon enough.”
Harry laughed nervously. “Well, I don’t know if I want that.”
“She will be fine. And if anyone bullies her, they shall be bringing the wrath of Harry James Potter down upon themselves, and that, I have learned, is no trivial thing.”
Harry smiled and sipped his tea.
“Er—Tom…” he said after a moment, biting his lip.
“Hm?” Tom reached out and brushed a lock of Harry’s hair behind his ear. For just a moment, it seemed like it was actually going to stay put, but then it sprang back up again. Giving a soft, low laugh, Tom held Harry’s chin in place as he studied his eyes. “I know that expression, my perfection, and it means you’re about to say something utterly absurd.”
“I’ve just been thinking…and, well, the other day Luna showed me this cute little cottage that’s for sale near her place, on the edge of Hogsmeade. It’d be close to the school and—”
“Harry—”
“I—just hear me out? What if we didn’t have to hide anymore?”
Tom frowned a little as he ghosted his thumb across the lightning bolt scar. “Harry, we will always have to hide. I thought you knew this.”
Of course, Harry did know this. For fourteen years, they’d done a good job of it, too. Snape had figured it out, he supposed, and, well, Luna had known before anyone—Harry included. Other than that, though, the only people who knew were the few friends Harry consciously chose to tell—Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Draco—and they were all sworn to secrecy by the vow.
For a while, it had felt like enough. Eventually, he’d even been able to share a small slice of the life they had by inviting his friends to the cabin to actually meet Tom. Draco had come to visit a couple of times over the years, and Ron had come once—though it was obvious for them it was more out of a sense of duty to Harry than anything as most of the time, they avoided Tom entirely. (Which, of course, was not hard to do, given that he lived in an invisible cabin in the middle of the Forbidden Forest). Ginny, for her part, had politely declined to visit at all, though Harry hadn’t really expected her to and didn’t blame her.
Both Luna and Hermione, however, had actually developed real friendships with Tom, which Harry was a little surprised but happy about. After all, it didn’t seem like the healthiest thing in the world for Tom to be completely isolated from all other humans besides Harry.
In fact, Hermione had even been the one to get Tom set up in a job…
It had started on Hermione’s second visit. Ron had come with her the first time, but the second time, she came alone. The three of them, Harry, Tom, and Hermione, had been talking in the living area a while when Tom invited her to come see his underground workshop where he spent most of the day tinkering while Harry was teaching classes.
Obviously, this had made Harry somewhat nervous. He knew Tom worked on experimental magic during the day, and he had been in the workshop himself on a number of occasions, but—if he was honest—he didn’t exactly keep up with everything Tom was doing in his free time.
In part, that was because he didn’t understand a lot of it—the workshop was filled with a cacophony of strange, whirring instruments not unlike the ones in Dumbledore’s office, and nearly every surface was covered in parchment scribbled with ancient runic scripts and complex arithmancy calculations he couldn’t follow.
The other part of it, however, was that Harry wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know exactly what Tom was working on. He knew that was irresponsible, and he felt guilty for it. After all, there were quite a lot of books on dark magic in the basement room. The one time Tom had snuck into the castle under the Cloak was to retrieve all the ancient tomes housed in a hidden library in the Chamber of Secrets, which obviously didn’t specialize in light magic.
Harry kept debating with himself about whether it was a good idea for Tom to even have access to those books, but in the end, he just kept telling himself that surely he couldn’t get up to anything that bad without violating the contract.
And, as long as he wasn’t killing and maiming people, what did it matter? That was all Harry really cared about…that and that he didn’t accidentally blow himself up. What had happened to Luna’s mother always lurked a little bit in the back of his mind as a solemn reminder of just how dangerous experimental magic could be.
So, Harry had been nervous because he knew Hermione would be a lot more thorough and perceptive than he was in her perusal of the workshop. And she would know what questions to even ask.
When Harry and Hermione had finally left the cabin so that he could escort her out of the forest, Hermione had said she “wanted to talk to him about what Tom was doing,” which Harry thought sounded rather ominous.
“I think I’ll stop by the library while I’m here…he’s doing a lot of extremely complex magic, and I want to look a few things up to understand it all better,” Hermione had been saying as they walked to the point where they could exit the forest through the canopy.
She stopped, turning to Harry. “I’m sure he didn’t show me nearly everything, but…Harry…some of his work—some of it actually seems quite good,” she said, her eyes wide.
Harry had just shrugged, bemused. “He’s brilliant, Hermione…Why is that surprising?”
“No, I mean good as in could be good for the world.”
“Er—What?”
Harry loved Tom dearly, and he knew he was different than he used to be. Still, he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the heir of Slytherin and formerly the world’s most powerful dark lord. The best case scenario, in Harry’s mind, was that whatever Tom was doing all day was neutral for the world.
“I’m serious, Harry. Granted, there's definitely some dark magic going on, too, but his work on magical carbon sequestration, for example—”
“Carbon what?”
Hermione stared at him incredulously. “Honestly, Harry—you really need to keep up with these things. I know hardly anybody is talking about climate change in the magical world, but they ought to. Even if the Muggles are the ones doing most of the damage—just due to the sheer size of their population compared to ours, of course—” she hastened to add, “we’re all living on the same planet. Climate change is going to affect all of us, magical and non-magical, so we all need to be working on solutions.”
Harry thought back to the time when Voldemort had philosophized to him about the dangers of Muggle overpopulation—how Muggles filled the earth with rubbish, the oceans with plastic. How the air we all breathed, Muggle or not, bordered on toxic because of their actions…
Back then his “solution” had been mass Muggle killings.
But since Voldemort had signed the contract, genocide was, whether he liked it or not, not an option.
Harry had just blinked at Hermione as he processed this. That, faced with no longer being allowed to kill Muggles, Tom had simply…started to look for other, non-murdery solutions to the problem. A problem he apparently genuinely cared about.
“I really think that—with the proper funding and support to scale it—there could actually be something viable here, something that could make a difference,” Hermione had gone on. She sounded excited.
And so, over the next few weeks, she had helped arrange a kind of under-the-table, off-the-record consulting position with the Department of Mysteries, which Tom could do remotely and anonymously. It was rather risky for her career, Harry thought, as she was rising through the ranks of the Ministry at the time, so she must have truly believed in it.
Well, if Tom could hold a (sort of) normal job… Harry had started thinking, what else might be possible for them?
There was something about having to hide such a major part of his life, even from some of his closest loved ones—the rest of the Weasleys, for example—that had started itching at his mind. It wasn’t unbearable. It was certainly better than not having Tom at all.
But.
Harry pulled himself back to the present conversation as Tom took both of his hands in his.
“I will always have to hide,” Tom repeated quietly, holding Harry’s gaze.
“Okay, well, what if you could hide in plain sight? Everyone fully believes the Dark Lord was executed fourteen years ago. There were dozens of eyewitnesses…the entire Wizengamot, at least seven Aurors, Ministry officials—even the Minister himself! They all saw it firsthand. And no one has seen or heard a word from—from Voldemort since. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect you’re alive, and you don’t even look the same as when they last saw you…”
“I see you’ve been thinking a lot about this.” His brow was slightly furrowed.
Harry pressed on. “You’d need a new name, of course…Tom is common enough, you could keep that—” (This earned Harry a glare). “You’d just need a different last name.”
He might need to use a bit of human transfiguration, or at least a glamour, too, Harry thought. Which was a shame considering he liked how Tom looked, but—well, they could figure the details out later.
Tom was watching him intently. “While you are correct, at least, that established belief is a remarkably powerful thing—”
Harry cut him off before he could get to the part of the sentence that focused on what Harry supposedly wasn’t correct about. “Yeah, established belief. Remarkably powerful, that,” he agreed.
“Now, let’s see…what could your name be? Tom…It can’t be Tom Slytherin, that’s too obvious. Tom…Hufflepuff?” Harry said with a lopsided grin, trying to distract him from whatever counterpoint he’d been about to make.
The look of mild annoyance that flashed across Tom’s face was rather adorable, he thought (though he certainly wouldn’t tell him that). Feeling a rush of Gryffindor recklessness, Harry decided he’d like to see it again.
“Tom…Puzzle.”
“Now that’s just ridiculous.”
“Tom…Bumblebore.”
“Do I need to remind you that your name is not listed in the contract as one of the people I’m not allowed to kill?”
Harry just laughed. “It doesn’t need to be in there because you wouldn’t ever do it.”
“Obviously. Fortunately for you, I quite like having you around,” Tom said, scowling. “...Even if your behavior is rather puerile at times,” he added under his breath.
“Hmm…” Harry went on, undeterred. “Tom…Potter?”
Tom made a face.
“What? You don’t like my name?” Harry pretended to be offended.
“It’s perfectly suitable…for you.”
“Oh! How could I forget? The anagram! How about…Lord Ear Mold Vomit?”
“There is no way you just came up with that off the top of your head. That means that you spent time thinking up an anagram in advance.”
“Oh, yeah. I got a whole list of ‘em. Immortal Love Rodd?”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t...Mr. Tom, a Dildo Lover.”
“...You know what? I’m thinking no anagrams.”
But Harry noticed his…frankly insane cheekbones had gone a bit pink at that one. Almost reflexively, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the flushed skin.
“Well, the point is, I don’t care what you call yourself. As long as it isn’t Lord Voldemort, you can pick whatever name you want…”
But, having leaned in close to Tom, Harry was starting to get distracted. He moved from kissing his cheekbone to kissing his neck and then nibbling at his earlobe. “...I just want to be with you,” he whispered breathily into his ear before running his tongue along the shell.
“Are you…actually trying to seduce me into buying a house with you?”
Harry hummed against his neck and planted another kiss there. “...Is it working?”
Tom pretended to look thoughtful. “I don’t know yet…I think you’ll have to try a bit harder to find out.”
“We could still keep the cabin for…you know…the occasional excursion…Or, tryst, if you will…” he murmured in between mouthing kisses on Tom’s neck and throat.
Tom took hold of Harry’s shoulders and gently but firmly pulled him back a bit to look at his face. He searched his eyes. “...You’re not just joking about this,” he said finally, his tone indecipherable.
“No.”
But something Harry had said when he was suggesting increasingly ridiculous names had sparked an idea that was taking shape in his mind—even though at the time, he’d only meant it in a silly way. Tom Potter.
And once he’d had the thought, he couldn’t unthink it.
So before he could overthink it (not that Harry was generally in danger of doing that), he took both Tom’s hands in his. A memory flashed in his mind of a time so many years ago, in Riddle Manor, when Lord Voldemort had surrendered himself to Harry, kneeling before him and—
…I am yours.
“In fact…” Harry sank to his knees, not breaking eye contact. “...Will you marry me, Tom?”
For several moments, Tom merely stared at Harry with an unreadable expression, and Harry felt his heartbeat crescendo until it was pounding so loudly he was sure it was noticeable.
He’s lucky I’m a bloody Gryffindor, he thought a bit crossly as the silence stretched out between them.
And Tom actually might have heard that over the connection because his expression shifted and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
“...I told you you were going to say something absurd,” he said finally, the slightest quiver in his voice.
Harry scowled. “It’s a yes or no question.”
“...A serious yes or no question?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. “...And this would make you happy?”
“Yes.”
Slowly, Tom lowered himself to his knees, joining Harry on the wooden floor, and held his gaze for another moment.
“Then I suppose my answer is also ‘yes’,” he said softly. And pressed their foreheads together.
A beat passed, and Tom took Harry’s face in his hands, tenderly kissing the lightning bolt scar. Harry felt almost giddy, an involuntary smile breaking out across his face as Tom placed a finger under his chin to tilt his head back up. Slipping a hand around the back of Harry’s head and weaving his long fingers through the perpetually unruly hair, he at last claimed Harry’s mouth.
The kiss was soft and gentle, and a feeling of warmth, of home, hummed across their connection.
Harry snaked his arms up around Tom’s neck, once again unconsciously smiling into the kiss. In response, Tom took advantage of the opportunity to coax his mouth open and slide his tongue along Harry’s. He gently pulled on the fistful of hair he was still grasping to tip Harry’s head back as his tongue sought more access to his mouth.
From there, the kiss quickly began to deepen. A needy sound escaped from Harry’s throat, which in turn elicited a slight moan from Tom as he kissed him harder, clenching Harry’s robes in his fists and drawing his body closer.
Although Harry wasn’t entirely sure which of them started it, before he knew it they were both tearing at each other’s robes, yanking them down over their shoulders and trying to get them off as quickly as possible as their mouths continued to crush together almost bruisingly…
“W-wait…” Harry gasped breathlessly, breaking himself away for a moment. Something had just occurred to him, and he wanted to get it out before all the blood left his brain in favor of his rapidly hardening cock.
Tom’s usually perfect hair was mussed, his bottom lip red and slightly swollen. Harry was tempted to just dive back in and suck that lip into his mouth, feel the shape of its swollenness with his tongue…but he’d already extricated his mouth from Tom’s, so he might as well say what he was going to say.
“I just thought of something…Is this—erm—is it legal?”
“Is what exactly—”
“I mean…us getting married. Is it legal in wizarding society?”
Tom blinked at him incredulously. “Well, technically no, because I’d be a wanted war criminal and get sentenced to death again if I were known to be alive, but I assume that’s not what you’re referring to…
“Did you—Did you really ask me to marry you without first finding out if it was even possible for two wizards to get married?”
“Er—well, is it?”
“Same-sex marriage hasn’t traditionally been practiced in wizarding culture as the main point of a Pureblood marital union is to produce an heir. However, there have never been any laws specifically prohibiting it, as in Muggle governments…” He trailed off, shaking his head—though the corners of his mouth curled up slightly in amusement. “Honestly, Harry? Did you think about this at all, or did you just impulsively propose to me?”
Harry opened his mouth to answer that maybe he hadn’t exactly thought about it much before he did it, but they’d been together fourteen years already, and they did share a soul and all that, so it wasn’t like he was like he was drunkenly proposing to some random bloke in a pub…
But Tom pressed a finger to Harry’s lips. “Never mind…you don’t need to answer that.” He brushed back the sweat-dampened strands of hair that had stuck to Harry’s forehead and softly kissed his scar again. “Your recklessness is part of your charm, My Love.
“Now. Have you got all your absurd questions out? …I want to worship you properly,” he breathed into Harry’s neck, slipping into Parseltongue. His lips barely grazed the sensitive skin there, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine.
“For now…” Harry smirked. “Carry on.”
And that was it, wasn’t it? For now. It was all there was—all there ever would be.
For now, all was well. And that was more than enough.