Reading Time: 109 Minutes

Title: Only Time
Series: Heart & Soul
Series Order: 3
Author: Keira Marcos
Fandom: Harry Potter
Relationship: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Genre: Romance, Time travel, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fantasy
Warnings: Explicit Sex, Discussion-Murder, Discussion-Child Abuse, Murder, Character Death, Ritual Sacrifice, Bigotry, Grammarly Beta
Author’s Note: This has no beta, no alpha, and I literally couldn’t be fucked to do any of that right now. Your feelings regarding my typos are yours to manage. Do not send me a single message (on any platform in any fashion). If you can’t accept this FREE entertainment gracefully then you can just fuck off.
Word Count: 122,430
Summary: Cast into the past against their will, Harry and Draco are forced to face the enemies they had left behind them. They have no choice but to start over even as war begins in Britain.

* *

Chapter 1

January 29, 2009

Harry left the bed he shared with his mate and walked across the room to stand at the French doors that led to a small balcony. Rain and wind pounded against the shatterproof glass silently. Draco had endured exactly one storm before he’d silenced the whole area. Harry hadn’t much minded the wind or rain sweeping across the glass. His magic shifted in his chest, and he took in a deep, ragged breath as Draco joined him.

“Something wrong?” Draco questioned as he laced his fingers with Harry’s.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “We should put on some clothes. Dress for combat.”

Draco took a deep breath and released his hand. “Should we contact Croaker?”

“We can activate our medallions after we dress, so he’ll get a heads up,” Harry said. “Someone is preparing to entreat Death, and we need to get ahead of anyone else in such a situation. I don’t want Croaker or Raven exposed to that level of death magic if I can avoid it.”

“Who’d be stupid enough to entreat Death?” Draco questioned and walked into the large walk-in closet they shared.

After a few moments, Harry followed. “The Hallows are irritated.” He paused. “Maybe closer to furious. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Draco huffed a little. “That’s no comfort at all, Harry.” He pulled on a dragonhide waistcoat and fastened it with steady fingers, then grabbed the overcoat that was part of their official uniform. “I’ll be in the armory.”

“I’ll be quick,” Harry said as he started to pluck clothes from the section that held his work uniforms.

Everything he picked was either dragonhide or lined with dragonhide. The only thing that was ministry-issued was the heavily charmed overcoat. The DOM didn’t have the budget to outfit all of their field assets in dragonhide, so no one got it. Harry had bought his own and had outfitted Draco similarly as soon as the other man had allowed it. A mated veela was more inclined toward accepting extravagant gifts from their mate, so Harry had leveraged that quirk to protect his partner as much as he could in the field.

He dressed quickly, leaving his waistcoat and coat unfastened as he left their bedroom and headed toward the armory on the second floor of the peel. Draco had already started pulling various instruments from cases and had placed them on the table. Harry grabbed his dueling blades, one of the first aid kits, a rune carving quill, and a collection of small granite stones that could be used to create a ward on the fly, then put the lot in the dimensional store he wore on his wrist. He’d only completed the device a few weeks before and had been pleased to present one to Draco as well.

He opened his personal arsenal cabinet and, after a brief hesitation, grabbed the staff that Ragnok Windrider, the Chieftain of the dverger Horde, had crafted personally for him. It had taken a lot of trial and error to find a combination that would work for him and that the Elder Wand would accept as a companion. He stored it and plucked the holly wand he rarely bothered to carry anymore, which he stored as well. Then grabbed a wand he’d purchased in Bulgaria as well, just in case he needed a wand he could destroy without care. There were several athames to choose from, so he let his fingers drift over each one before picking up the one he’d purchased in South America while on a research trip.

Harry closed the cabinet and turned to watch Draco store the equipment he’d chosen. “Bring an athame.”

“First thing I picked out,” Draco said. “You think this is my father.”

“He’s been at large for over six months, and he’s got to be running low on patience and funds,” Harry said. “Especially since you cleaned out his accounts before the ICW could.”

Draco grinned. “I regret nothing.” He paused. “Not even the snotty arse letter Hiro Ito sent me.”

“It was pretty snotty,” Harry agreed. “I should get some gold from the vault in case we don’t get to come home for a few days.”

“Good idea—especially if we have to chase his vicious arse out of the country,” Draco muttered and frowned as he stored his own staff. He’d only had it for a few weeks, and Harry knew he wasn’t comfortable casting with it.

“Pack a throwaway wand—pick one from the used collection,” Harry said and raised an eyebrow when Draco hesitated. “We may need to do some things that can’t come back on us. Our vow to Avalon won’t allow us to misstep.”

“I know,” Draco said and took a deep breath. “But carrying a disposable wand is the kind of shite my father does.”

“You know it isn’t the same,” Harry pointed out. “I’m more than willing to do the work you can’t stomach, Draco. But I need you to prepare for the worst-case scenario in situations like this.”

“Like that, is it?”

“I don’t know what the fuck could piss off Varda so much that it would resonate in the Hallows,” Harry said flatly. “I’m not sure I want to know, but I’ve got a feeling we don’t have a choice.”

“Right.” Draco frowned, then went to his own cabinet and pulled out another wand.

“You’re already carrying your old wand?” Harry said.

“Yeah, and the custom one,” Draco admitted. “I never let anyone handle the custom wand, and sometimes I go through the main entrance of the ministry if I’m short on time.”

Harry grimaced because he hadn’t used the main entrance in more years than he could remember. Maybe not even since his fifth year at Hogwarts. Still, it was a good policy, so he resolved to keep his holly wand on him for future wand checks. He left the armory and went to his office to retrieve gold from the small vault he had installed in place of the closet that had once been in the room. Once he’d filled and stored a money purse, he meandered into the kitchen to make tea and toast.

Anwen curled around his boot and slid up his body as he leaned on the counter with a cup of tea in hand. She settled around his neck in short order and tucked her head into the collar of his overcoat. Her weight was a deep comfort, and that had come with their familiar bond. She’d yet to make a public appearance, but several in the DOM had met her. Thaddeus Banner gave her a lot of room, which had irritated Harry for a while, but he’d come to realize the man regretted his emotional reactions regarding parselmagic a lot and felt there was no correcting it since he’d harshly rejected more than one parselmouth over the years and it had spread far and wide.

Draco came in and snagged the second piece of toast and the tea that Harry had made for him. “I don’t feel anything in the Malfoy family magic.”

Harry hummed under his breath. They had an ongoing debate as to whether or not Lucius had magically disowned Draco to further hide himself and his activities. The dark marks that father and son shared had long since suppressed the magical connections they should’ve had due to family magic and blood.

“I know what you think,” Draco continued when Harry said nothing.

“It makes sense,” Harry pointed out. “The ICW checked your paternity because they couldn’t use your blood to track Lucius.”

Draco huffed. “I’ve never been so disappointed to pass a test in my life. But I really had no doubts about my paternity since I was conceived in ritual. If he has disowned me, then he’s…destroyed the Malfoy family magic outright since I’m the only heir he’ll ever have for the title. That, to me, more than proves that he’s insane. Lucius was hit with an infertility curse a few years after I was born though he never explained the circumstances to me, and he’d never willingly adopt. He finds that process disgusting. He blamed Alastor Moody for the curse.” Draco paused. “But I think it was my mother.”

Harry grimaced at the implications. Draco rarely ever discussed Lucius with him, and he didn’t press it. “One child ensured she could never get a divorce, so why bother cursing him when she could’ve used a permanent charm on herself without potential legal ramifications?”

“I don’t think my mother wanted children at all, Harry,” Draco said roughly. “But her marriage contract required at least one male child, which is why she insisted on a ritual conception. She wanted to ensure she produced a son and that I would be as magical as possible. As to why she cursed him.” He shrugged. “Because she was, in her own way, just as vicious as he is, and she could.”

Harry brushed his fingers over the medallion that hung just below where Anwen rested and pushed his magic into the mithril. It trembled under his touch as Croaker and Raven woke in response to his gentle prodding. He had nothing to report, so he let the medallion drop and concentrated on his tea. Both men would take the signal for what it was, as he didn’t make a hobby of interrupting either of them in the middle of the night.

Alarm danced along his nerves, and he received a notification from one of the monitoring charms they’d set up months ago. The location information came, and Harry was so appalled that his mouth dropped open in shock.

“The Ring of Brodgar?” Draco demanded with a horrified hiss. “That arrogant, self-important, goddamned twat!”

Harry snagged his partner’s hand, yanked him close so they were chest to chest, drew his staff, and apparated. They landed ten meters from the oldest, most revered magical circle in the entire British Isles. The Ring of Brodgar hadn’t seen the work of a magical person in several thousand years. Harry let go of Draco’s hand as the protective magic of the Unspeakables shrouded them entirely. They both blended into the shadows, and he headed toward the shining ward stone Lucius was using to protect himself.

The older wizard was in the center of the circle, working at a roughly constructed wood altar. He’d clearly transfigured it from materials he’d gathered at the circle itself. It was a smart move, as the land around the Ring of Brodgar was deeply magical. There was a body on the altar; Lucius had planted an athame in the chest of his victim already. Harry took a deep breath as he reviewed the ward stone. It was powerful and hundreds, if not thousands, of years old and dverger-made. Surely stolen because Ragnok had made it known the world over that none of his kind was to work for or with Lucius Malfoy per the request of the ICW. He’d used magic to seal the order so no dverger would’ve survived disobeying him.

“We’re not getting past that,” Draco said as he joined him at the ward stone.

“Well,” Harry said and frowned as he stared at the stone. “Who’s on the altar? Could you get close enough to see?”

Draco took a deep breath. “I….”

Harry focused on him. “Who?”

“It’s Arthur Weasley, Harry.”

“Son of a bitch,” Harry muttered. “I….” He took a deep breath. “He was always as kind as he was allowed to be to me despite everything. Molly made his life a living hell for it, of course. His weakness in the face of her has made it difficult to respect him, but I’d never want this for him.”

“I know. I’m really fucking sorry,” Draco said and leaned briefly against his shoulder. “With the athame is already in place, so there is no extracting him from this ritual alive.”

Harry tightened his grip on the staff and took a deep breath. “This might take a lot out of me. Can you handle what comes next if I’m useless?”

Draco nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to shatter this wardstone,” Harry said and held out his hand for Draco. “Create the strongest shield you can and hold on.”

Draco drew his wand, cast the shield around them both, and gave Harry a firm nod as he focused on his father, who was still so engrossed in his casting that he hadn’t noticed them. “Arrogant bastard.”

“He’s confident, and rightly so, that this wardstone will protect him,” Harry said. “If I were using it—I’d assume I was safe to do as I wanted. The only reason this is going to work is a mixture of my magical power and a dverger-made staff that no one would expect a wizard to own.”

The staff had been constructed by Ragnok using feathers from Anwen and a pristine piece of snakewood. It was one-of-a-kind and profoundly magical. He slammed the pointed iron staff cap straight into the ward stone and sent a blasting curse straight down through the staff. With regret, Harry realized that the staff wasn’t going to survive the spell. He felt it breaking apart, disintegrating in the wake of the push of his magic into the wardstone. The ward shattered, and the staff went with it—the shining emerald wrapped in wand wood at the top burst, and he barely had time to direct the magical discharge straight through the ritual space toward Lucius Malfoy.

The older wizard turned, cast a shield, and managed to deflect the unstructured magic away from him. Draco shot a piercing hex toward his father, and it went straight through the man’s torso. Blood and magic burst out in a wide arc behind Lucius Malfoy, and he stumbled before falling to his knees. Blood bubbled on his lips even as Harry heard the sound of apparition—he counted two, then another, then another. Magic heaved in the circle, and before he realized what was happening, Draco was dragged toward the ritual space. Harry grabbed his mate’s hand, and he was jerked off his feet.

“Croaker!” Harry shouted as Draco was yanked away from him, flung into the air, and slammed into the ground in the center of the circle just a few meters away from the altar and his own father.

“Easy!” Croaker shouted. “Hold on, Leviathan! Raven, check the runes! Run a diagnostic, Capstone! What do you see?”

Harry pushed against the magic with everything he had and drew the Elder Wand. “Varda, Goddess of Death! Help me!” Once, shortly after the Elder Wand had returned to him, he’d promised himself that he’d never treat with Death. But as he fell to his knees too far away from Draco, who was starting to glow with an otherworldly sort of magic, that promise was nothing but ash in his mouth. “Please!” He took in a ragged breath. “Goddamn it!”

The Elder Wand started to glow in his hand, and magic rushed into his body like an ocean. His core flexed, then started to expand. Harry let it come. He’d take everything she had to give if it would allow him to save Draco from whatever ritual his father had done. He fell through the heaving mass of magic that had been keeping him at bay. Harry struggled to his feet and stumbled toward his mate’s still form. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and pointed his wand toward Lucius Malfoy as the older man tried to stand. The same magic that was enveloping Draco was starting to glow on his father’s skin.

Harry glared at him, and Malfoy senior smirked at him, blood smeared across his lips. “Avada Kedavra!”

The curse bolted out of the Elder Wand like a bolt of lightning, glowing white with power and justice. Part of him had always known that if he cast the Killing Curse, it wouldn’t be green. He was an instrument of Death. A living Hallow, the Spectre, and the only magical person in the world who could reunite and use the others. He’d rarely allowed himself to even think it, but he’d known it to be true for years.

The ritual magic fled Lucius Malfoy the moment the curse slammed into him, and the man dropped forward on his face, dead. Harry returned his attention to Draco and dropped to his knees next to him. He stowed the Elder Wand with a flick of his wrist and grabbed Draco’s hand. The light flowing around Draco enveloped him, and a part of Harry relaxed.

He turned to focus on Croaker, who stood just outside the largest and oldest magical circle in their world. All of the Unspeakables that had arrived on the scene were standing with their boss. Harry watched in shock as Croaker lowered his hood—something he never did on the job. The others followed suit.

Draco’s hand grew distinctly cool in his hand, and Harry took in a ragged breath as he brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his mate’s palm. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks as he realized that they were caught up in a ritual that couldn’t be stopped.

“Not without me,” Harry pleaded. “Dragon, do you hear me? Never without me!”

Magic heaved, and something unforgivably hard slammed into his chest, and Draco started screaming. Harry flung himself across Draco’s body, and the weight of the world fell on them. Croaker shouted at him, and the words echoed in his mind as he lost consciousness.

* * * *

Harry had a strange relationship with pain. It had been a companion of sorts his entire life, thanks to the horcrux he’d carried. So, waking up in pain wasn’t a new experience, but not even a Crucio left the kind of pain he was experiencing behind. The last thing he remembered was Croaker’s voice. He took a deep breath as he felt magic shift around him. He was in a medical stasis field of some sort, and the magic didn’t feel familiar at all. His hood was still in place, which was a bit startling as Croaker would and certainly had removed another’s hood during healing when required.

He turned his head and opened his eyes. Immediately, he was met with the hooded form of Croaker. The robes of the Director of the Department of Mysteries were easily recognizable. But something was different about them, his hand twitched, and he drew his wand before he could think better of it. Immediately, he was hit with an immobilization charm that was attached to the infirmary cot. A firm hand wrapped around his wrist, and Harry’s gaze jerked to the person now holding him down on the cot with magic and physical force.

“Fuck me,” Harry muttered as he stared at Armand Deering and took in a deep, ragged breath. “Am I dying? What the fuck are you doing here, Armand?”

Deering raised one eyebrow but released him. “You aren’t dying, but it was a near damn thing. Your partner is stabilized, but the damage done to you both was significant. Put your wand away immediately.”

Harry did as instructed but then focused his attention on Croaker, who was now leaning on the wall. “What happened?”

“You tell us,” Croaker said shortly. “You appeared in the infirmary sixteen hours ago—both suffering core fractures and multiple broken bones. I called in Armand to take care of your injuries because of the circumstances.”

“You know what happened to us—you were there. Is something wrong with Piper? She’s normally all up in my business when I’m injured.” Harry looked around the room. “Where’s Raven?”

“Raven?” Croaker questioned.

Harry’s gut tightened in horror. “The Head Unspeakable.”

“The Head Unspeakable is Anzû,” Croaker said. “And I’ve never seen you before in my life, which is a concern since you’re clearly an avowed Unspeakable.”

“Code name Leviathan,” Harry said hoarsely and prodded his hood, so his face was revealed. “I…what year is it?” He focused on Armand Deering again and noted as he stared that the man looked younger. Alarm practically vibrated in his chest. “Please. Day and year.”

“It’s August 15, 1975,” Armand said.

Harry gagged and the immobilization charm released as he was abruptly turned on his side. He threw up in the bowl he was presented with. Harry curled one hand around the edge of the cot as he was handed a wet cloth. He wiped his face then took the glass of water when it was offered next.

“Patrice,” he blurted out hoarsely. “You have to go—now, Armand.” He grabbed the older man. “Now! This is the day she’s murdered on Diagon Alley.”

Armand jerked free of him and apparated immediately. Harry slumped down on the mattress after drinking some more water. Croaker took the glass from his hand with trembling fingers. He grabbed a chair, dragged it to the cot, and sat down.

“What year are you from?”

“It was…January 29, 2009,” Harry said and took a deep breath as his gaze went to Draco’s still form. “He’s hurt?”

“Worse off than you,” Croaker said shortly. “We’re waiting on a specialist from France. Anzû put you both in stasis when we found you. Armand knows enough healing magic to do field assessments and stabilize as needed. But he can’t manage the healing work on a male veela.” He paused. “You both fucking reek of dark magic, lad. But you’re laying there with your magic intact, so we’ve been waiting to see what you had to say for yourself.”

“We interrupted a dark bastard doing a sacrificial ritual,” Harry said. “I busted open the ward he was using to shield himself, and the ritual…grabbed my partner. I think because the dark bastard in question was his father. He used a piercing charm to subdue his father, but the ritual didn’t stop. It just latched onto him instead. I followed. I couldn’t help myself, Jonah.”

“Of course you did,” Croaker said gently, and his hood dropped between one deep breath and another. “What else could you have possibly done? The man’s your mate.” He took a deep breath. “Did you know it was a time travel ritual?”

“No, but I can’t see how I would’ve reacted differently,” Harry said tiredly. “I couldn’t have let that son of a bitch fucking time travel.” He reached out, but the cots were too far apart. He could barely brush his fingertips against the frame of the cot Draco was in.

“Here, lad.” Croaker stood and carefully moved his cot closer to Draco’s. “What’s his code name?”

“Helios,” Harry murmured and curled his fingers around Draco’s wrist. “We’re soulmates.”

Croaker exhaled noisily. “Well, that’s….”

Harry focused on him. “Is that a problem, sir? You didn’t express any reservations about that in the future.”

“No, I’ve just not had a soulmated pair in the department since I became the director. Such pairs, traditionally, are significant magical assets and end up in the DMLE.”

“Oh, well, by the time we came together, people in Britain were starting to actively disdain soulmate magic,” Harry admitted. “I was encouraged by more than one person to reject my soulmate and seek out a proper pure-blood wife.” He paused. “And Voldemort didn’t win either war, for the record.”

“Either war,” Croaker repeated flatly and sighed. “I have a feeling your debrief is going to be painful for us both.”

Harry nodded. “I’m Harry Potter, by the way. Grandson of Christopher Potter, the current Baron of Gryffindor.”

“Nobleborn, too,” Croaker said dryly. “Lovely.”

Harry shrugged and took a deep breath. “And the Earl of Braemar through my mother—I claimed that title in the future as well.”

Croaker nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Lord Braemar. We may run into issues with the Potter family magic and the title if you’d claimed that magic in the future. Was your grandfather still alive?”

“I was essentially the last of my line,” Harry said. “My father didn’t claim the title before I was born. I’m unsure if it was about the war or about his father’s death. There are no records as to why he took such an action. I do know that Voldemort targeted him and his wife specifically. The title went defunct magically due to perceived rejection by the only viable heir and the drastic diminishing of the Potter family magic. Fortunately, for me, the Braemar title remained active due to a large number of connections to the magic of many families and the damn near yearly bids to claim the title by anyone even remotely related to the Peverell line.”

Croaker hummed under his breath. “Four months ago, the Wizengamot voted to activate member tracking.”

“Member tracking?” Harry questioned.

“Yes, every sitting member is tracked by the magic of the court. They called it a safety measure as Voldemort has started to make some serious and often violent moves. But it stands to reason if your father was a target, then he wouldn’t have risked claiming the barony after your grandfather’s passing. Especially if he felt there were enemies on the Wizengamot that could use the tracking magic to find him and his family.”

Harry considered that. “Forty-six members of the Wizengamot, noble and ancient houses alike, were killed between 1975 and 1981. That tracking magic needs to be locked down or destroyed. It’s a danger to the stability of our government, thus a direct threat to Avalon.”

“Agreed—I’ll see the matter investigated,” Croaker said quietly and stood. “I’d like to move you and your partner into a private suite of rooms. The healer from France will be here within the next six hours. As I said earlier, your partner is stable and in no danger.”

“Draco.” Harry paused. “His name is Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy,” Croaker repeated in shock. “I hired a Malfoy?”

“You recruited him to the DOM before me,” Harry said. “His circumstances are his to discuss, but he’s a light wizard, and the only thing he learned from his father is that being dark and selfish is the road to utter destruction.”

Croaker nodded. “I’ll go take a guest suite out of stasis—we’ll go with the high-security section for your own safety. There’s no going back to where you came from, lad. Even trying would cause you to violate your oaths to Avalon. Your survival was a miracle, and I plan to make the most of it.”

Harry nodded. “One more thing before you go…you were shouting at me when the ritual started to build, and at the time, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense. I think you must have realized what the ritual was.”

“What was I shouting?”

Harry sucked air between his teeth. “I’m to tell you that your brother is a twat and to get your head out of your own arse.” He paused. “Honestly, sir, Minerva McGonagall is worth a hundred of that jerk-off. Take a knee, for fuck’s sake.”

“Are you certain?”

“My secondary code name is Apollo,” Harry said. “Trust me when I tell you that your brother never forgave you and spent a lot of time with the Apollo orb trying to create enemies for you even after his death. I removed over a hundred hours of his work when I cleansed the orb. You should medically retire his useless arse as soon as possible. She deserves better from you.”

Croaker nodded. “As you say, Lord Braemar.”

“How are you circumventing the tracking magic?” Harry questioned just before Croaker opened the door.

“I warded myself decades ago against such things, lad. Not even a post owl can find me without my permission. I’ll be adding that magic to the medallion system within the day.” He paused and frowned. “Speaking of, your medallion is very advanced compared to what we currently have. I’ll want to study it and harvest all of my work on it to implement as much as I can for everyone else.”

“Understood,” Harry said and yawned. “Oh, also, Dumbledore has mentor magic on Minerva McGonagall and, at some point, refused to release or allow her to marry. You should do something about that.”

“Oh, I’ll see that handled,” McGregor said darkly.

He dropped back on the mattress as Croaker left and focused on Draco.

Harry turned on his side, reached out and touched Draco’s medallion. The hood fell away, revealing the pale face of his bondmate. He touched Draco’s cheek hesitantly. Magic glimmered briefly on Draco’s skin in the wake of his fingers, and Harry’s stomach lurched in shock. He sat up and unbuttoned Draco’s cuff. He rolled up the sleeve hesitantly on his mate’s wand arm and stared in shock at the unblemished skin he found. Tears stung his eyes as he touched the skin where the dark mark had stained Draco’s entire magical existence and found it entirely free of any taint.

Harry shuddered and took in a deep, ragged breath as he laced their fingers together. Magic danced on their skin where they touched, and he realized that the soul bond they’d be denied in the future was already blooming between them. He brought their hands to his mouth and pressed his lips against Draco’s wrist as tears streamed down his face.

 

Chapter 2

He’d heard of Castius Arnou but had never met the man. In the future, he’d been Armand’s second in the Glain Neidr but had been out of the country during Harry’s healing process. Armand Deering trusted him without any sort of reserve, which made it easier for Harry as he watched the healer perform one spell after another on Draco. They’d been in the private suite a handful of hours, and he’d used the time to undress and bathe his mate. Draco hated to be dirty, and Harry hadn’t been able to let him linger in such a fashion despite his unconscious state.

“Do I need to call the conclave together?” Armand questioned shortly when Arnou eventually lowered his wand.

“No. He has a core fracture, as you already diagnosed, but it is rapidly healing itself.” Arnou stored his wand away. “Which is not a surprise since he’s magically bonded to an archmagus and will certainly achieve a similar magical rating with his next maturation cycle. I’ve rarely encountered a male veela of his individual power and…purity.”

“He was conceived in a ritual—both of his parents had veela blood,” Harry said. “He’s never practiced any sort of dark art, though dark magic has been done to him against his will.”

Arnou nodded. “I’ll brew the potions they both need to recover and cleanse if you’ll direct me to a well-stocked lab, Armand. What they both need now is rest and as little stress as possible.” He focused on Harry. “Especially you.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Wounded veela mate plus a one-man war is a recipe for an immense amount of destruction,” Arnou said dryly. “I don’t know how the two of you got into this situation, but I hope whoever did it is already dead.”

“Twice over,” Armand Deering said, and Arnou quirked an eyebrow but nodded. “I’ll take him to the lab and return as quickly as possible, Croaker. Anzû is here and currently reviewing all the information we currently have gathered. She’ll be ready for the first of many conversations within the hour.”

Croaker nodded, and Harry allowed himself to be prodded out of the bedroom and into the antechamber of the suite. He sat down at the table and gratefully reached for the teapot. There was a plate of sandwiches front and center.

“Did your daughter, Abigail, make these? I love her cucumber sandwiches.”

“She did,” Croaker said in amusement. “Did you know her well in the future?”

“Well enough to end up holding her hand during the birth of your tenth grandchild a couple of months ago,” Harry said. “Her husband was out of the country on an assignment for the bank, and you were in France. I think I must have been the sixth person on her contact list for emergencies at St. Mungo’s, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone. She cursed me out like I was responsible for her entire situation. Which was unfair because I certainly hadn’t been the one responsible for knocking her up at the age of fifty-four. She just recently got married, right?”

“She’s always been a feisty one, and yes, she was the last of my children to leave home and get married to spite me,” Jonah said fondly. “Ten, huh? I only have one currently. That’s something to look forward to.” He cleared his throat and set a newspaper down on the table. “Congratulations, Lord Braemar, you’ve successfully survived the creation of an alternate timeline.”

Harry winced and opened the paper.

LUCIUS MALFOY DEAD AT TWENTY-ONE! HOUSE OF MALFOY IN SHAMBLES!

He glanced over the article; there was a brief discussion of the attack on Diagon Alley, the arrival of a hooded Unspeakable, and Patrice Delacour’s survival. Beneath that article was a scathing headline regarding the Veela Council’s response to the attempted murder of one of their own. Below the fold was the announcement that the French ministry had offered to send a team of hit wizards to Britain to work with the local authorities to deal with the Death Eater threat.

“The current minister is Harold Minchum, right?” Harry questioned.

“Yes,” Croaker said. “Due to the transitory nature of the position, he’s not been briefed on your circumstances and won’t be.”

“Good,” Harry said and took a deep breath. “Everyone that came after him originally was, frankly, a bag of dicks.” He paused when Croaker blinked in surprise. “A bloody, useless, obnoxious hot mess, essentially. Or someone who exhibits dickish behavior on a felony level.”

The older man grinned. “Right. I adore it. I can’t way to say it in front of Minerva and watch her struggle with whether or not she can give me detention.”

“Have you already talked to her?”

“I talk to the woman all the time, and once or twice a month, she’ll look down that pert nose of hers and give me a word or two in response if it’s work-related,” he admitted. “I’ve written her a letter asking to meet outside the ministry for a conversation. She’ll agree to it because of the war. She’s back at Hogwarts teaching but is contracted with the DMLE and the DOM as a reconnaissance asset. I’d like to swear her in as an Unspeakable, but I’ve never gotten her to agree to it. I even suggested that Dorcas do it and promised her that she wouldn’t have to work directly with me.”

“You’ll have to fire your brother first,” Harry pointed out.

“I ordered him into the infirmary for a full physical,” Croaker said. “He failed it—utterly—as I knew he would. The curse has done enough damage that he can no longer fake it. He’s been retired against his will, and his access to the department has been rescinded. I’ve had four howlers and counting.”

“I hate howlers,” Harry muttered and focused on the paper. “Is Patrice really okay?”

“Not a scratch on her,” Armand said as he reentered the room. “She was furious to have her dress appointment interrupted, however. And Blythe Fernsby is in the midst of suing the Malfoy estate for the damage done to her shop.” He sat down at the table and lowered his hood at the same time. “I cannot begin to thank you for warning me. I couldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t. Mitigating damage done to the timeline should’ve been your first and most pressing concern.”

Harry made a face. “Can I be explicitly honest with you both?”

“Yes.” Croaker unfastened his robe collar and shrugged out of the garment. “I insist.”

“Magical Britain was a complete shite show,” Harry said and twisted his teacup around his hands. “Despite fighting two different blood wars, most people were still living in this delusional state where they felt like if they ignored something awful that it would just go away. The pure-bloods left behind, after Tom Riddle’s last attempt to take us over, were complacent, undereducated by their own desire, and content to let the entire world stagnate around them.”

“Tom Riddle?” Jonah questioned. “He disappeared years ago—most believe he’s dead.”

“Tom Riddle is Voldemort,” Harry said flatly, and McGregor’s mouth dropped open. “And Albus Dumbledore has known this from the very start. I mean, it’s my belief that he actually caused Riddle’s spiral into the dark, but that’s neither here nor there. The old bastard makes a habit of shoving otherwise ordinary dark wizards down a path straight into fucked up.”

“Not a fan of Dumbledore, huh?” Armand questioned. “Rare.”

“He very nearly destroyed me. I loathe the air the man is currently breathing.” Harry snagged some more sandwiches. “I also resent every second he will live until I can find some sort of legal situation where I can kill his corrupt, twisted, dark-hearted arse.”

Armand laughed, and Croaker looked genuinely appalled. “You did tell him he could be explicitly honest with you.”

“It’s not that….” Croaker said. “It’s just my magic didn’t even twitch at the thought of him killing Dumbledore.”

“Which means the man is a direct threat to Avalon,” Armand surmised. “Not really a surprise.” He focused on Harry. “Tell me what you know about Lucius Malfoy’s attempt on my wife’s life.”

“In the other timeline, it was how he earned his dark mark. Why he chose to come back to those circumstances in his life will remain a mystery. It was a turning point for him, maybe he came to regret it, but I doubt it. Draco may have more insight into that, but speaking of his father is never going to be easy for him. Maybe he wanted to position himself differently in Riddle’s ranks. I’m not sure where he was at such a young age.” Harry grimaced. “He was part of the inner circle in the second blood war, which began in 1995.”

The door opened, and an unhooded woman entered. Armand stood and pulled out a chair for her, which she took with a quick smile before focusing on Harry.

“Lord Braemar, I’m glad to see you awake and mobile. I’m Dorcas Meadowes, but you probably know that already.”

“I’m sorry to say that I never had the honor of meeting you, ma’am,” Harry said. “You were killed in 1981.” He paused. “Though you may have held me as a baby because my parents were part of the Order of the Phoenix, and you were a member.”

She shared a look with Croaker.

“Yes, I was recently asked to join the organization, and we’re weighing the pros and cons of me accepting Dumbledore’s invitation,” she said. “My code name is Anzû.”

“If my opinion counts for anything—I’d say no. There are better ways to keep track of that old bastard’s skulduggery,” Harry said.

She hummed under her breath and accepted the cup of tea Croaker had poured for her. “I suspect your opinion on such things will matter a lot for years to come, Lord Braemar.”

“Please, ma’am, call me Harry.” He took a deep breath. “I have a lot of information that you all need, but I need to organize it and speak, at length, with my partner. I can’t make any decisions about our future without him. I can’t say for certain he’ll want to stay in Britain. The war we were thrown into as children was one immense trauma piled on top of another. To face all of that and see it in our future…just the fact that Tom Riddle is alive is so much a nightmare that I can barely stomach to be conscious right now.”

“I see Avalon’s magic on you,” Croaker said shortly. “And I know I told you what the vow meant, Lord Braemar.”

“You did,” Harry agreed. “You also told me that there were Unspeakables who hadn’t stepped foot in Britain in decades who still worked for the department in various roles. I’m not telling you I plan to cut and run. But I am absolutely not going to make any decisions about my participation in this department without Draco.”

Croaker started to speak, but Dorcas put her hand on his arm.

“You said the second war began in 1995,” she prodded gently. “You must have been incredibly young, Harry.”

“Yes, I was fourteen. Tom Riddle used me in a ritual to resurrect himself from a wraith state,” Harry said and took a deep breath when they all three gaped at him. “I can create an orb, so I can share all the relevant information about all of that with you without having to relive it repeatedly in debrief. Frankly, it’ll just put me in a foul mood for months if I have to.”

Armand grunted. “I can see how it would. I’ll prepare an orb if you agree, Anzû.”

“I do,” she said quietly and lifted her hand off Croaker’s arm. “Let’s keep in mind, Jonah, that these two young men have been through a lot and barely survived it. We need to give them some room to breathe and make decisions that they can live with.”

“I guess it’s a lot,” Croaker said roughly.

Harry grinned at him.

“What?” the older wizard demanded.

“It’s just nice to have a bit of normal in all of this. I’m honestly gratified to know that you’ve always been an arsehole.” Harry shrugged when he got glared at for his trouble. “Draco’s going to be so fucking relieved, too, honestly.”

Dorcas laughed. “Tell me, seriously, did he really yell at you across the ritual circle, heaving with dark magic, for you to tell him his brother is a twat?”

“Repeatedly,” Harry said dryly. “Like he hadn’t known it for decades. I mean, come on, the foul bastard cheated on the woman he’d promised to marry. What else could he be?”

* * * *

Harry touched his bare neck; his bond with Anwen felt subdued. She was close by, but he hadn’t been allowed to explore the area at all. If she’d fallen from his body during transport from the main infirmary and into the private chamber he’d woken up in—she might have curled up into a space somewhere in the ministry to recover from the ordeal. He checked on Draco, set a temporary ward around the bed they were sharing so he’d be notified if his mate stirred, and went out into the antechamber. He closed the door and used a wandless charm to put the strongest locking spell on it he could.

The others had left him to his own devices while they worked on a cover story and figuring out the answers to questions made by the ICW regarding a disturbance at the Ring of Brodgar. Harry figured that he and Draco both had landed in that circle in the past then their medallions had transported them to the DOM due to significant injury. He didn’t know how that would shake out, but he had enough magical power to plow through whatever might stand in his way and freedom for them both.

Experience told him he could trust Croaker, but the man was on the precipice of all-out war currently, and that made for vastly different priorities. He opened the exit door and found the hall empty. He glanced down both ways as he oriented himself. He hadn’t spent much time in the secure area of the DOM. After a few moments, a man appeared at the end of the hall and walked toward him. Oddly, he knew the man due to a memory that had been left in the Apollo orb. Such memories were rare in orbs since code names and real identities were treated so securely in the department and the orb system itself. Croaker’s brother had been sloppy near the end of his tenure as an Unspeakable, probably Harry acknowledged, because of his cursed state.

“Diablo,” he said.

The man nodded and inclined his head. “Carter Meyers at your service, Lord Braemar. Is something amiss? Can I order some food for you and your Consort?”

“Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding my arrival here?” Harry questioned.

“Yes, I’ve been briefed. I work in the field as Master Deering’s partner. I’ve been handling your security since your arrival. Croaker planned to introduce us tomorrow.”

“I have a familiar—I feel her, but it’s muted and weird,” Harry explained. “I was wearing her during the event, so I believe she was left behind in the location where I landed.”

“No animal was reported,” Meyers said and motioned him to follow. “Something small and disillusioned.”

“A coatl,” Harry said. “And yes, she’ll be disillusioned. I don’t think she’s injured.”

“The wards in the infirmary are heavy and strict on a normal basis, but we’re currently operating under war wards. The infirmary is an apparition point of sorts for trusted assets, but we have to take special care with the security there in case something unforeseen happens.”

“Understood,” Harry said as they turned a corner. “It’s weird.”

“Familiar and yet, not,” Meyers said. “At least you have your mate; circumstances could be so much worse if you didn’t work together.”

“I’d be an inconsolable mess,” Harry admitted. “We’re soulmates.”

“Congratulations, sir,” Meyers said.

“Harry is fine, please.” Harry took a deep breath as the man opened the door leading into the infirmary. “I was fond of the healer that ran this place—she’s currently at Hogwarts. I think she’s probably a second year.”

Meyers sighed. “Merlin, man, that’s gotta be the fucking limit.”

“Certainly,” Harry agreed as his magic swished gently inside him. “Who handles this place now?”

“Elizabeth Prewitt, but she’s currently off-duty. She is on call if you need assistance, though.”

“Master Deering handled everything and brought in a specialist for my partner,” Harry said. “Oddly, when I met him, Armand was a healer. He earned his mastery in the art in the early 1980s.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s mentioned further study more than once. I told him if I were his age, I would be retired on a tropical island. He’s got a gorgeous spouse and two young children to raise—seems like work should be the last thing on the agenda when he has gold to spare.” He paused. “Have you met his nephews?”

“As adults, yes, they were every single inch the men you’d expect them to be—being raised by Armand as they were.”

Meyers grinned. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Harry crossed the room and knelt beside a cot. His hand collided with Anwen’s coiled form as soon as he slid it along the floor.

“Is she injured?” Meyers questioned.

“Magically exhausted,” Harry murmured as he pushed against her gently with his magic, and her disillusionment charm faded.

“Wow,” Meyers said and huffed a little. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

“Neither have I,” Harry said. “Moreover, I think…well, now there are two of her. I’m going to go look, certainly. She’s too valuable to leave where she is, and I can’t be certain the two of them aren’t sharing memories due to the structure of the time travel ritual. My partner doesn’t have a familiar…so that’s probably the safest option if there is another version of her.”

“The time travel might have killed the other,” Meyers speculated. “But I agree—it’s not something you can leave to chance. Voldemort is a parselmouth.”

“No, he isn’t,” Harry said shortly. “He used a beast speaking ritual to gain the ability to speak to snakes.”

“Ah, that explains the deformity that people are reporting,” Meyers murmured. “We should work to correct that rumor, as it’s already done a lot to taint the reputation of parselcraft.”

Harry nodded and gently rubbed Anwen’s head. “Thank you for escorting me here.” He paused. “Can you tell me if I’m a prisoner?”

“You are not a prisoner,” Carter said. “Croaker would never offer one of his own such a disrespect for no reason at all. It was clear from every single scan on you, your partner, and the Ring of Brodgar that you were both unwilling participants in the event. We believe it best that you both remain here until we can figure out how to manipulate the circumstances to allow you both to move freely without drawing any undue attention.”

“I agree, but I had to ask,” Harry said. “I should return to my partner. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

Once he returned to the suite, Harry pulled a shallow drawer from the empty dresser and used a blanket to create a nest for Anwen. He’d asked Meyers to let Armand Deering know he’d like a visit for him regarding his familiar. Everything felt normal, despite her deep sleep, but he needed to know for certain. He shed his robe and took a seat at the small table tucked in the corner of the bedroom. Healer Arnou had assured him that Draco would wake once the core fracture was healed, but the wait was difficult on a magical level.

Harry pulled his journal from his dimensional store, drew out a self-inking quill as well, and wrote an entry regarding the ritual, the time travel, and what he’d learned since he’d woken up. It wasn’t much of anything, and that was disconcerting. Fortunately, the Apollo orb had given him a lot of context when it came to events that took place in the late ‘70s. Through the absorption of various orbs since joining the DOM, he had a comprehensive education in history. But, he wasn’t comfortable at all and maybe wouldn’t achieve that state until Draco had woken up.

He made a list of memories he wanted to put in the orb about Tom Riddle, starting with the first time the arsehole had tried to kill him. Then he made a list of memories regarding Dumbledore to add to it. They were linked in a profound way, and there was no need to ignore that fact. One thing he was uncertain of was the amount of intelligence the DOM had gathered regarding the Death Eater threat. Since he wasn’t sure if they even had an accurate list of marked people, he retrieved a piece of parchment from his bracelet and started making that list. Draco would be able to add more to it as he’d done a very thorough study of Tom Riddle’s entire campaign from start to finish.

“Harry.”

He stood immediately and walked across the room to where Draco was slowly turning onto his side. Harry sat down on the bed as Draco reached out and took his mate’s hand.

“There you are,” Harry murmured and pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s hand. “We’re in a bit of a mess, love.”

Draco blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. “Why do I feel different?”

“A few reasons come to mind,” Harry said dryly. “First, your father was trying to time travel. The ritual forced you to do it on his behalf when I killed him. I came along for the ride. Second, you’re no longer marked.”

Draco sat straight up, pulled his hand from Harry’s, and stared at his arm in shock. He touched the unblemished skin with trembling fingers. “I don’t understand.”

“Me either.” He took a deep breath. “Also, you went full-throttle veela on me. You’re glowing like a star right now.”

“Our soul bond….” Draco trailed off, moved closer, and grabbed his hand again. “Harry.”

“I didn’t intend on it happening, but it just sort of bloomed between us. I’m sorry that you slept through it.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” Draco questioned quietly as he stared at their hands.

“We landed sometime on the fourteenth of August 1975. I woke up the next day. It’s the seventeenth as of a few hours ago,” Harry explained. “Croaker brought Castius Arnou in to handle your healing, so I suspect you’ll meet him within the next few hours. You had a deep core fracture, and he said you’d wake up when it was healed. I didn’t tell them you had the dark mark at one time. I know it was a source of shame for you, and I wasn’t sure who you’d want to know now.”

“Certainly, only on a need-to-know basis,” Draco murmured. “Who’s the current Head Unspeakable?”

“Dorcas Meadowes, code name Anzû,” Harry said quietly and winced when Draco blanched. “Yeah, it was hard to look at her. I’ve already tried to dissuade her from joining the Order of the Phoenix, which was apparently on the table as an information-gathering option.” He trailed his fingers down Draco’s bare arm. “Why do you think it’s gone?”

“I heard my parents once talking about Voldemort’s husband and how he was killed in the spring of 1979. If it was a magical marriage, there’s no way a betrothal bond could’ve survived. Magical marriages don’t allow for a third unless it’s a true triad relationship.” Draco leaned in and pressed his face against Harry’s neck. “What the hell are we going to do, Harry?”

Harry cupped Draco’s head and took a deep breath against his hair. “Survive long enough to live the life we want.” He cleared his throat. “I should ask for Healer Arnou. He’ll want to perform some scans to see how you’re healing, and you’ll need a cleansing potion. He wanted to wait until you were conscious for that work.”

Draco shifted closer until he was practically in Harry’s lap. “I…” He shuddered. “Did you…I heard…did you treat with Varda?”

“I asked for her help,” Harry said quietly. “Begged for it, demanded it…there were no terms presented that I could discern. But I can’t imagine what she could’ve asked for that I wouldn’t have agreed to do in that moment. It doesn’t really matter, you know. I am subject to her rule regardless of what I may or may not agree to do.” He paused. “I killed your father.”

“I heard you cast,” Draco said quietly. “I won’t lecture you about that choice, Harry, but there’s no going back from that decision. Casting the Killing Curse woke the rest of the death magic in your core.” He took a deep breath as he sat back. “How does it feel?”

“To be the Spectre?” Harry questioned and sighed when Draco nodded. “Normal, love. And familiar. I’m on the fence about telling anyone about the Hallows. Thoughts?”

“It made some uncomfortable,” Draco said. “Not Croaker, but certainly Banner. He certainly worked hard to overcome it, and he didn’t mistrust you completely because of it, but maybe things would be easier if there were just some things that only Croaker knew. I think that’s probably his call if he has the information. Your magical circumstances are his business, to a certain degree, but there’s nothing in the scope of our actual jobs that has anything to do with you being the Master of Death.” He tilted his head. “Why am I naked?”

“I gave you a bath,” Harry said in amusement. “I assumed you’d be furious to wake up filthy, and you sleep better naked, so I just left you that way.” He cupped Draco’s face and rubbed his thumb across his mate’s bottom lip. “No one touched you but me.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different if you were conscious and could prevent it,” Draco murmured.

“They didn’t even try to lower our hoods,” Harry said. “Croaker was clearly put off by our arrival, but I think he’s adjusted as much as we can expect him to. It helps that the magic on our medallions makes lying to him impossible. And he certainly trusts his magic more than he trusts anyone else or anything, for that matter.”

Draco hummed and frowned. “Did he yell at you about his brother being a twat, or did I imagine that?”

Harry grinned and nodded. “Message already delivered.” He sat back a little and released him. “Let’s call for Arnou.”

“Yeah, okay, then we need to assess what resources we can gain access to in the past.”

“Oh, that sort of reminds me…Lucius is dead again. Armand punched a hole the size of a man’s head straight through his chest in the middle of Diagon Alley. The article in the Prophet said that nearly twenty people showed up at St. Mungo’s for mind healing due to the trauma of witnessing it.”

Draco made a face. “I can’t say I’m upset to have missed that. So, we’ve officially, without a single doubt, created an alternate timeline. That’s…an international brouhaha waiting to happen. We need to get ahead of the whole situation as soon as possible and start making decisions before they’re made for us.” He wet his lips. “And I’m starving.”

“Food and a healer coming up,” Harry said and pressed a soft kiss against Draco’s mouth. “I can’t comprehend how much we’ve lost, love, but at least we have each other.”

“At the end of any single fucking day, Harry, you’re all that I need,” Draco confessed.

 

Chapter 3

Castius Arnou had returned to the DOM with a small leather satchel full of essentials for them both. Harry noted that Croaker was a bit chagrinned by the exchange as he apparently hadn’t realized they had little to nothing to their names. Harry had taken the clothes and toiletries to Draco and left his mate to set himself to rights before carefully picking up Anwen, who was still sleeping. Despite her unconscious state, she coiled gently around his wrist and arm as he exited the bedroom.

“Meyers reported that we’d left your familiar behind in the main infirmary,” Croaker said as he eyed the coatl. “How is she?”

“Her magic appears to be restored, but she’s still sleeping.”’

“May I?” Armand questioned and held out his hands for her.

Harry gamely uncoiled the snake and put her in Armand’s hands. Arnou drew his wand and performed a diagnostic spell. Both men frowned at the results.

“Is she injured in a way I can’t feel?” Harry questioned.

“Do you know where the other version of her is?” Armand questioned.

“Yes, she’s in a stasis box,” Harry said. He wasn’t going to tell either man where, as he fully intended to retrieve her and didn’t want to risk her bonding with anyone else before she was introduced to Draco.

“Ah, well, that explains it,” Armand said as he coiled her carefully and put her on the table as they all sat down. “Time travel has created a twinning of sorts. What do you know about like magical objects?”

Harry considered the Hallows and frowned a little as the bedroom door opened and Draco exited. His partner had figured out how to use their bond to dampen his allure, so he was no longer outright glowing with veela magic. He still looked like a fallen star as there was a delicate glimmer of magic on his skin that nothing could dampen or hide. He quickly introduced everyone, and Draco sat down at the table. Barely seconds passed before he reached for the teapot.

“We have food coming,” Croaker said. “Anzû insisted on retrieving it personally to avoid any security issues. She never trusts me to get food unless my daughter is available to make it for me.”

“Well, you earned that,” Armand muttered. “The last time we trusted you with that, you came back with snacks from a Muggle store.” He focused on Draco. “It’s good to see you up and about, Consort Braemar.”

Draco blinked at the title, glanced at Harry, and cleared his throat. “Please call me Draco, Master Deering. As to like magical objects, we both know quite a bit about that subject for a variety of reasons. Is it your belief that Anwen’s unconscious state is related to the stasis field currently surrounding the other version of her?”

“In theory, they’ve effectively become mirrors of one another,” Armand said. “If this is true, they could share memories and magic—that’s the nature of twin magical creatures. We’ve precious little data on successful time travel, as anyone who has accomplished it would certainly keep it to themselves. I’ve never heard of anyone surviving a physical displacement during a soul regression ritual like the two of you did. Though it was not your intention, you’ve defied the will of Fate.”

“The interesting thing about Fate is that ultimately even she must allow for free will,” Draco pointed out, and Armand raised an eyebrow. “You can ignore your so-called destiny, disdain it, rail against it, and even defeat it given room and magical power. Sure, you’ll pay a price for that in some fashion or another, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Interesting opinion coming from a man with not one, but two profound magical bonds,” Castius said.

“And I could’ve rejected them both,” Draco said. “Not even a soulmate is forced upon you.” He focused on his tea. “How severe was my core fracture?”

“So severe it should’ve killed you,” Castius said. “The fact that it didn’t is yet another unique and borderline unbelievable circumstance.”

Draco nodded and focused on Harry. “Thoughts?”

“You know it’s your call,” Harry said. “Our situation is contained, and no one in this room can share the details with the public at large.”

Draco nodded. “When I was sixteen, my parents allowed Voldemort to force the dark mark on me.” Armand Deering paled. “When they couldn’t force me into a contract marriage, they chose to embed a betrothal bond in that mark. It entrenched itself in my core. I remained bound to him in that fashion even years after his death. I can only assume they would’ve eventually forced me to reject my soulmate. If Voldemort had known that I was Harry’s soulmate, he would’ve certainly worked even harder to kill him.

“At the time, I had no idea why there wasn’t a simple contract put into place. A few years after the war, I visited the Book of Souls and realized that my parents couldn’t have signed a marriage contract, no matter the terms, because of the magic Avalon has attached to that process.” Draco took a deep breath. “The only bond we had before time travel was the mating bond. We were able to create it due to my veela genetics, which were subdued.” He waved a hand at himself. “I had none of this going on before we were tossed arse over tea kettle through time.”

“It sounds like a nightmare,” Armand said and frowned at Harry. “I know you’re a parselmouth, lad. Why did you leave that fucking thing on your mate? I’ve removed two dark marks in the last year alone—so don’t tell me it can’t be done.”

“I successfully removed the dark mark half a dozen times after the war for our peers that were forced to take the mark by their parents. I refused to do it for their parents because I felt they deserved to linger with the stain of their actions for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t remove Draco’s. I tried more than once, and the last time nearly killed him.”

“Because it was entwined with the betrothal bond and saw the removal as attempted infidelity,” Armand surmised. “Was I consulted?”

“Several times,” Draco interjected, and Harry accepted the deflection for what it was. After they’d achieved their mate bond, Draco had developed a quirk where he really didn’t like anyone finding fault with Harry or his actions. “You told him that if he tried again, he’d probably kill me. The dark mark saw him as an intruder and, frankly, as a rival. The betrothal bond was intrusive and obsessional. Voldemort told me that I reminded him of someone else. Once, he even speculated that I was his lost love reincarnated.”

“That’s disgusting,” Armand muttered. “I regret killing the son of a bitch who fathered you so quickly.”

“Yeah, agreed, it’s going to haunt me,” Harry admitted, then focused on Croaker. “Going forward, we’d like more input on who is told about our time travel. I realize you need to build a team to help us adjust and heal, but it’s disconcerting not having any sort of control over the information.”

Croaker stared for a moment, then nodded. “Everyone in this room, Anzû, and Diablo have been briefed with the minimal amount of information regarding your forced time travel. We need to make decisions regarding the connections you both have to various family magics. The most overt being the house of Potter, which is evident in the scans Arnou has taken of Harry’s core.” He focused on Draco. “But you’re the only Malfoy left in Britain, it seems. I don’t recommend you keep the name or anything associated with it.”

“No, I’d prefer not,” Draco agreed. “There are a few distant cousins in France. I doubt they’ll have any luck claiming the family vault, as the first thing Lucius did upon the death of his own father was to put a blood seal on it. The details of this are known to no one due to the fact that he bribed his account manager to ignore his activities. While the account manager might know there is a blood seal, he won’t know how it is keyed. I should be able to enter it. I doubt I’ll be able to enter the Malfoy estate itself, as my ancestors never depended on blood or familial magic for security. If I can enter the vault, I plan to clean it out. We’ll have to break into the estate at some point.”

“Is your mother already contracted to marry him?” Harry questioned.

“No, her parents refused to consider his suit until more than a year after he was marked. He had to prove himself to them,” Draco said sourly. “Which means she hasn’t been to the Book of Souls and hasn’t rejected her actual soulmate as yet. I’d like to work to ensure that she doesn’t have to take such a drastic measure.” He focused on Armand. “How has Voldemort responded to your actions?”

“I have a bounty on my actual head,” Armand declared, overtly pleased by the prospect. “I took out two arseholes last night when they crossed my outer ward boundary like they owned the place. The fact that they didn’t even realize the outer ward was a trap…shouldn’t have been that amusing. The DMLE didn’t like the early morning call out to take care of the mess I made.”

“Voldemort likes to scrape the bottom of the barrel,” Harry said. “He doesn’t want anyone to stand equal to him—probably not even the man he’s married to.” He focused on Draco. “Do you know who that is?”

“Balthazar Rosier,” Draco said. “I don’t know anything about him beyond that he died sometime in 1979.”

“He’s beautiful,” Arnou interjected. “Dark as fuck, prone to cruelty for his own amusement, and moves in the most exclusive peer groups in Britain and France. He has a lot of gold at his disposal, fashions himself as a businessman, and appears to play the field quite a bit.”

“I wouldn’t have suspected him of being a Death Eater,” Croaker admitted roughly. “Dark wizard certainly, but he’s not known to be a blood purist. He financially backed the current minister’s campaign and favors contributing to the op-ed section of the Daily Prophet.”

“How do we go about muting my connection to the Potter family?” Harry questioned.

“I’d prefer to have a wider set of options to offer you on that front,” Croaker said roughly. “Which means briefing the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW.” He paused when Harry grimaced. “We don’t have a choice, really, because they’ve sent an asset to the Ring of Brodgar to investigate the situation there. We couldn’t keep them out. The best we could do was remove your magical signatures from the scene before their arrival.”

“The current Supreme Mugwump is Louis Bertrand, right?” Harry questioned and paused briefly when Croaker nodded. “He left the ICW, and Albus Dumbledore eventually took his place. It was a catastrophic development for the body, and over time he essentially neutered the organization. Eventually, the policies he put in place impacted the effectiveness of the World Court of Magic. I’m incredibly biased against Dumbledore because he was the author of every single tragedy in my life. He got my parents killed, knowingly placed me in an abusive situation, and kept me as ignorant as he possibly could regarding my own heritage. Eventually, he led me straight down the path to suicide. He would say I made a sacrifice for the greater good. He was dead at that point, but I could tell his portrait was horrified by my survival.”

“If you’d explain those circumstances, I’d appreciate it,” Croaker said roughly.

“It’s separate from the time travel,” Harry said and paused. “It might have bearing on our survival. It’s information you had in the future. The Head Unspeakable knew as well, but he was uncomfortable with it. I’d rather not share it at this point. It’s a personal magical situation that has no bearing on the work an Unspeakable does.” He could tell by the tilt of McGregor’s head and the narrowing of the older man’s eyes that he didn’t like to be told no. “I need some room, Jonah.”

“It’s clear you know me well enough to realize that I find that answer deeply frustrating,” Croaker said. “But you’re right to ask for privacy on any matter of your choice as long as it does not endanger Avalon.” He waved a hand. “And it clearly doesn’t, or you’d be compelled to disclose.”

“How will the ICW respond?” Draco questioned

“Bertrand is the practical sort,” Armand said. “I suspect once he’s confirmed that it was forced upon you and that the real threat has been neutralized, he’ll agree that precious few people should be briefed about your genuine circumstances. Anzû has already suggested to me that we include the Chieftain of the Horde in the matter, as he will be instrumental in helping us create realistic backgrounds for you both. He’ll need to know who you both really are to allow you to claim whatever heritage you can keep as you move forward to create a life for yourselves.”

The very idea of it all was overwhelming, but he nodded because he couldn’t figure out how they’d accomplish it on their own. “Ragnok is pragmatic and, in the right circumstances, can be a powerful ally. I’m not opposed to his inclusion, but at this point, I’d like the whole situation put under a privacy seal and made an official secret.” He paused. “On an international level.”

“That will be Bertrand’s decision, but I don’t disagree,” Croaked said. “I especially wouldn’t want anyone who comes after him to be told anything about your situation. Clearly, the body can’t be trusted to appoint appropriate leaders.”

“Well, it won’t be Dumbledore,” Draco pointed out reasonably. “Because we’re going to kill that corrupt motherfucker at the first opportunity.” He smiled as Croaker stared at him pointedly. “It’s for the greater good.”

* * * *

“I have about a thousand galleons in my bracelet,” Harry said as he watched Draco sort through the clothing that Arnou had brought them. The man had excellent taste and figured Draco wouldn’t find fault with any of it.

“I have a bit less than that,” Draco said absently. “But I’ll do my level best to clean out the Malfoy vaults, which should set us to rights and allow us to purchase the peel. It’s nowhere near the Potter money, though, so we’re going to have a bit of a lifestyle adjustment.”

“The bulk of my wealth came from the Peverell vault, Draco.”

Draco frowned at that. “But the Potters had a lot of money, Harry.”

“By the time I gained access to those vaults, the only gold I had from the Potter estate was in my trust vault. It was the only vault frozen and available only for my use, you see. Dumbledore pilfered all of Potter account for his so-called war effort. By the time the theft was evident, the money had been moved entirely out of the bank. He bribed my grandfather’s account manager to avoid detection. Of course, that dverger was killed by Ragnok for his lack of ethics, but the money was lost. Dumbledore left no assets behind, as he’d planned his death and distributed his own money and property out to various members of the Order of the Phoenix beforehand.

“And I put everything in the Black estate into trust for Teddy Lupin. It was the least of what the house of Black owed him. I let people assume that my money was from the Black and Potter vaults to further hide the Peverell claiming.” Harry shed the overcoat and stored it in his bracelet. “I’ll take the robe for appearance’s sake, but I’d prefer to keep my armor on for the time being.”

“I thought the same,” Draco admitted. “The suits are nice, of course, and we’ll want to arrange payment. They probably cost at least a thousand galleons each, which isn’t a surprise considering the source. Arnou probably hasn’t worn anything but bespoke in over 500 years. Will you tell Croaker about the Hallows?”

“If it suits our purposes,” Harry agreed. “Right now, it’s an unnecessary complication, and we have enough going on that it would probably be more of a distraction than anything else. There’s nothing to manage there, you know. I am what I am. I’m more now because of what I did, but I don’t regret using the Killing Curse. It was the only way to be certain that his participation in the ritual would end. Knowing what we know now, it was the best possible decision I could’ve made.” He checked his watch. “We have several hours until the portkey. They’ve asked me to create an orb on the matter of Tom Riddle. So, I’d like your input on that.”

“That’s gonna traumatize the fuck out of people,” Draco muttered and rubbed the back of his head. “So, I can suppress the allure easily enough. Being bonded makes that a non-issue, but I’m gonna keep glimmer unless I’m hooded or under a glamour. I guess I could design a glamour that is basically my appearance without the shine factor.”

“That would be magically expensive to maintain,” Harry pointed out with a frown. “I might able to put a notice-me-not rune on your dimensional store geared toward making people ignore the glimmer if it bothers you. It’s not overt, with your allure subdued. It’s just obvious that you’re a veela.”

“It doesn’t bother me at all, but it might start to bother you. I’m not ashamed of my magical circumstances, Harry. I told you ages ago that I figured I’d get the full package if my heritage wasn’t being subdued by the dark mark.”

“Do you think he did it on purpose?” Harry asked curiously. “To make you more like the husband he lost.”

“The dark mark subjugates the magic of his followers by design,” Draco said. “He cannot tolerate anyone being more powerful than him. His spouse would not be an exception, no matter how much he thought he loved them.” He grimaced. “I don’t think he’s capable of love if I’m honest. He saw no value in anything or anyone. By the end, he didn’t seek victory but outright destruction. Ultimately, that’s what any man like Riddle wants.” He paused. “I didn’t think to ask earlier, but have you told them who Voldemort is?”

“I gave Croaker and Anzû his name. Croaker knew of Riddle and believed him dead,” Harry said. “I also told them both that Dumbledore has always known exactly who Voldemort is. To say that they were furious would be an understatement.” Harry paused. “Before the portkey, we need to run a few diagnostics of our own. It’s not that I don’t trust Arnou, he has an impeccable reputation, and Armand trusts him with everything, which tells me all I need to know about the man.”

“I get it,” Draco said. “And I feel the same. Also, since when is a 1,000 galleons lunch money?”

“That was manhunt money,” Harry said in amusement. “I know better than try to make you live in a shack in Bulgaria again, Dragon.” Draco blushed. “My magical claim on the Peverell title followed me, as you know. I haven’t decided if I want it to be known to the public.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to speak with you about it because it’s immense political power, and if I acknowledge it—here and now—without all of the crap that Dumbledore piled on me, it will create very different circumstances for us.” Harry shrugged. “So, we need to know what that means for me without the unreasonable fame I had in the future and what sort of power games we can play here in Britain to subdue the Death Eater threat. If that’s what you want. If you’d prefer we leave, then….”

“Harry,” Draco took a deep breath. “Love, we can’t…. I would imagine a prophecy was harvested about you and Tom Riddle within hours of our arrival.”

Harry braced one hand on the back of the chair near him and took in a shuddery breath. “Come on, no. I’ve already done that once!”

“Yes, you were born to do it, and now that arsehole is flitting around—terrorizing everyone with his crazy. I can deny, argue with, and outright ignore Fate all I fucking want because I’m not…you. You’re the Master of Death, Harry. What is your duty to magic?”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I am Death’s hand on this world, and when I’m set upon it—I am given a true purpose.” He rubbed his chest with his free hand and cleared his throat. “It would be childish to say it isn’t fair.”

“Well, it’s not fucking fair at all,” Draco retorted. “But neither Fate nor Death have ever been fair to you. Perhaps you’ll find grace and acceptance only in the embrace of Lady Magic herself. Hekate clearly favors you.”

Harry made a face. “I’m going to cut Tom Riddle’s head off. Now I have to figure out where all of his fucking horcruxes are and how many he might have made already. This is the goddamned worst day of my entire fucking eternity.” He threw himself into the chair and frowned at the carpet. “That I remember.”

“What a clarification to make,” Draco said with a sigh and sat down across from him. “The worst part of all of this is that within a week or so, we’ll be folded into the Department of Mysteries again, and I won’t have…. Pansy’s gone, Harry. Even when she’s born again, if she’s born again—she’ll never be the friend I lost.”

Harry blinked back unexpected tears because he hadn’t allowed himself to think about Hermione at all since he’d woken up. “Hermione is due in three months. I’ll never hold the baby. I promised her I wouldn’t try to be a parent because that was the agreement when I said yes to donating to their baby cause. But I was looking forward to holding my daughter, Draco. Now, I will never do that. She won’t ever exist in this timeline at all. I’ll be nothing but a name to her in that timeline—just like James Potter was for me.” He rubbed his eyes and took in a ragged breath when Draco left his own chair and slid onto his lap. “Shite. Sorry.”

“Oh, love, don’t you dare apologize to me,” Draco murmured against his hair. “All we have left from that life is each other.”

“It’s enough,” Harry insisted. “More than enough.”

“Agreed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t mourn who and what we’ve lost because of my father’s obscene and selfish actions. We can take comfort that those we left behind are alive and living the lives they want to have, but in many ways, they are all dead to us on an emotional level.”

Harry pulled him close, curled his fingers into the fancy silk pajamas that Arnou had brought, and closed his eyes. “I’m going to go whole-arse hit wizard on these motherfuckers.”

Draco laughed, clearly delighted, and Harry huffed like he was offended. It was hard, however, to be anything but pleased as he listened to his mate laugh.

* * * *

Harry had visited the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards a handful of times. It was an impressive facility—far more modern than anything on offer in British magical society. He’d been overwhelmed the first time for several reasons, chief among them, he’d been called before the body to discuss the defeat of Tom Riddle. He’d done a lot during that conversation to keep the secrets that Hermione had deemed far too reckless to share. The end result was that he’d worn himself out manipulating the witness chair and truth potions he’d been dosed with. As far as he was concerned, the world at large didn’t need to be reminded that horcruxes were a thing. That was even more important in the past.

Their portkey had deposited the five of them in a private room meant for international arrivals of some importance. He was relieved that it was more about Croaker and his position in Britain than anything to do with him. There was some comfort in the ordinary, and part of him wanted to remain in the shadows for the rest of his life. But he knew that the war wouldn’t allow for that, and he was beginning to think he needed to be public about the Peverell title merely for the political power it would give him.

Shortly, they were escorted from the room and led into a large conference room that he had vague memories of, though he couldn’t remember the context. It might have been used for a waiting area for one of the trials he’d had to testify in during the course of his work for the DMLE in Britain. Louis Bertrand was standing by the fireplace, several decades younger. He looked more excited than concerned, which was a relief as Harry knew the older man had gotten a brief summary of their circumstances over a floo call just an hour before their portkey took them from Britain.

“Ah, Jonah, you always bring me the most interesting people to meet,” Bertrand said with a cheerful smile. He held out a hand to Harry. “Lord Braemar, it’s an honor. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your ordeal enough to come to Italy.” He focused on Draco, and Harry watched a brief flutter of attraction drift over Bertrand’s face before mental shielding appeared to slide into place. “Consort Peverell, what a pleasure.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “My apologies, Master Bertrand, I’m endeavoring to dampen the impact of my allure. It’s a new development for me.”

“You’re doing very well,” Bertrand said gently and released his hand with a smile. “You also just happen to be utterly beautiful.” He motioned them toward the table. “We’re waiting on Ragnok Windrider and his solicitor.”

“Why is the chieftain bringing a lawyer, sir?” Harry questioned.

“Ah, to keep us all in the good when it comes to international law. We wouldn’t want to inadvertently void a treaty. Time travel rituals are illegal, of course, but neither of you is to blame for what was done to you. I’ve read the reports on that subject, and I can only be grateful that the two of you acted so quickly on behalf of us all and Hekate, herself. The last thing we need is a Death Eater running about with future knowledge.”

“Well, we can at least all agree on that.”

Harry turned and found Ragnok standing in the doorway in front of the shimmering security ward that they’d walked through upon arrival. He wondered what sort of reporting Bertrand was getting from it. The dverger chieftain focused on him, eyes narrowing then he frowned.

“I’m told you destroyed a staff I made with my very own hand during the event that led to you being tossed through time like a sack of laundry, Lord Braemar.”

Harry nodded. “It was a beauty—but it helped me bust a dverger-made ward stone. It was a double tragedy because the stone was a work of art in its own right.”

Ragnok nodded and inclined his head to his left. “My son-in-law, Tyr Warhide.”

Warhide glanced him over in frank inspection and clearly found him lacking, which amused Harry. Tyr Warhide was notoriously difficult to impress. “My father-in-law has never been inclined to make me a staff.”

“Well, in his defense, you’re the one that gave him nothing but grandsons when he specifically asked for a granddaughter,” Harry retorted, and Warhide grinned. “With wings.”

“How many grandsons?” Ragnok questioned and shot his son-in-law a dirty look.

“Four and counting when last I met your son, Razel,” Harry said and sat down in the chair he was directed to by Bertrand.

“Is there a person in this room that you didn’t know in the future?” Bertrand asked in a mild tone.

“Just one, and she died when I was a toddler,” Harry said. “I might have met her, but I don’t have any memories of it.” He glanced toward Dorcas, who just offered him a quick smile. “Does that concern you?”

“You cultivated relationships with people in positions of power,” Ragnok said easily. “It would be a concern to anyone, Lord Braemar.”

“Please call me Harry, sir,” Harry said and took a deep breath as Draco’s hand settled on his thigh. “I don’t know how to answer that without sounding like an arrogant bastard.”

Tyr laughed.

“What my lord means is that each of you sought him out,” Draco said evenly and shot Harry a look. “He was famous before he could speak a full sentence for surviving the Killing Curse at Voldemort’s hand. They called him the Boy-Who-Lived and created a mythos around him that no human being could live up to for good or bad. Voldemort continued to try to kill him repeatedly—the second time when he was eleven, then again when he was fourteen. Then, he briefly succeeded when Harry was seventeen.”

“Well, a ghost version of him tried when I was twelve,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, right,” Draco said huffily. “Regardless, Harry was known the world over for having survived the Killing Curse at fifteen months old. When it was revealed that he was prophesied to defeat Voldemort, the people of Britain turned to him for salvation despite the fact that he was only fifteen years old. Dumbledore groomed him, misled him, and eventually shoved him right into the path of a second Killing Curse at the age of seventeen through emotional manipulation. When he survived that one, too, and defeated Voldemort on the same day…his fame took on a life of its own.”

“You’ve survived two Killing Curses?” Armand demanded. “You didn’t say a fucking word about that, lad!”

Harry considered that and shrugged. “Honestly, I kind of forgot. I mean…it’s not exactly extraordinary in my experience, you see. And I’ve taken six, though the general public only ever knew about the two. There came a point when I worked in the DMLE that every single dark wizard I came across took a crack at it—four actually accomplished the spell and hit me with it. The last time didn’t even make me stumble.” He glanced toward the door. “Is this room secure?”

“The security is moderate,” Ragnok said roughly. “No one could penetrate it with listening charms without one or more of us noticing. My magic tells me that there are seven magical signatures in this room and an eighth in stasis. Based on reports I’ve read, your familiar is still slumbering.”

Harry touched Anwen, where she was entwined with the dimensional store on his wrist. “Yes, did you wish to see her?”

“You can introduce me when she wakes,” Ragnok said. “Do you require more security to answer our questions?” He shared a look with Bertrand.

“I need as much security as can be provided in the circumstances, and I’d like the whole conversation put under a seal,” Harry said. “A seal that won’t expire in my lifetime.” He paused. “Perhaps, never actually, considering the whole time travel element and my magical circumstances.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Bertrand admitted. “I’d rather it not get out that a ritual like this could be done with any sort of success. Do you believe the wizard who constructed it would’ve succeeded?”

“My father had a thorough dark arts education,” Draco said. “His great-grandfather was a practicing necromancer and belonged to a death cult. I don’t know how much of that information was handed down through the family because my mother refused to let me be taught such a thing. While she wasn’t opposed to the dark arts, as a rule, she drew the line at dark necromancy as it almost always involves cannibalism of some sort.” He cleared his throat, and Harry covered the hand still on his thigh with his own. “My father once told me a story about being fed a human heart by his grandfather when he was young. It gave me nightmares, and my mother had a complete fit over it.

“I think he might have ignored her if he weren’t petrified of Arcturus Black. By the time he passed, I had gained more independence than my father would’ve liked, and he lost interest in training me for his purposes. I think, eventually, that’s why he tossed me at the dark lord’s feet. He didn’t see any other reason for my existence.”

“I have never regretted killing someone so quickly in my life,” Armand muttered. “It’s genuinely starting to hurt my feelings.”

Bertrand nodded and stood. He crossed the room and opened a door. “If you would all join me? My private office is the most secure place I can offer in this building as it exists in a pocket dimension of my own design.”

“I want one,” Harry muttered as he stood, and Draco laughed. “Seriously though—maybe in a trunk so I can carry it around in my actual pocket.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Armand said. “Could come in handy for field operations. Moody has a trunk he uses for that kind of work, but he’s just as likely to get locked in it himself as anything else because, for all of his paranoia, he doesn’t take care with it.”

Harry laughed. “Merlin, remind me later to tell you about my fourth year at Hogwarts.” He shook his head as they all walked down a narrow hall behind Bertrand. Shortly, they were settling into a cozy office. He relaxed as the wards settled on them heavily.

“You pack a punch, old friend,” Armand said with a wry grin in Bertrand’s direction. “I’m going to need the specs for this.” He paused. “At least what you’re willing to share.”

“Ah, you know, I love to share my spell craft with those that can be trusted,” Bertrand said with a smile. “Now, Harry, please tell us how you’ve survived the Killing Curse six fucking times.”

“Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?”

Bertrand paled. “I have—yes. The Resurrection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Elder Wand.”

“And the Spectre,” Harry said. “There are four instruments on Death. The Beetle Bard would have you believe that the three brothers bartered with Death, herself, but that’s not exactly accurate.”

“Who did they barter with?” Dorcas asked.

“Me,” Harry said and watched her eyes widen with shock. “The Spectre is the personification of Death, Varda’s right hand on this world. I’ve been reincarnated repeatedly over the last several thousand years. I can’t give you an exact number on that. I hold mastery over death magic.”

“So, such magic is useless against you,” Armand surmised. “Interesting.”

“You don’t think I’m delusional?”

“The first report I generated for Croaker was a diagnostic on your magical core,” Armand said. “You think I missed the death magic sitting in you? Really, lad, I’m insulted as fuck.”

“I was hoping you missed it,” Harry admitted. “It was essentially dormant until the first time I purposefully caused the death of another through the Killing Curse. I used it on Lucius during the ritual because I didn’t want to risk his further participation in the ritual. I didn’t know it was time travel. If I had, I’d have done my level best to drop-kick his arse halfway to Australia. I’m only revealing this particular thing because you’ll see me do it in the ritual when you review the orb I’ve been tasked with creating. I cast it in parseltongue, but there are two parselmouths in this room.” He glanced briefly toward Warhide as he spoke. “So that’s one legal issue we need to work on, I suppose.”

“It’s not illegal to kill a Death Eater,” Armand said mildly. “No matter what curse you use—it’s been open season on marked members of Voldemort’s forces on an international level since 1973.”

Harry made a face and turned to Draco. “Was that ever rescinded?”

“The very first thing Dumbledore did when he became the Supreme Mugwump was remove all of the directives regarding Death Eaters,” Draco said. “They didn’t even have to bribe him. His hard-on for redemption is obscene.”

“Oh, well, that’s about Gellert Grindelwald,” Harry said. “They were passionate lovers until one of them accidentally killed Arianna Dumbledore.” He winced when three different people in the room choked on the tea that Bertrand had quietly provided while Harry spoke. “Sorry. But on that subject, someone should really do something about that old fucker.”

“Which old fucker?” Bertrand demanded with a huff and glared at Ragnok when he laughed.

“Both, certainly, but I’m speaking of Grindelwald. He’s being held in isolation and living in his own filth. I realize he’s a dark bastard, but Azkaban would be a step up from what he’s currently enduring. He’s insane, and Dumbledore has hidden him away to protect himself. But Grindelwald has a lot of secrets beyond information about Dumbledore, and eventually, Voldemort will seek that information out. We can’t truly account for the ripples of our actions, and he might visit him sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll make moving him a priority,” Bertrand said. “We’ve left him where he is for so long due to his magical power, which is prodigious.”

“Not to be a braggart, but he’s got nothing on me,” Harry said evenly. “If you lose track of him—I’ll hunt him down for you and kill him.”

Bertrand hummed under his breath. “I think that’s where we should start.” He paused when Harry blinked in surprise. “No hit wizard duties as yet, but the best way to hide you is to put you out in the open in a way that no one will question. New names, certifications, and testing results that can be verified for authenticity but hidden in such a way that the records could be five minutes old or fifty years old. We’ll fashion you both employment records with the ICW and put them under a privacy seal that no one can penetrate and survive. That will clear up questions regarding education and qualifications back in Britain.” He paused. “Unless you’d like to stay here and work for me.”

“Don’t try to poach my people in the middle of a war,” Croaker said roughly.

“I’m not opposed to war mage status,” Draco interjected and smiled when Bertrand focused on him. “It would give us the means and immunity to act on behalf of magic which is Harry’s intrinsic duty. It would also allow us to work in Britain and in other countries as we hunt down Voldemort and his followers. Documents can be created that will pass anyone’s inspection, so that isn’t a concern. What concerns me is the various magical heritages that we carry and cannot currently hide. Harry is connected in a profound way to the house of Potter. I don’t think we can destroy the connection outright without permanent damage, but we need to mute it to the point that, at best, he’s a distant cousin of his own grandfather.”

“There are a few rituals that would accomplish that,” Ragnok said.

“Ritual adoptions will be the easiest to accomplish,” Dorcas said. “There are a few here and there where a witch or wizard had adopted on behalf of a deceased relative to expand the line and preserve family magic. We’d have to be careful who we chose.”

“I have veela in my family line,” Bertrand said. “Maternal and paternal. My great uncle had a bit of veela magic in him, but not enough for it to matter. He couldn’t be trained to use a wand and retreated to the Muggle world. He married a Muggle, and they had no children. I could insert you into the family line through an unknown child of his. It would make you a cousin to me, Consort Braemar. I have so many cousins that I’ve never met that no one would think twice about your sudden appearance.”

“Please call me Draco,” Draco said and sat back with his tea with a little smile on his face.

“What?” Harry questioned

“It’s just…I’m trying to imagine my father’s face at the idea that I would allow myself to be adopted into such circumstances. It would make me a half-blood at best, Harry.”

Harry laughed. “Does that bother you?”

“You know blood purity is a whole cart of dragonshite,” Draco said. “It only took one Muggle book on genetics for me to see that clearly. We’re so genetically similar as a species that it makes the Black family tree look progressive, and my maternal grandparents are first cousins.”

Harry snorted. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, though.” Draco took a teacup from the tray in front of them and added a bit of sugar to it. “I’m not opposed to the adoption ritual. We’ll need to make sure my core fracture is entirely healed before we do that. I also need to settle and dismantle what I can of the Malfoy estate. No need to let it go to waste. I can test for masteries in potions and charms as far as certifications are concerned. The legacy orb I took on for the Department of Mysteries gave me a thorough education in ritual magic from a research perspective.”

“Armand is the best suited for Harry,” Croaker said and glanced between them.

“I must keep secrets from my wife due to my job, but this….” Armand shook his head. “There’s no way I could pass a grown-arse wizard off as a member of my family. She knows my ancestry better than I do. Moreover, I’m ninety-five years old, so there are logistics issues at play.”

Dorcas cleared her throat. “You had a much younger sister because, by your own assertation, your father redefined randy bastard in the early 1900s.”

“She was believed to be killed by Grindelwald.” Deering seemed to consider that. “Ah, well. Let me think.”

“If it’s too much, we can consider a different avenue,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t want to make Patrice uncomfortable.”

“Patrice plans to kiss you soundly on the mouth the moment you meet, so gird your loins, lad,” Armand said dryly. “I’m not opposed. Frankly, I’d be an idiot to ignore such an opportunity—an archmagus and a parselmouth? You’d be an immense boon for my family magic.”

“We should be careful in the structure of that ritual,” Ragnok interjected. “We wouldn’t want to negate his claim to the Braemar title as it would destroy his political worth. He’s going to need all the social power he can muster if you expect him to lead a public campaign against Voldemort.”

Draco snorted. “Harry’s pants at politics.”

“I’d honestly just rather punch someone in the throat,” Harry admitted, and Armand grinned at him. “What?”

“It’s like I raised you myself.”

“You often lamented in the future that you didn’t get to raise me up in your bastardly image,” Harry admitted. “As to the title, it settled on me in the future because I mastered the Hallows. I was related to the line through my mother, but no more so than other wizards who can claim such a blood relation.” He paused. “And because I’m the reincarnation of Cadmus Peverell, the last wizard to hold the Braemar title. I’m left to wonder, actually, if the title has always been mine. The Spectre comes when he is needed—I have memories of dozens of lives.”

“Son of a bitch,” Bertrand muttered and stood. “Why did I make tea? I need whiskey for this shit.” He rubbed a hand over his bald head and waved a hand. “Well, Armand?”

“Let’s say my sister, Corinth, and her half-blood husband disappeared into the Muggle world to hide from Grindelwald, and they had a single child. That child, a daughter, married a squib from the Peverell line. Your grandparents saw to your private education, thus the lack of records at a magical school,” Armand said. “That would take care of the name, explain the connection to the Peverell family, and the claiming of the title without telling anyone you’re the bloody Master of Death.”

Harry nodded. “I’m not opposed, but also, there is something uniquely entertaining about telling people I’m the Master of Death. Due to the magic involved, I’ve never had anyone try to deny it, no matter how horrified they are.”

 

Chapter 4

Oddly, they had their first argument in months over who would get adopted first. Harry had won the argument because he was an unreasonable fucker, and Draco had submitted to the ritual under the watchful eye of both Harry and Ragnok. Part of Draco understood perfectly well why Harry couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable while someone did something to him magically. They didn’t know if the ritual would leave them magically exhausted or not. It was a taxing endeavor for the man doing the adoption, but Louis Bertrand didn’t seem to be at all hesitant once that fact was revealed.

Despite how intricate the magic itself was, the ritual itself was short and to the point. Draco thought it spoke to the time period when it had been created as, throughout history, ritual magic had often been done illegally and thus had to be accomplished quickly and as quietly as possible. Blood magic, like the adoption ritual they’d chosen, was considered borderline dark due to the modifications made to a person’s magic and genetics. Though he knew most people in the magical world didn’t know a damn thing about genetics, Draco understood the underlying changes that would take place on that level when he was taken wholesale into the Bertrand family magic.

His magic shuddered inside him as the spell settled and blood misted in the air around them. Bertrand lifted his wand and spoke, “Sanguis adoptionis!”

Draco curled one hand into his robe and took a deep breath.

He stowed his wand and offered Draco his hands. Draco took them with a small smile, and magic heaved between them, white and gold. He could feel the few blood connections to the Malfoy family fall away one by one and was grateful he’d taken the time to clean out Lucius’ vault before they’d gone into the ritual chamber at the bank. He’d just transferred the gold into a new vault under Ragnok’s direction. They’d both been pleased that the blood magic attached to the vault had allowed it without even a whimper. Lucius had put a lot of faith in blood, which didn’t surprise him at all.

His theory regarding the ancestral property had proven been proven right, which meant they’d have to deal with Malfoy Manor at a later date. No one was going to easily enter the place any time soon, due to the stringent conditions Lucius had placed on the property, so Draco had decided to let that situation sit until he was more emotionally prepared for it.

“I take this wizard, Draconis Lemaire Peverell, into the of my embrace of family magic and into the house of Bertrand. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Draco said and glanced only briefly at Harry as the magic settled.

Bertrand’s hands tightened briefly in his, and the older man laughed sharply. “Hell, lad, you should’ve said.”

Draco stood and helped the head of his new family stand. “My magic was subdued for so long by the dark mark we can’t be certain I’ll reach my full magical potential.”

“I meant the dragon,” Louis said wryly and kissed both cheeks. “We’ve not had an animagus in our family in generations. Welcome to the house of Bertrand.”

“What kind of dragon?” Armand questioned.

“Ukrainian Ironbelly,” Draco confessed and just smiled when both men gaped at him. “Harry’s a Peruvian Vipertooth.”

“Tattletale,” Harry muttered. “All Unspeakables in the future are required to have an animagus form. While you can work in the Department of Mysteries without one, you can’t be sworn in as an actual Unspeakable without finishing the process.”

“I’ve been lobbying for that change for a decade,” Armand said roughly. “It’s a test of sorts.”

“Ability, dedication, and strength,” Harry agreed.

Draco shook his head at Harry and wondered yet again why the arsehole hadn’t told a single person they weren’t actually married. Even during the name discussion, he’d glossed over that and suggested they use the name Peverell directly. Draco had agreed, of course, because it spoke to power, and they needed all the influence they could muster.

Harry and Armand Deering took their places in the small ritual circle, and Draco found himself leaning against the wall his mate had previously occupied. He watched in silence as Deering drew a series of runes in the air. The adoption ritual between the two of them required a bit more finesse as they had to account for Harry’s parselmagic and his connection to the Potter family. Also, they’d decided on a closer relationship for Harry and Armand, which spoke to a stronger connection to the Deering family overall. Draco wondered when Harry would realize that the Deadmarsh brothers were his cousins.

Blood misted then thickened in the air as the magic of the ritual grew heavy and oppressive. He started to move, but Louis caught his arm.

“Easy, lad.”

“But….”

“Magic is deciding which house is the senior,” Louis said gently. “Armand knew this might be an issue. He’s invited an ancient and noble line into his house.”

Draco huffed. “Well, the two of you should’ve discussed it with Harry. He isn’t going to like this at all.”

“He’ll adjust, and our choices were limited. The McGregor family is too well-known to get away with inserting him into that house as an adult. Moreover, there are precious few family lines left in Britain with parselmagic. Potter, Black, and Deering are all that remain.”

Armand cast the spell, and magic swirled around the two of them. They stood together, and Harry took a deep breath as the magic settled.

“Welcome to the house of Peverell, Armand Deering,” Harry said and shook his head.

“I am pleased to join your house, Hadrian Cadmus Peverell, Earl of Braemar.”

“You old arsehole. A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“It was merely speculation, lad,” Deering said mildly. “No need to borrow trouble, and besides, you’ve just given my house a priceless boon. I am in your debt, now more than ever.”

“There are no debts between family,” Harry said simply.

Shortly, they were dressed and escorted to the Peverell vault. While Armand was returning to the ministry, Bertrand planned to return to Rome. Draco had the key to his new vault tucked away in his bracelet. They were going to move some money to Rome so they’d have an escape route if it became necessary. Draco knew that Harry was considering buying a property in an undisclosed international location as well. He was going to lobby hard for a private island because he liked the idea, and he deserved a tropical paradise to lay low in.

Testing at the ICW would take the better part of two weeks, and Louis Bertrand was arranging the whole thing with a team of people he trusted. Since the whole thing would go under a security seal, he was picking assets that were willing to be spelled into such a secret for the rest of their lives. Granted, all they’d know would be the dates of their testing and contracting with the ICW. It was enough to unravel the whole plan so that information had to be hidden.

Draco watched Razel Fireborn, Ragnok’s oldest child and only son, pass the small vault key back to Harry, and he got a short, friendly nod from the dverger before he left them in favor of a hidden lift. Harry held out a hand, and Draco laced their fingers together easily as he was tugged into one of the oldest vaults in Gringotts.

The vault door closed on them, and Harry pulled him close with a shudder. “Dragon.”

“You okay?” Draco questioned.

“No, not at all,” Harry murmured. “I want to take you and run for the fucking hills, but we have nowhere to go. I’ve asked Croaker to check the Hall of Prophecy, and I think we both know what we will find. I just hope it’s not revealing as fuck.”

“We can use an Official Secret to hide it,” Draco suggested. “Croaker will be more than willing to do it to avoid Riddle ever getting a chance to get his hands on it. Now that we’re completely and totally alone, would you like to explain why you haven’t told anyone we aren’t married?”

Harry released him with a delighted grin. “Well, soulmate bond is a form of magical marriage. Didn’t you know? I figured we could handle the contract in Italy to avoid any legal issues with the Marriage Authority here. You’ve already magically taken my name thanks to the adoption ritual, so that’s one thing we won’t have to worry about.” He cupped Draco’s face and rubbed his bottom lip. “I know you want marriage rite, so I’m not opposed to that at all. I’d like to keep it private, of course, because there’s no one here really…that I want to witness it.”

“I feel the same,” Draco said quietly. “We can handle the legal part in Rome and do the marriage rite once we’re settled in our new, old home.”

“Are you okay with that purchase?” Harry questioned. “I should’ve asked before I requested it from Razel.”

“It’s our home,” Draco said. “Getting it back will be an immense comfort. We need that link, I think. I think most of our furniture came from the Potter vault, so we need to furnish the place.” He looked around the vault. “But this looks like…nothing but gold and books.”

“It is nothing but gold and books,” Harry agreed. “The bulk of my library at the peel came from this vault. Well, that and the Black library at Grimmauld Place. I helped myself to whatever I wanted before I sold the house to your mother.” Draco laughed a little and shook his head. “There is an archive trunk in here somewhere, so we should harvest all the books and put them in it.” He walked to a shelving unit. “But I came for the rings.” He pulled a black trunk from a shelf and looked around.

Draco pulled his wand and conjured a table, then rolled his eyes when Harry shrugged. He watched Harry press his thumb against the lock until it took blood, then rubbed gently. The lid flipped open with a soft pop, and Draco caught his partner’s hand before Harry could put his thumb in his mouth.

“You Muggle,” Draco muttered as he healed the cut, and Harry laughed. “What’s in the trunk?”

“It’s a portable vault disguised as a trunk. I took off the enchantment when I moved it permanently to the peel since I installed it in a wall and built a ward around it. I wanted to check the contents to make sure it had everything it had before.” Harry focused on the trunk as Draco released him. “I don’t think anyone has entered the vault in several hundred years, but it’s good to check. Unfortunately, there was no interest income while it was in stasis.”

Draco looked toward the back of the vault, where a large pile of gold sat. “That’s a lot.”

“Several million,” Harry murmured. “I can’t remember the exact amount but somewhere between three and four million galleons.” He plucked a box from the trunk and opened it.

Draco gaped when he offered the box to him. “Harry.”

“You don’t want it?”

Draco exhaled. “Love, it is rare for a consort to wear a house ring in this day and age. People are going to expect you to marry a countess.”

“Even if I was inclined toward taking a wife, and I’m not, there is no single way we could do that in any ethical fashion, Draco. We couldn’t share the time travel with her, couldn’t really build a life with her because of the secrets and the disparity due to our bonds. What kind of life would she live? No matter how much effort we put into it, the intimacy between the two of us would be profoundly unfair to her. And fuck their expectations.”

Draco took the box in hand and stared at the ring—mithril and a black diamond. The band was thick and overtly masculine in design. “You realize this would allow me to speak for you and our house as an equal? I could even sit in your seat on the Wizengamot.”

“Why on Earth would you think I’d want anything different?” Harry demanded roughly.

Draco nearly laughed at how offended Harry looked. “People aren’t going to know what to do with you, you know?”

“That’s always been a problem,” Harry admitted. “But now I have a chance to have some sort of control over how I am perceived. I don’t want there to be any doubt about where I stand on certain issues. On this issue, you are and will remain my only spouse. I will not entertain a single one of these bastards trying to sell me one of their daughters. Also, your own bloody mother would be on the list of young women available for a contract marriage.”

Draco barely kept his mouth shut, but he knew he didn’t keep the horror off his face because Harry laughed. “Gross, shut up. Merlin. Now I need to memory charm myself.”

He huffed when Harry plucked the box from his hand and removed the ring, but Draco offered his wand hand without any further discussion. In the end, Harry was his lord and the head of their family. He wanted to make a statement, and Draco was prepared to make it with him. The ring sized magically to fit his finger, and he felt it adhere to his magic as such rings were spelled to do. It meant no one but Harry and himself could take it from his hand.

“What about your ring?”

Harry held up his wand hand a ring shimmered into place on his finger. “It came with me.” He picked up a black box from the trunk. “It should be in this, but….” He opened it and found it empty. “Either it disappeared, or they merged together. We know that a lord’s ring can’t be duplicated, so two can’t exist at the same time for the same title.”

“Does it feel different?”

“No, but it wouldn’t…right? Replaced, merged, or just the one in the trunk ceased to exist; they were essentially the same ring.”

“Right,” Draco said and made a face despite his intentions. “Time travel is deeply frustrating. More so for the fact that there is very little factual information about the whole thing. No one whose done has been willing to document their experience since it would be evidence against them. I understand, of course. I’m never writing a bloody word about it…but some information would be nice.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it would.”

He walked away from the trunk and opened a weapons cabinet tucked against the wall. Draco watched him run his fingers across several staff weapons and jerk back in surprise when sparks flew off one.

“What?”

“None of them have ever responded to me before. Ragnok thought it was because of the Elder Wand. We spent weeks and weeks testing to find a combination that would work for me,” Harry admitted and carefully picked up the one that had reacted to his touch. He got a burst of magical light for his trouble and a shower of sparks. “Well.”

“It’s reacting to the death magic in your core,” Draco surmised and just took a deep breath when Harry nodded.

Harry stored the staff in his bracelet, snagged the duplicate of the athame he already carried, and two sets of dueling blades. He brought it all to the trunk and tucked it into various pockets clearly designed for weapon storage.

“Were you serious about a trunk workspace?” Draco questioned.

“Utterly—between the two of us, we could create a space that no one could find and no one could infiltrate. We need that kind of security going forward.” He looked around the vault. “Why? Did you want to use one of these trunks?”

“I think so because no one living could’ve had anything to do with their creation. O course, there are men and women running around the planet that are thousands of years old, but none of them appear to be inclined toward trunk making.” Draco shed his robe and put it on the conjured table by the open trunk. “I’ll look around for something suitable. The wood will be an important factor.”

“Rowan or oak take runes the easiest,” Harry murmured as he returned his focus to the weapons cabinet.

Draco wandered through the vault with no particular destination in mind but grabbed a money pouch from a shelf so he could take the gold Harry had requested. He spelled the amount into the bag and tossed it into his bracelet, then stumbled upon the archive trunk his mate had spoken of by accident. He opened it and found it had a few hundred books in it already. He pressed his thumb to the harvesting rune, and books started to flow into it.

Draco watched the magic for a few moments to make sure the books were tucking safely into place before continuing his search. He found an empty packing crate which he shrank and dropped into his bracelet for when they went shopping for furniture. He’d never gone to the Peverell vault in the future because they hadn’t had any sort of marriage, and he worried about a violent rejection. Harry hadn’t pushed it. He used his thumb to shift the ring on his hand as he walked. He never really believed he’d have any sort of marriage, much less one built on a soulmate bond.

“You’re wearing your thinking face.”

“I’m always thinking,” Draco returned and rolled his eyes when Harry laughed. “I was just thinking about why I avoided learning about soulmate bonds and just bonds in general once I realized that I couldn’t have one. I guess, in the end, my father did me incredible service in the midst of his murder spree.” He paused. “Serial killer or spree killer?”

“Well, he had the pathology for a serial killer,” Harry allowed. “The way he picked his victims—both living and dead—spoke to that. He was very mission-oriented, so that has to be factored in. I think the argument could be made either way. But really, irredeemable bastard works best.”

Draco nodded his agreement and returned to his search. Near the back, tucked into a corner and sitting under a pile of rapidly diminishing books, was a trunk made of rosewood. Despite the fact that it probably hadn’t been touched in hundreds of years, the wood was gleaming.

“How do you feel about rosewood?”

“Lovely, strong, and rare as far as trunks go.” Harry came to join him and hummed under his breath as he studied it. He took a knee as the last of the books flew away and ran a hand along the top of the smooth, blemish-free top. “Gorgeous, easily a custom-made job. Probably some lucky young witch’s hope chest at one time.”

Draco joined him as Harry flicked open the two locks and opened it. He hesitated only briefly before he reached out and picked up a soft, fluffy white blanket. “There are health monitoring and protection runes weaved into this.”

“This is too fine for field use,” Harry said. “But let’s take it to the peel.”

“Why?” Draco questioned as he put the baby blanket back into the trunk.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Has it not crossed your mind that you can carry now? I know you want a baby, Draco. You were so great about Hermione’s announcement, but I know it hurt you.”

“It wasn’t hurt,” Draco protested and flushed as Harry stared. “There was some envy, perhaps, but not hurt. I don’t begrudge her what you gave her. Now, more than ever, I’m relieved that she has that child and any other that she might choose to carry from your line. She lost her oldest and dearest friend the night we time traveled, Harry, and there’s no getting you back for her. But at least she has your daughter.” He closed the trunk, locked it, and shrank it with a brush of his fingers. “I’ll want to go through it, of course, and renew the charm work as needed. Most of it will probably be too old-fashioned, but maybe we can find a tailor that can update the pieces.” He stored the hope chest in his bracelet and cleared his throat. “And, no, it hadn’t crossed my mind at all. I gave up that dream years ago, Harry.”

Harry stood and offered him a hand, which he took easily enough. He huffed just a little as Harry drew him close and pressed a soft kiss against his mouth. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I know you don’t, Dragon,” Harry murmured against his cheek, and Draco couldn’t help but tremble as his mate’s beard slid against his skin—it was like silk due to a softening charm. “As to the operations trunk, I found one that will work on the other side of the vault. But if it puts you off at all, we can make a different choice.”

“Why would it put me off?”

“It’s made of yew.”

“Yew is naturally protective and will work actively against ill intent.” Draco considered the choice. “If you’re concerned that I associate the wood with Voldemort, you needn’t be. Is that why there were no yew wands in our drop collection?”

“I never came across one, so I wasn’t forced to make that sort of decision,” Harry admitted. “I probably would’ve avoided the purchase. The trunk is Pacific Yew versus English Yew, so that’s something. The hardware is dverger-wrought iron.”

Harry kept his hand as they crossed the vault to where the trunk was tucked against a shelving unit on the floor.

“It’s empty and only has an organization charm on it, so I think it was probably used for travel or whatever in the past. Maybe even for Hogwarts, who knows.”

The trunk was dark reddish brown and could use a polish. He nodded and shrugged. “If you think it will work, then we can take it. The rune work is the most important factor, and that will be your job. I can set expansion charms on practically anything. We should buy furniture for the trunk as well, so keep that in mind when we start shopping.”

“I kind of hate clothes shopping.”

“I know, love, but needs must.” Draco frowned. “I’m wearing pants I didn’t buy myself, Harry. I haven’t had this problem since I was seventeen. Healer Arnou made an excellent choice and even managed to buy the fitted boxers I prefer, but that’s….” He trailed off and scrunched up his nose. “He used a charm to check.”

“No, by the time he saw you—I’d already taken off all of your clothes for a bath,” Harry said in amusement. “But I did leave all of your stuff folded in a pile on the dresser. It’s best not to think about it too much, honestly. Let the man be a mystery.”

* * * *

Fortunately, Harry was able to decline an escort to the peel. So, they apparated home and stood staring at it for a few moments before Harry released Draco’s hand. “I’ll retrieve the stasis box, and we can take the portkey to Rome.”

“Is it completely empty?” Draco questioned as they walked up the path.

“Yes, but that’s fortunate because I doubt any of the furniture would suit us,” Harry murmured. “I think I want to claim the wards today as well, but that shouldn’t take long at all.”

“The ward stone is already in place?” Draco questioned. “I assumed you purchased that yourself.”

“No, it’s hundreds of years old,” Harry said. “I could’ve replaced it, but it accepted my domain eagerly, and there was nothing off about the warding scheme already in place. I will want to put war wards down. I briefly considered a Fidelius, but I don’t want to draw that kind of attention. It would get out that we’d hidden our house in such a way, and Dumbledore would want to know why.”

“Dumbledore needs to mind his own business while we let him live,” Draco muttered. “We can set most of the elements of a Fidelius without casting that charm specifically—unplottable being the most important. Soundproofing and anti-surveillance charms would also be easy to place and monitor for tampering.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll embed them into the war ward and Hermione’s in honor—forcefully violating our wards will result in a portkey trip to the beautiful waters off the coast of southern Africa.”

Draco smiled. “Sounds perfect—she’d be very amused.”

He stayed on the main level of the peel, making a mental list of differences that he saw and wondering if Harry would want to make the same renovations. The kitchen was entirely empty, which meant they’d be buying a stove. In the future, Harry had a top-of-the-line magical stove that didn’t exist and wouldn’t for more than a decade. Draco winced because he knew already that was going to be a stumbling block.

He felt the wards shift around him and settle quickly. It was a relief, really, to be in the embrace of protective magic that was at their command. So far, everyone had been incredibly kind about their situation, but a jaded part of Draco knew that everyone already around them was working to leverage the information they brought back with them. He couldn’t necessarily blame anyone for that, considering the circumstances, but it had shifted the tone of their relationship with Jonah McGregor a lot, and he wondered if Harry had noticed it.

Harry emerged from the cellar with a small wooden box. It was glowing with a preservation charm. “You should carry it.”

Draco took the box, shrank it carefully with a push of his magic, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat. “I thought we’d open it here.”

“No, I’d prefer to wait until after we have a conversation about parselmagic.”

Draco stared. “What sort of conversation?”

“Did you know that a born-parselmouth can pass the gift to a single magical person?” Harry questioned, and Draco barely refrained from gaping. “I never offered it before because I was worried how the dark mark would react to it, and the bulk of the ritual work for it involves the core. I avoided touching your magical core as much as possible after the last time I tried to remove the mark. I just didn’t want to put you at any sort of risk.”

“Well, if that conversation you want to have involves asking me if I want it, the answer is hell fuck yes I want it!” Draco exclaimed and huffed when Harry laughed. “Is it done in ritual? Can it be a sexy ritual?”

“It is done in ritual, but we can draw a personal circle for it—especially if you’re on board with sex magic. If we had to do it in a chaste fashion, I’d have to actually draw up an elaborate plan and ward the circle.”

“I’m always on board with sex magic,” Draco confirmed.

“Do you feel different?” Harry questioned. “After the adoption, I mean?”

“The Malfoy family is small,” Draco said. “I had a few distant Malfoy cousins, but I barely felt them at all after I was marked. Bertrand’s family is huge. He wasn’t lying about how easy it would be to fold me into the family. I doubt a single member of the family noticed the adoption because there are hundreds of connections. If they did, it would have probably felt like an acknowledgment of kin versus an actual adoption. There’s a reason why the ritual we did is considered a dark art.”

“The blood magic,” Harry surmised.

“Do you feel different?”

“Armand’s family is much smaller,” Harry allowed. “I never really noticed people’s connections to the house of Potter in the future. I did notice many connections to the house of Peverell after I claimed the title, but they were flimsy and easy to ignore. They were also easy to sever, and I did remove a lot of people from the family wholesale due to their connections to Voldemort. I’m glad, more than ever, that I did that because one of Hermione’s kids will probably be able to claim the title eventually since I did.” He took a deep breath. “Regardless, Armand’s family is small and intimately connected. I can’t feel individuals, but he definitely had some explaining to do once everything was said and done.”

“Considering the way the ritual went, he’d probably tell anyone that asked that he accepted an offer to be a cadet branch of the house of Peverell due to the unexpected relation.” Draco waved a hand. “That’s what I’d say. We probably should’ve asked Croaker about including Armand’s wife in the secret. I realize she must be used to it by now, but this situation impacts her actual family, and that should be taken into consideration.”

“Right,” Harry said and grimaced. “Well, we should return to Rome before they think we’ve done a runner, which has more appeal than I’d like to admit to anyone else.”

“I know they said they’d find us a hotel to stay in for the next two weeks but let’s try to find a private property for rent,” Draco suggested. “Even something in the Muggle world would be preferred over a hotel.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask Razel about it,” Harry said and offered his hand as he pulled the rope portkey out of his bracelet.

“You could chain apparate us.” He wanted to complain a little, but Harry had readily accepted the portkey from Louis Bertrand at the bank.

“I could,” Harry agreed. “But that would draw attention to us not using the portkey we were given, and I’d rather keep a few things to myself, magically, this time around.”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, okay. We should talk about that, at length, though to avoid mistakes on that front.”

“Come close,” Harry murmured and pulled gently, so Draco stepped easily into his embrace. “I was promised that this portkey would be a pretty smooth ride compared to the one that brought us to London to use Ragnok’s ritual chamber.” Harry pressed a kiss against his mouth. “Don’t let go of me.”

“Never,” Draco promised and took a deep breath as Harry said the activation phrase and the portkey hooked.

 

Chapter 5

Bertrand brought several masters for the testing phase, and they were placed on opposite sides of the large room that had been sealed and sequestered from the rest of the ICW. It had turned out to be the best choice because, by the time they returned to Rome, Albus Dumbledore was in the building. Harry had never known when Dumbledore joined the ICW as the representative for Great Britain, but it made sense that it had happened long before he was elected to lead the body in the late 1980s. Fortunately, the council hadn’t been briefed, and wouldn’t be, on the matter of time travel.

The ICW was meeting to discuss the desecration of the Ring of Brodgar so they could develop a plan to cleanse and protect the ancient ritual space going forward. Bertrand and Croaker both had already decided that neither Harry nor Draco would be going anywhere near that situation, as there was no need for anyone to make connections between them and the circle itself. Harry hated that because part of him felt responsible for the ring and wanted to be part of the team to heal the land and the ritual space itself.

In order to create academic records that would stand up to scrutiny, they’d actually had to take tests for their International NEWTs. They’d sat the core subjects the first day they were in the training facility and had done as expected, considering their level of education and experience. It amused Harry that he now officially had fifteen NEWTs. Hermione would be so chuffed, and that thought was more amusing than hurtful. He wondered if magic was working to subdue his grief and part of him hoped so. He could have done without the crushing disappointment of knowing that he’d never see his version of Hermione Granger again.

“Your understanding of warding is…expansive.”

Harry focused on the man who had just finished reviewing the warding scheme he’d created two days before for the practical part of the NEWT for ward management. “My warding education comes from a dverger master.” He watched the man adjust to that, clearly shocked. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s been…I’ve rarely encountered a human who’d been granted such a boon from the Horde,” the man said stiffly. “I was brought in to review your results because while you passed the NEWT for warding, more than one of your proctors thought you should test for a mastery on the subject.”

Harry considered that and shook his head. “I’d rather not call attention to my warding education. It doesn’t serve me or my mission in Britain for people to recognize what kind of threat I am to their security.” The man snorted indelicately. “And I’m going to leave Rome with two masteries, as is. That’s more than enough for any wizard.”

“You had several subjects to choose from, Lord Braemar. What have you chosen?”

Harry considered that. “Did you realize you failed to introduce yourself, sir?”

“I was instructed not to,” he confessed. “Louis wanted to know if you’d recognize me.”

“Well, that would be difficult considering the very powerful glamour you’re wearing,” Harry said dryly, and one of the testing administrators on his left made a soft, choked sound. “Considering the power radiating off you and your magical aura, I’d guess you’re Master Hiro Ito.” He paused. “Or Vasco Huaman. I’m leaning toward Ito since I don’t remember ever being told that Master Huaman is a parselmouth, and that is evident in your aura despite your use of a glamour.”

“Vasco is not a parselmouth,” Hiro Ito confirmed as he dropped the glamour. “You and your partner have a lot of powerful people moving around you. It was my inclination to keep my distance as I believe you’ve enough old men trying to boss you around to suit themselves.”

Harry wondered if Ito had been briefed or if that was a conversation he’d expect to have with Bertrand at some point. He wasn’t necessarily opposed, as Master Ito might be able to answer their questions regarding time travel and the creation of an alternate timeline. He was one of the oldest magicals on the planet and the most likely to know if such a thing had happened before.

“I’m not so easily led about, Master Ito, that I’d allow any man of any age truly be the boss of me,” Harry said in amusement. “At least when it comes to personal matters. Marginally, I’m prepared to listen and follow the orders of the person who pays me.” He paused. “As long as they aren’t insane or working their way toward insane.”

“Good policy. I don’t disagree with your choice to hide your warding knowledge. Based on all of your examinations, I would say that you’ve demonstrated a mastery level understanding of several subjects that you should probably keep to yourself.”

“I planned to take mastery tests for combat transfiguration and runic magic,” Harry explained. “I could take ones for arithmancy, warding, dueling, and magical theory, but that would be ridiculous and cause more questions than anything else.” He glanced across the room where Draco was taking his practical for a charms mastery, found his mate staring at a piece of parchment in irritation, then returned his attention to Ito.

“Combat transfiguration requires an animagus form,” one of the proctors interjected.

“I know, Master Giles,” Harry said easily. “I have one.”

Giles made a face like he didn’t believe him. “We’ll have to see it before I’ll agree to that testing, Lord Braemar, as it requires a dueling chamber be set up.”

Harry stood and shed the dark green robe that Draco had made him wear over the suit that Castius Arnou had bought. They planned to do some shopping after being released for the day, and he didn’t look forward to the experience at all. He walked away from the table where he’d spent most of the morning.

“You’re going to want to give me plenty of room,” he warned when Giles and several others made to follow.

He touched his core with a mental prod, and a black tendril of smoke curled around his body as a faint scent of sulfur drifted in the air around him, and Harry allowed the transformation to take him. Thankfully the room had a high vaulted ceiling. He flicked his wings and wrapped his tail around his legs as he sat. Ito laughed, and Giles’ mouth dropped open.

Ito circled him, expression unreadable, and nodded. “Your soulmate has a similar form, I’m sure.”

“Ukrainian Ironbelly,” Draco said as he came to stand in front of Harry. “He doesn’t normally demonstrate this ability. I hope it wasn’t asked of him for entertainment.”

Harry figured Draco was outright glaring at Harlan Giles, whom his mate had taken an instant dislike to.

“No, Consort Braemar,” Giles denied quickly and cleared his throat. “We merely required proof of the ability before testing for a combat transfiguration mastery could be arranged.”

Draco made a dissatisfied noise and turned to stare at Harry. “Are you done?”

Harry wondered if he could get away with setting Giles on fire but then figured he’d get an epic lecture out of it from several different fronts. He shifted easily back into his human form and ran a hand down the front of his waistcoat, pleased to have kept the suit.

“Can we see your form, Consort Braemar?” Giles questioned.

“Not on a bet,” Draco said evenly with a mild glare in the man’s direction. “There’s not enough room in here, and I’m not testing for anything that would require that sort of demonstration. If you wish to be entertained, Master Giles, I suggest you go find a brothel to wallow in.”

Ito grinned, and Draco stalked off back to his area. Harry shrugged when Giles glared at him.

“You shouldn’t let your consort talk to people like that,” Giles complained. “It’s…unpleasant.”

“I don’t care if you find him unpleasant,” Harry said. “It certainly isn’t his duty to please you in any single fashion, and it’s best for your personal safety if you accept that reality immediately.” He slid back into his chair, and Ito joined him at the table. “Were there any concerns about my NEWTs?”

“None,” Ito confirmed. “After the results were put together, Master Bertrand requested that I come in to handle your mastery testing. He’d like to confer war mage status on you both before you leave Italy, and that requires my agreement.” He looked across the room to where Draco was working. “I was concerned about your mate meeting such a magical burden, but his animagus form lays that issue to rest.”

Harry considered that. “You think him delicate because of his looks?”

“Some did,” Ito allowed. “But, no, it was his heritage that concerned me and the academic nature of his magical education. A war mage is an instrument of war, Lord Braemar, and veela aren’t known for such things despite their magical circumstances. His animagus form speaks to a warrior nature that is intriguing beyond the measure of it. His physical beauty will attract the shallow amongst us, but you know that already. It must be a trial.”

“I consider myself the luckiest of men to have met and bonded my soulmate,” Harry said. “I don’t worry about Draco being in the field with me. He’s a powerhouse in more than one way and would put an enemy down without a moment’s hesitation. That being said, he’s certainly more of an intellectual than I am.”

“Considering your far-reaching education, that’s saying something,” Ito said. “I’ve rarely encountered a man your age with so much knowledge at his disposal.”

“We live in dangerous times, Master Ito. It would be foolish to not prepare myself for the world at large. I certainly made sure I could defend myself and my mate, to the fullest measure, before I claimed the Braemar title.” Harry flicked his journal out of his bracelet, then a quill. “I plan to present myself as a master of runic magic with a deft hand with enchantments. My job in Britain will be shrouded in mystery as such things are, and I don’t plan to discuss it in public. I will be seen as a wealthy, generous wizard who married his soulmate. I’d rather very few people know I actually work at all.”

“It’s for the best, especially considering the war in Britain,” Ito said. “I agree that your public front should be one of an educated man who requires nothing but the man he married. Most will be charmed, while others will certainly work to get between you—despite the soulmate bond. You’ll be offered the daughters of many magical families in Britain as they strive to provide you with a countess you clearly do not desire.”

“I have a plan to quash that nonsense,” Harry assured. “They’ll avoid me like the plague on the matter of contract marriages within a month.”

Ito laughed. “You’re far more entertaining than you have any right to be.”

* * * *

Harry slid into the large bathtub and picked up the glass of wine he’d brought with him. Razel had arranged a villa in the magical district of Rome with a private beach, and Harry liked it so much that he was considering trying to buy it. The bathing room’s main feature was the sunken tub that was twice the size of the one they’d eventually installed in the peel. Draco entered the bathroom, shed his robe, and stepped down into the pool. He settled on a bench across from Harry and relaxed against the cushions.

“Harlan Giles.”

Draco grimaced. “I can’t stand men like him, and I’ve had my share of that kind of attention. I’d rather set him on fire than look at him, honestly. Was he difficult during your testing? They didn’t let me watch you in the dueling chamber.”

Harry considered how to answer that. “Ito set four masters loose on me during the last phase, and Giles was one of them. He was easily the most aggressive, but Ito allowed it. I think it was more an object lesson for Giles than anything else since I put him down within the first two minutes and broke both of his legs and his wand arm in the process.”

“His aggression is about his attraction to me,” Draco said. “He wanted to prove himself a stronger wizard than you—to get my attention. He buys into that tripe about veela preferring mates that protect and shelter them. Which is just propaganda that the Veela Council put out about fifty years ago to dissuade what they consider to be ordinary wizards and witches from pursuing veela. Their goal was to create a mystic where we were difficult to attract and harder to keep. It was a misstep, honestly, because it made a certain sort start to view us as trophies. Male veela, in particular, suffer on this point as full male veela is a very rare sight out of an enclave.”

“Could that situation get more dangerous?” Harry questioned. “Is he likely to challenge me to a damn duel or something?”

“No, certainly not,” Draco said mildly. “Louis would never tolerate it, and he’s already been shown that you can put him down like a criminal while fighting off three other wizards at the same time. Surely, he’s not dumb enough to come at you directly by himself.”

“How did your tests go after we were separated?”

“Fine,” Draco said with a shrug. “I was awarded a potions mastery with distinction, which I received the first time around as well. I brewed Draught of Peace, Veritaserum, and Felix Felicis. I gifted a portion of all three to Louis after the fact. The rest I kept for us.” He paused. “I almost misstepped and brewed Wolfsbane, but it won’t be announced to the public until January of next year.”

Harry exhaled. “Right.” He took a sip of wine. “How does that work?”

“He’s certainly had the potion in development for a year or more. Once he proved he wouldn’t kill test subjects, he’d have sought out a testing group to refine the potion to get the most benefit. When he announces in January, he’ll have documented his success and will be able to produce a potion recipe that can be made repeatedly with consistent results. It took over a decade to create Veritaserum.”

“I’m really glad I never had any desire to learn about potions after Hogwarts,” Harry admitted.

“Who is Vasco Huaman?” Draco questioned. “I’ve never heard you mention him. One of the instructors was speculating about whether or not you’d actually met him.”

“He’s an immortal wizard from Peru,” Harry said. “He’s lived for several thousand years without the use of a bloodstone.” He watched Draco’s mouth drop open. “Most assume him gifted by magic.”

“That’s not true,” Draco murmured. “Is it?”

“No, he was cursed to live forever,” Harry said mildly. “For his crimes against Varda. I have met him, by the way. A few months after the Elder Wand returned to me, he came to Britain. It took him weeks, but eventually, he found me—the Master of Death. He begged me to kill him.”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” Draco muttered. “Why…what? You never said a word about this.”

“It’s a tragic story and situation,” Harry said mildly. “And frankly, Dragon, you come pre-built with enough angst.” He grinned when Draco huffed. “As to Vasco, I told him that I could not kill him and that I would not betray Varda by trying. He has but one escape from his curse, and he knows it already.”

“So, he’ll come to Britain,” Draco said. “He’ll sense or come to understand the Master of Death has come again. Has he asked you before? You know, in your other incarnations?”

“I imagine he’s been asking me to end his suffering for over a thousand years,” Harry said.

“How does he escape?”

“He has to regret his actions,” Harry said. “Demonstrate genuine remorse for his crime. And while he is a wizard full of regret—it’s all about his cursed state.”

“What was his crime?”

“Oh, I have no idea,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know if I’ve ever known. But not even Tom Riddle was punished as Vasco Huaman was, so that says a fucking lot.”

Draco stared for a moment and took a deep breath before drinking deeply from his wine glass. “So, she’s denying him what he wants most. What would she deny Tom Riddle?”

“Certainly immortality,” Harry said. “You can’t escape Death when she comes for you, and Tom Riddle is a fool to think otherwise.” He paused. “Also, I don’t think he’ll ever live again. The trauma he’s delivered upon his own immortal soul is damning. It’s far more damning than anything else he’s done on this mortal plane.”

Harry finished the small bit of wine he’d poured himself and set the glass aside. Clothes shopping had proven to be a painless experience as Draco had arranged for an appointment with a tailor, who’d taken their measurements, quizzed them on preferences, and promised a full wardrobe within a week. They’d taken three suits each home with them.

Then they’d gone to a casual shop to pick up essentials and informal clothes. The real issue had been getting a pair of jeans that weren’t bell bottoms, which Harry was vehemently opposed to. Harry had threatened to go back to the tailor to order jeans, which had worked because the shop owner had produced exactly what he wanted and offered to order more and have them delivered within two days.

“I miss my pajamas.”

“Those flannel ones?” Draco questioned. “In that ridiculous plaid pattern?”

“Yes,” Harry said huffily. “I had them all broken in, and the comfort charms were set just the way I like. Now I have to start all over with new ones, and it’s awful.”

Draco smiled at him.

“Shut up.”

Draco set his wine aside and slid across the tub and into Harry’s lap. “Ah, love, I’m sorry. I know sometimes the simplest things are going to be a stumbling block going forward.” He kissed him, soft and sweet.

Harry cupped Draco’s hips and deepened the kiss because, yes, he’d lost all of his little creature comforts, but things could be replaced. He had what really mattered. Draco sighed against his mouth and lifted his head. He curled his fingers into Harry’s hair and took a deep breath.

“Turn around, and I’ll wash your hair.”

Draco turned easily, dipped briefly down into the water to wet his hair, then settled between the spread of his thighs on the bench. He plucked the bottle of shampoo from the little tray his mate had put near the tub and filled it with various products. It wasn’t his preferred formula.

“Do we need to go to France to buy the products you prefer?” Harry questioned as he poured shampoo into his palm.

Draco huffed dramatically but then groaned softly as Harry started to work the shampoo into his hair. “The person who makes my shampoo hasn’t even been born, Harry. I’m either going to have to brew my own from memory until she invents it or find a new brand.”

“This smells nice,” Harry murmured. “We could have something commissioned if you don’t want to brew your own.”

“I’ll make a decision about that later,” Draco said and leaned back against Harry’s chest. “Activate the cleansing runes.”

“You hate the cleansing runes on tubs and showers,” Harry said but reached out and brushed soapy fingers over a series of runes on the edge of the tub.

“I hate the way it tingles,” Draco agreed. “But I want to fuck, so as much as you want to lounge in this tub and brood about our circumstances, I’m going to have to put my foot down.”

Harry laughed against his neck. “As you wish, Dragon.”

Draco huffed and turned to face him. “We’re going to have to wait forever to get my favorite Muggle movies back, Harry. This is awful. How am I supposed to live with these kinds of entertainment options? Are Muggles even making movies right now? Have they invented the telly?”

Harry stared for a moment in shock and grinned. “I fucking love you.”

Draco frowned. “What?”

“I just love you so much,” Harry said with a laugh. “And yes, Muggles have been making movies for decades at this point, and they have televisions. We can’t watch DVDs or Blu-Rays, but I think VHS tapes will come out pretty soon. We’ll have to…I think video tape rental stores will follow shortly. I’ll do some research because I really don’t know how people watch movies at home in this time period—maybe just whatever is being shown on the telly by the networks. We should probably invest in some company in the magical world to start the entertainment migration a lot sooner. Plus, the wireless is just one channel in Britain right now, right?”

“Oh.” Draco scowled. “This is the fucking worst, Harry.”

“Also, I think we should work on your Muggle education,” Harry murmured and cupped his face. “Just in case we need to bunker down in that world at some point in the future. I don’t want you to get hurt because you don’t understand how everything works.”

“Okay,” Draco said easily. “But, first, let’s get out of this tub and get laid.”

Harry agreed, so he washed his hair while the cleansing charms finished up. He much preferred to soap himself, but he wasn’t as put off by the cleaning magic as Draco was. Shortly, he left the tub and dried off with a wandless charm as he followed Draco from the bathroom and into the large bedroom. It was the only bedroom in the villa, which was fine since they had no intention of having any guests.

Draco crawled onto the bed, stretched his arms over his head, and spread his legs in overt invitation. Harry wet his bottom lip as he watched his mate relax under his attention. While the veela allure had never had much, if any, impact on him, the changes were hard to miss considering the soft, otherworldly magical sheen drifting over Draco’s skin. He wondered if he saw more or less because of his own mage sight and resolved to look it up later.

Draco palmed his cock and rubbed the head with a thumb. “Did you want to watch me take care of myself?”

Harry shook his head and slid up onto the mattress. “No.”

Draco released his cock and took a deep breath as Harry knelt between his thighs. “You haven’t touched me since…the whole thing, so…is there a problem?”

“Beyond forced time travel, core fractures, and the soulmate bond that hit me like a ton of bricks that you slept through?” Harry questioned, and Draco’s eyes went wide. “There’s nothing wrong between us if that’s your concern. I just didn’t want to stress you physically or emotionally after everything you went through.” He ran his hand down Draco’s thighs and spread them wide.

“Emotionally?” Draco questioned and shivered when Harry slid a hand under him to activate his prep rune. “I’m fine.”

“You think you are,” Harry murmured and moved on top of Draco with a small smile as his mate huffed dramatically. He used one hand to position himself and thrust deeply into Draco’s arse.

“Oh.” Draco arched under him, and his hands smacked hard against Harry’s shoulders before fingers curled against his skin. “Fuck.”

“How does it feel?” Harry asked against Draco’s jaw. “To have your bonded soulmate inside of you? Is that sweet little cunt of yours aching for my cock? I bet it is—if you didn’t have your slit sealed, you’d be soaking the sheets under us.”

“How do you know this about me?” Draco demanded roughly as he wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist. “Gods, I had no idea how empty I was until now.”

“You spent years ignoring everything about the veela heritage you believed you’d be denied,” Harry said as he started to move. “We’ve got maybe a year before your desire for a baby is going to be so overwhelming it’ll make you miserable.”

“Then you’d better go kill all those bastards in Britain as soon possible so our babies will be safe,” Draco hissed and rocked into the penetration. “Because, yes, fuck yes. Please.”

“You’re perfect,” Harry said lowly as he repeatedly thrust into Draco’s hot, tight hole. “I’d have chased you all over Britain for ages until you felt sorry for me if I’d known you were like this in bed.”

Draco laughed breathlessly. “I’d have loved that—you didn’t even court me, you awful man.” He threw his arms over his head and wrapped his hands around the bars of the wrought-iron headboard. “We need a bed like this at home, so I can have leverage.”

“Or so I can tie you to it and fuck you like I own you whenever I feel like it,” Harry suggested silkily as he rolled his hips into the eager movements of Draco’s body. “You’d like that.”

“I’d fucking love that,” Draco confessed and groaned as he came messily on his own stomach. “And you know it.”

Harry laughed and continued to move even as Draco’s legs fell from his waist. The slow grind of their bodies took him over the edge just a minute later, and he groaned roughly against Draco’s throat. Hands drifted down his back, so he lifted his head and kissed his mate’s mouth gently. He pulled free from Draco’s body and sprawled on his back beside him.

He rubbed his stomach. “You’re a lot of work.”

Draco laughed.

Harry rolled from the bed and stretched. “I need to write a letter to Razel about the peel. I want to add a warded ritual space in the basement—I figured hiring the bank to do it would help with relations going forward. I know I’m going to have to sit down and have a conversation with Ragnok eventually.”

“At least there’s no overt hostility to deal with—at least on his part.”

“I’ve never been hostile with Ragnok,” Harry said mildly. “Hermione schooled me on the whole subject before I went to the bank after the war to deal with the repercussions of the break-in. I can see how it might have gone stupidly awry if I hadn’t been prepped for the conversation or if Ragnok had taken extreme offense. Plus, the whole dragon stealing thing, which turned out to be a bigger deal than anything else in the whole damn situation.” He waved a hand. “Regardless, I need to write a letter. Do you mind ordering food over the floo?”

Draco sat up and leaned back on his arms. “Harry…we can’t order food through the floo.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“Floo ordering isn’t a thing yet,” Draco said with a laugh. “A Muggle-born will invent the whole process in the late ‘80s.” He scooted off the bed. “I’ll clean up, dress, and go get take away.”

Harry hesitated. “I….”

“I can handle myself,” Draco pointed out. “And I spent a year living in Rome after the war, so I actually know the magical district quite well. I doubt much has changed on that front in a hundred years.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry rubbed the back of his head. “You’re right. I don’t want to be an overprotective jerk.”

“I don’t mind that you’re protective. Part of it isn’t even your fault; being mated to a veela can lead to some primal responses on your part,” Draco said as he crossed the room and took his hand. He pressed a kiss against Harry’s mouth. “Just be sure to mix it with some faith in my abilities.”

“Yeah, okay.” He took a deep breath. “Chicken or shrimp for me.”

“How about both?” Draco questioned and grinned when Harry nodded. “I’ve got a place in mind that does a great Tuscan chicken and shrimp.”

“Sounds perfect,” Harry agreed. “Maybe some fried squid as well.” He plucked a robe from the closet and put it on even as Draco moved toward the clothes they had on hand.

Shortly, he settled down at the kitchen table to write the letter about the ritual space. As he wrote, there was a subtle shift deep in his magic that felt like contentment and something else. Had someone or something done Death a service, or was it merely his own emotions finally settling? Harry prodded the thought aside and concentrated on the list of enchantments and protections he wanted to be built into the ritual circle. Since he planned to entail the peel to the Peverell estate, he needed to keep that in mind.

“We should name the peel,” Draco said as he entered the kitchen.

Harry glanced him over, taking in the fact that he’d chosen to wear a new suit and his dragonhide-lined overcoat. He appreciated the gesture since it was in summer in Rome. Temperature didn’t matter much, as comfort charms took care of that, but most wouldn’t bother with a coat no matter the time of day in Italy.

“You never wanted to name it before,” Harry pointed out.

“You were keeping the Braemar title under wraps then, but noblemen do make a habit of formally and magically naming their dwellings.”

“Perhaps something…that speaks to the circumstances of the Peverell line,” Harry said. “Evermoor.”

Draco stared for a moment and nodded. “Evermoor it is.”

Harry nodded and focused on his parchment as Draco left.

Evermoor. It was on point, so to speak. A gentle tendril of amusement and agreement drifted through his mind, and Harry wondered if Varda planned to spy on him indefinitely. That thought earned him a quick, sharp laugh that practically echoed through the kitchen.

 

 

 

* * * *

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4