lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2022-11-09 08:59 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2022-11-09 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
[Songs of the Stormy Season]: The Burden of Being Emerald, Harry/Salazar, PG-13, Emerald series
Title: The Burden of Being Emerald
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Salazar Slytherin
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, angst, Parseltongue, arranged marriage, non-linear scenes
Rating: R
Wordcount: 5400
Summary: Harry has a lot of quick talking to do to explain why a ritual that was intended to let Godric Gryffindor possess Harry’s body and work on rebuilding the school after the final battle ended up summoning Salazar Slytherin instead—and turning Harry into Salazar’s husband. Sequel to “The Task of Being Emerald.”
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Songs of the Stormy Season,” shorter fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. A number of people requested a sequel to “The Task of Being Emerald.” Read that one first, as this one otherwise won’t make much sense. This is likely not the end of the story, either.
The Burden of Being Emerald
“Harry, how did this happen?”
Hermione asked the question with her hands on her hips. Harry sighed and sat down on the chair in front of her in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Ginny were the only other ones there, but Harry could all too easily imagine the crowd of people that would be staring at him later on, when word of Salazar’s return spread further.
“You know about the ritual Headmaster Dumbledore wanted me to do,” he began.
*
“My dear boy, how did this happen?”
The portrait of Professor Dumbledore whispered the words when Harry walked into the office hand-in-hand with Salazar. There was no doubt that Dumbledore recognized the man. Harry supposed there was probably another portrait or statue of him around somewhere, other than the one in the Chamber. Or maybe Dumbledore had gone down there.
“When I entered the office that was created in the ritual, the emerald wall shone the strongest,” Harry said, and shrugged helplessly. “And he asked me to sacrifice my name and to work with him in the future instead of possessing my body.”
“Your name?”
“His name is Harry Slytherin.” Salazar’s voice was quiet but hard. Harry shot him a glance, wondering why he had spoken in Parseltongue if he could understand English—and surely he understood English, if he knew to respond that way to Dumbledore’s question?
Salazar caught Harry’s glance and shook his head. “I can feel the sense of the words echoing through our bond, because you understand them. That’s not the same as being able to speak the language myself. I will have to brew a potion that binds a language to the drinker’s blood and bone.”
“What did he say, Harry?”
Harry sighed and faced Dumbledore’s portrait again. “He created a bond with me, sir. He asked that I become Harry Slytherin, and take up the legacy of Slytherin with him, and behave in the manner of a real Parselmouth.”
“A real Parselmouth,” Dumbledore repeated dazedly. “But that gift came from the Horcrux. It should have died with Tom.”
“Apparently, it didn’t,” Harry said, with another helpless shrug, and glanced at Salazar. “What do you need for the potion?”
“The blood of a native speaker, and a small bit of your bone.”
Harry grimaced, thinking of Lockhart Vanishing his bones in second year. At least this would be for a better purpose. “All right.” There was no question but that Salazar would use his bone and blood for the potion, he thought, even though probably the same material from any native speaker would do. He was the only one Salazar trusted.
Harry paused, startled. How did he know that?
“You are picking up some things from our bond as well.” Salazar stepped up to him and drew his hand down Harry’s cheek the way he had in the doorless room where Harry had found him. Harry felt his face burn, especially since Dumbledore and Snape’s portrait were watching. “That is only natural.”
“Why?”
“The kiss created a marriage bond.”
“Okay, what the fuck?”
*
“I know you said that he doesn’t hate Muggleborns, Harry, but I don’t trust him.”
Harry glanced up at Hermione as she sat down beside him on the lakeshore, and shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he thought. But it was the truest expression of what he was feeling.
“I know,” Harry said quietly, looking out over the lake and watching the small ripples come to shore. It seemed almost unnatural not to be speaking in Parseltongue, given that he’d used it more often than English now for the past few weeks. “He forged a marriage bond with me and didn’t tell me. I don’t fully trust him either.”
“Then why trust him at all? Why not enact the ritual Professor Dumbledore wanted you to and summon back Godric Gryffindor?”
Harry blinked at her. “So he could take over my body and eliminate me?”
“I—I didn’t mean—” Hermione ran her hand through her hair, which wasn’t much more effective at putting it back in place than Harry’s hand was for Harry’s hair. He swallowed a grin at the way it was sticking up. “I keep forgetting that was the price.”
Harry shrugged again and nodded. “So do I.”
“Do you think you could persuade Slytherin to let Gryffindor have his body?”
Harry winced, hard, at the pull of betrayal on the marriage bond. “No.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
Harry turned to face Hermione. There was a note in her voice that he didn’t like, and he thought he might as well have it out with her here and now, or spend the rest of the summer bickering about it.
“Do I feel particularly good about the fact that the Founder I’m closest to is Salazar Slytherin? No, I don’t. Did I lie to you about having lost my Parseltongue? Yes, I did. I’m sorry for that. Does the marriage bond that Slytherin forced on me without telling me what he was doing infuriate me? Yes, it does. But it happened, Hermione! It’s done! I can’t go back and change things just because you would like it if I changed them! The marriage bond is here now and I can’t betray him that way—just as he can’t betray me—”
“Betray you any other way? Because I think he betrayed you when he forced the bond on you!”
“Yeah, any other way,” Harry said, fighting to keep his voice level. “But he said that he doesn’t want to kill Muggleborns, and I believe him. And he said that he wants to keep me safe, and I believe him. The ritual didn’t work out the way Dumbledore wanted. I’m not going to perform it again. Salazar won’t let me give up my body for Gryffindor, and he won’t give up his. Live with it.”
Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. Then she got up and stormed away.
Harry turned back to face the lake and put his head in his hands.
*
“I do not like it that you are so miserable.”
“I wonder why I am,” Harry said without turning around. “Could it be the marriage bond that you forced on me and the way it’s separated me from my friends? Could it be the disgusted way half the people in the castle look at me now? Could it be that more people than ever are writing stupid articles about how I’m evil and you’re evil and probably we inherited Voldemort’s evil? I wonder what it could be.”
Salazar stepped up behind Harry. They were in one of his hidden labs, a room deep in the dungeons that had remained in pristine condition because of the magic cast on it. Large mirrors hung on the walls, showing visions of past and present and future; Salazar could tune each one to focus on what he wanted. And panels of emerald-green cloth lined the walls, the better to focus Parseltongue magic.
“I will make it up to you.”
“You’ll sever the marriage bond?”
Salazar frowned. The potion that would give him the ability to speak English, complete with blood and chips of Harry’s bone, was bubbling away behind them, but he still didn’t like it when Harry shifted into English, out of their shared tongue. “No. I need you with me.”
“You don’t need me with you. There are hundreds of people who would welcome a bond with you, especially if you could give them Parseltongue.”
Salazar hissed and turned Harry around with his hands on his shoulders. Harry glared at him. His eyes were blazing green in a way that put even the panels of cloth on the walls to shame, and Salazar would have stopped to pay him compliments if he had thought that Harry would listen.
“I want you with me because you are yourself, and I need you with me because you are yourself,” Salazar said, running his fingers down Harry’s cheek. It was harder for Harry to scowl at him when he did that, he’d found. Salazar had the impression that no one else had touched Harry like that in the past, which he found baffling. “You will help heal Hogwarts and rehabilitate the reputation of our family.”
“Yes, but you didn’t need a marriage bond to accomplish that. You could have—I don’t know, adopted me or something.”
Salazar glanced over his shoulder at the potion, which was bubbling but not yet near the danger point when it would overflow, before he turned back to Harry. He would have to be more honest than he’d thought. It would cause no harm, not when someone like Harry was receiving the confession, but it still made his throat burn with discomfort.
“I was afraid of what would happen otherwise,” he said quietly. “An adoption bond is one that requires an elaborate ritual. You could have changed your mind before we could conduct it. Or someone might have convinced you to perform the walk through Hogwarts again and sacrifice your body to Godric.”
Harry studied him in silence. Then he said, “And you couldn’t have told me about the marriage bond? Let me choose it?”
Salazar turned away with his hands clenched behind his back. He hated admitting to weakness. He had told the true story of his weaknesses to someone he trusted, and Godric had betrayed him in response. “I was concerned that you would never choose it. I was concerned about the ones in your own time who might persuade you otherwise.”
“So you thought it was better to ask forgiveness than permission?”
Salazar had never heard the saying before, and he wondered if he was understanding it truly, given that he had to listen to the English words through the sense of his bond with Harry. But he ended up nodding shortly.
“I see,” said Harry, and at least he’d shifted back to Parseltongue. Salazar turned around to see him frowning at one of the mirrors.
“You do?”
“I understand. I still don’t like it.”
Salazar sighed. “Tell me how to make you happy, Harry. I do want to make you feel that way. I always intended the marriage bond to be a source of happiness to you, a support and a source of confidence.”
Harry was quiet, his head tilted, mysteries brewing behind his eyes. Salazar had added the stewed lacewings to the potion and crumbled up the magnificent emerald that he’d stored in a room deep in the dungeons before Harry at last said, “I want you to be honest with me from now on. And tell me about what the marriage bond can do.”
“It lets us sense the truth of what the other is saying,” Salazar said, relieved. He had already made a start on the honesty; it was simpler to let it continue flowing than he might once have thought. “It lets us know certain facts about each other, if we only think. It makes it impossible for us to betray each other.”
“No betrayal of any kind? I thought it just meant fidelity.”
“No betrayal of any kind,” Salazar echoed softly. He could see the way that Harry’s face was relaxing, and tilted his head in curiosity. He wouldn’t have thought that factor of the bond would matter so much to someone without his personal history. “That pleases you?”
Harry hesitated, then nodded. “People in the magical world have thought I was a Dark Lord and a liar and a cheater for a long time. They adored me, too, but then they would swing back around to hating me the instant something happened that they didn’t like. It would be nice to know there’s someone on my side no matter what.”
Salazar leaned closer, enough that Harry’s eyes widened a little. “I can promise I will never betray you,” he whispered. “I promise.”
He would have liked to say more, but the potion began to bubble so insistently that he had to turn around to tend to it. When it finished, it smoothed out into a shimmering emerald surface. Salazar examined it and nodded slowly. It would do.
“Will it work to let you understand English?”
Salazar nodded and glanced up at Harry. “But I will always prefer to speak in Parseltongue, the language of our souls.”
Harry started. Salazar supposed he had never heard anyone speak of Parseltongue that way, or include him in it. He reached out, smiling, and trailed another hand down Harry’s cheek.
This time, Harry leaned into it.
Satisfied, Salazar downed the potion.
*
“Mr. Potter, a word!”
Salazar felt the disgust shuddering through the bond that connected him to Harry, and immediately slowed down to walk beside his husband. Harry darted him a narrow-eyed glance, but didn’t seem to want to escape. Salazar nodded to him and leaned on the tree behind him. They’d just emerged from the Forbidden Forest, where they’d gone to see if Harry could attract a snake familiar.
The small adder who had answered their call was sleeping curled up in the crook of Harry’s arm. From the self-assured way the blonde woman approached them and reached towards Harry, she hadn’t seen the snake.
“I just want to know what it means to you to be Harry Slytherin,” the woman said, raking her gaze over Salazar but pulling it almost at once back to Harry. “Don’t you feel that you’re betraying your heritage? Because your mother was Muggleborn?”
“No.”
Salazar lifted a fist to his mouth to muffle the laughter that wanted to escape. Harry had taken at least one of his lessons to heart, then. Instead of trying to explain or justify himself to someone who asked him ridiculous questions, he could just offer a short answer that wouldn’t give anything away.
The woman blinked and shifted. Then she said, “But why not?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Harry was looking at the woman with the kind of distant, cool contempt that Salazar frankly thought he could stand to use on more people, like the scolding portraits in the Headmaster’s office. But at least he was using it on one person, and that was a start.
“Mr. Potter,” the woman said, whipping out a violently green quill from her pocket, “if you don’t give me the truth, I can’t guarantee what my readers might see tomorrow.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Look, Skeeter, no matter what I say, you won’t print the truth, because it won’t be exciting enough. And you’ll twist things to sell papers. So I might as well save some time and breath by not speaking to you or worrying about what you’ll write.” He turned to Salazar. “Do you think we should get Death back inside?”
Skeeter flinched and nearly tumbled backwards. Salazar inclined his head. He would have liked to speak in Parseltongue, but English was better for this circumstance. “I think she would appreciate that,” he said, and stroked the small adder’s back. She stirred but didn’t wake. The calling had taken more out of her than it had from Harry.
“Death?” Skeeter squeaked. “You named your snake Death?”
The snake’s name was actually Death-to-Small-Frightened-Animals, but it sounded less impressive in English than Parseltongue. Salazar smiled at Skeeter. “She named herself. Did you forget that Harry can speak to snakes?”
“And that my name isn’t Potter anymore?” Harry added. His voice had once again gone drawling and cool. Salazar was learning to appreciate English, if only because it was easier for Harry to sound like that than in Parseltongue, where he always sounded serious. “It’s Slytherin.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“You can’t just—you can’t just rename yourself! What about all the people depending on you?”
Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “Depending on me to be Harry Potter? Why would it be—oh. Oh, I see.”
“You see what, Harry?” Whatever revelation it was, it had left Salazar behind.
“They want me to be exactly the same,” Harry said, examining Skeeter the way Death might have examined a mouse. “The same frightened boy who didn’t retaliate when they called me names. It would have reassured them that nothing had really changed even though we had the war and everything should have changed. But I altered my name. They’re afraid of what else I might alter.”
Salazar nodded. The analysis sounded judicious to him.
“And I can be the one who controls your reputation one way or another, Mr. Pot—Slytherin.” Skeeter had straightened back up and reached for her quill again. “You would be well-advised to make an ally of me.”
Harry snorted and walked past her, cradling Death in his arm. He said to Salazar in Parseltongue, “Do you think we could invite Hermione and Ron over for dinner tonight? They should get to see you in an informal setting.”
Skeeter turned pale at the sound of the Parseltongue. Salazar gave her no more than an amused glance before he turned back to Harry. “Is it an advisable time for them to meet your new familiar?”
“No time like the present. She isn’t changing or going away, any more than our marriage bond is.”
Salazar reached out and clasped Harry’s shoulder as they walked, pushing some pleasure down the marriage bond.
Harry smiled back at him.
*
“Are you ready?”
Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He and Salazar stood on opposite sides of the Room of Requirement, which Harry hadn’t required anything from since the Fiendfyre had raged in it. Frankly, he was a bit scared of what might happen if they did ask something of it.
But this place, which was apparently a copy of the one where Salazar had spent centuries being a statue, seemed to be easier for the room to form. There were only a few cracks across the stone floor, which was seamed with the ritual circle of silver and copper, and the decorations on the walls had automatically filled in with pearls.
“From here, we reach out to the heart of the school,” Salazar whispered. “Give her your dearest memories.”
Harry had wondered why there was no elaborate chant to learn or the like, but now he thought he knew. This was a ritual made of their memories, of how much they loved Hogwarts. It had to use the words that told how they loved her, instead of some pre-made chant.
“I saw her the first time when I was eleven years old and riding in on a boat,” Harry whispered. “I had never seen anything so beautiful.”
It was difficult speaking like this with Salazar’s words overlapping his, talking about a time that he had defended the school from an attack by goblins, but Harry managed to concentrate on his own story. And he could feel the magic slowly swirling up from inside the circle and away from the decorations on the floor, sinuous as the snakes those decorations mimicked, finding ways to reach out to the school.
There was a large tug that seemed to judder through Harry, and he nearly stopped speaking in surprise. But he saw Salazar’s frantic head-shake, and reckoned that stopping right now would be a bad idea.
So he started talking about the time that he had attended his first Christmas feast and seen the Great Hall decorated for it, and caught Salazar’s relieved smile from across the circle.
Harry talked about feasts, Quidditch games, quiet evenings that he’d spent with Ron and Hermione in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, watching Fred and George escape on their brooms in his fifth year, teaching the D.A., opening Christmas presents for the first time, and so many other things that he couldn’t recall them all and his voice was hoarse. He could hear Salazar whispering about his friends, about opening the school for the first time, about marrying his wife, but those words blended and were lost.
And then the Room of Requirement shuddered, and the cracks in the walls withdrew into themselves like the legs of spiders.
Harry sagged to the floor and rolled on his back. His throat was fiery with pain, and he wished he had a glass of water.
A jug materialized next to him so suddenly that he jumped. He reached out and touched it tentatively, then winced. The sides of the jug were so cold it burned his fingertips. But he picked it up and tilted the cold water down his throat.
“We have repaired the Room.”
Harry rolled his neck and shoulders. “Anything beyond that?”
Salazar tilted his head and closed his eyes. Harry could feel him reaching out to the school, although he didn’t get the immediate sense of Hogwarts that his husband did. (His husband. That was still so weird to think about). Instead, he got a muted and reflected sense of some of the staircases and the walls.
Harry sighed. “It’ll take past the end of summer to repair the school at this rate. I hoped that people would be able to return on September 1st.”
“It only took this long with the Room because the magic here is the most complicated in Hogwarts,” Salazar said, and reached out to a jug of something that smelled alcoholic which had appeared next to him. “We will be able to go faster when we are talking about repairing the ordinary wounds in the walls.”
Harry smiled, and then he smiled more broadly, and laughed. He saw Salazar staring at him with wide eyes, but frankly he didn’t care.
He was joyful.
*
Harry was beautiful when he laughed.
It was a shame that he didn’t do it often, Salazar thought, as they sat down at the table in the Great Hall that the professors usually used. They were sitting across from the Headmistress, and such professors as she had remaining to her. Of those, many had outright rejected the notion of a pair of Parselmouths and true Slytherins helping heal the school, and the Headmistress was still wary of them. Apparently she had been told by the previous Headmaster’s portrait that Harry would certainly be summoning Godric Gryffindor.
At least Professor Filius Flitwick had accepted them right away, although that might be because of his passion for history. He winked when Salazar looked at him.
“We have to discuss your continued resistance to our work,” Salazar said quietly. He was aware that Harry had shifted over so that they were sitting directly beside each other, and he appreciated the support. Harry might claim that he was terrible and brash and had no political instincts, but he did well enough when he let himself act on the knowledge flowing through their marriage bond. “We intend to continue working to repair the physical cracks in Hogwarts, but the mental and spiritual ones will continue if you hate us this much.”
“You’re Salazar Slytherin.” Pomona Sprout made it sound like a curse. “The one who wanted to end Muggleborn attendance at the school.”
Salazar shook his head. “The history has corrupted my stance, as I told you.”
“Then tell us where that came from!”
“My son, most likely. I should never have left him in the care of his wet nurse as long as I did.”
From the way Sprout folded her arms, she didn’t believe him, but it was McGonagall who spoke up this time. “You say that we must accept you. But how can we do that when you have shown us so little to accept?”
“My husband and I have already healed the walls and cracks in such a way that none of you have been able to. My husband died for you. Is it not our place to ask what you will give to the effort, instead of suspicion and distrust?”
McGonagall’s cheeks went dark red, and she glanced at Harry and then away. None of them knew what to make of Harry, sitting calmly at Salazar’s side.
Someday, Salazar resolved, it would be with more than calmness, more than contentment. But they were not there yet.
“We should do the ritual again,” said Hagrid, the half-giant who had avoided Salazar’s gaze and Harry’s presence ever since Salazar had returned from stasis. “Summon Gryffindor back. He’d know what to do.”
“Certainly,” Salazar said. “Would you like to do it?”
Hagrid started and stared at him. Salazar smiled back at him, and then swept the table with that smile. More than one of them flinched.
“Every single one of you has expected sacrifices from Harry,” Salazar said softly. “You assumed that of course he would give his body and life for this ritual. I wonder how much of your reaction is hatred of me, and how much of it is simply disappointment that he has once again survived and you are being asked to make your own sacrifices.”
“That is not—”
“Of course we’re happy Harry survived—”
“You don’t act like it,” Harry interrupted.
They shut up and stared at him. Salazar wanted to shake his head, but managed to refrain. Harry had such a commanding presence when he wanted to use it. He simply appeared to believe that he shouldn’t, or that using it to defend himself was selfish unless he could use it to defend someone else at the same time.
The shape of their marriage bond at the moment, a protective outstretched one extended towards Salazar like a hand, told Salazar which reason this was.
“You act as though I should have just died or become possessed, whatever the ritual qualifies as, out of the goodness of my heart,” Harry continued. “Even Dumbledore’s portrait didn’t see any other solution. He could have told someone else to do this ritual. He could have helped them. He didn’t. And he’s not happy that Salazar was the Founder who came back, even though any Founder would have a connection to the school and we’ve already begun healing Hogwarts. He wanted a particular thing. He had a particular vision for me. All of you did.” Harry folded his arms. “It didn’t come true. Deal with it, or get out of our way.”
“And my husband does mean that literally,” Salazar added softly. “While you are in Hogwarts and resent our presence, you are a literal impediment to the atmosphere around the school, poisoned by Voldemort.” It was entertaining how many of them still flinched at that name. “Leave if you cannot accept us.”
They wanted to debate and argue. Salazar listened without speaking. Harry largely did the same thing. When that streambed had dried up, Harry stood.
Their eyes fastened on him in adoration that Harry didn’t seem to be entirely aware of. Nor were they, Salazar thought. But part of them resented adoring Harry, having to pay so much attention to him. It was probably a large source of the animosity and betrayal Harry had dealt with down the years.
“You made your points,” Harry said softly. “None of it changes what has to be done. Salazar is still the only one with the knowledge and the connection to the school that can heal it. Accept it or leave.”
More than one person shifted as if they would get up from the table and stomp out of the Great Hall, but Harry didn’t wait for them to do it. He turned and extended his hand to Salazar.
Salazar accepted it and stood, extending the protective hand of the bond to Harry at the same time. Harry was smiling as they left the Great Hall, and ignored the huffs and complaints of the people behind them as if born to it.
May I give him more than contentment.
*
“I just don’t see why you had to lie to us about your Parseltongue being gone.”
Harry tilted his head back. He had been lying on the stones at the top of the Astronomy Tower, which was finally repaired enough to be stable for that. Next to him, Death was digesting a mouse, and lifted her head and hissed in response to Ginny disturbing them. Harry put a hand on her back. “She’s a friend.”
“She does not smell like one.”
Harry soothed his familiar with one hand, feeling the bright glow of the bond inside his soul, lighter and less persistent than the bond with Salazar, but there. It had helped ease a little of his grief over losing Hedwig.
He looked back at Ginny in time to catch her flinch. He nodded. “You’re scared of it.”
Ginny flushed, but she had always been one to face her fear, and she folded her arms. “Can you blame me, after what happened in our second year?”
Harry shook his head. “But that’s why I lied about it. I thought we might get married at some point, or at least date, and I didn’t want you to be frightened of me.”
Ginny sighed and hung her head for a long moment. Next to Harry, Death hissed a little about how delicious the mouse had been—a common subject of snake conversation, Harry had found—and curled up to sleep.
Then Ginny murmured, “We’re never going to be together, you and I.”
“No,” Harry said softly. He heard acceptance in her voice, and he had accepted it even before he made his walk through the school that had ended up summoning Salazar. “That’s just the way it worked out.”
Ginny nodded, gave him a sad smile, and turned around. “I suspected it,” she said over her shoulder. “I just had to confirm it.”
Harry lay there when she’d gone and tried to feel regret in himself. But he didn’t think he did. Yes, lots of things about the way that he and Salazar had got married had been less than ideal. Still, he was internally celebrating the idea of someone who was bonded to him, who couldn’t betray him, who would always be loyal to him and put Harry’s interests first.
Who couldn’t leave him, the way his parents and Sirius and Dumbledore all had. Even Snape. Even Ron and Hermione, sometimes, although never for very long.
“You smell content,” Death said, in the whispery voice that meant she was on the edge of sleep.
Harry stroked her scales again, and lifted her to sleep on his stomach, which Salazar had said would accelerate their bond. “I am.”
*
“You’re ready to share a bed?”
Salazar had to admit, the last thing he had expected was to come into the suite of rooms that he had opened for them, and where Harry had his own space, and find Harry in his bed.
Harry rolled over and looked at him with fathomless green eyes. Salazar liked to think that he had lit a new light in those eyes, even if he also had to admit that he wasn’t sure.
“For sleeping only,” Harry said. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready for mating.” He made a face, probably at the way the Parseltongue word had turned out. “It could be years. And I don’t know how patient you’ll be.”
“As patient as need be,” Salazar whispered, overwhelmed in a way that he hadn’t felt since Godric had betrayed him. He checked to see what Harry was wearing, and saw the drape of a light linen robe around his frame. Salazar stripped down to the last layer under his clothes, which was the same thing. “I can wait, Harry. Our lives are tangled together. I will wait.”
Harry gave him a hesitant smile. It wasn’t as calm as the one he had worn in the past when they were facing the Hogwarts professors, or the joyful one he had worn when they’d healed the Room of Requirement. But it had the echoes of all those emotions in it, the promise of happiness that Salazar might someday bring him.
“Thank you.”
Salazar slid into the bed and hesitantly put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry rolled towards him, and their shoulders and their flanks touched.
Salazar closed his eyes.
The world had changed. Until tonight, he had not known how much.
But he looked forwards to finding out.
The End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Salazar Slytherin
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, angst, Parseltongue, arranged marriage, non-linear scenes
Rating: R
Wordcount: 5400
Summary: Harry has a lot of quick talking to do to explain why a ritual that was intended to let Godric Gryffindor possess Harry’s body and work on rebuilding the school after the final battle ended up summoning Salazar Slytherin instead—and turning Harry into Salazar’s husband. Sequel to “The Task of Being Emerald.”
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Songs of the Stormy Season,” shorter fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. A number of people requested a sequel to “The Task of Being Emerald.” Read that one first, as this one otherwise won’t make much sense. This is likely not the end of the story, either.
The Burden of Being Emerald
“Harry, how did this happen?”
Hermione asked the question with her hands on her hips. Harry sighed and sat down on the chair in front of her in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Ginny were the only other ones there, but Harry could all too easily imagine the crowd of people that would be staring at him later on, when word of Salazar’s return spread further.
“You know about the ritual Headmaster Dumbledore wanted me to do,” he began.
*
“My dear boy, how did this happen?”
The portrait of Professor Dumbledore whispered the words when Harry walked into the office hand-in-hand with Salazar. There was no doubt that Dumbledore recognized the man. Harry supposed there was probably another portrait or statue of him around somewhere, other than the one in the Chamber. Or maybe Dumbledore had gone down there.
“When I entered the office that was created in the ritual, the emerald wall shone the strongest,” Harry said, and shrugged helplessly. “And he asked me to sacrifice my name and to work with him in the future instead of possessing my body.”
“Your name?”
“His name is Harry Slytherin.” Salazar’s voice was quiet but hard. Harry shot him a glance, wondering why he had spoken in Parseltongue if he could understand English—and surely he understood English, if he knew to respond that way to Dumbledore’s question?
Salazar caught Harry’s glance and shook his head. “I can feel the sense of the words echoing through our bond, because you understand them. That’s not the same as being able to speak the language myself. I will have to brew a potion that binds a language to the drinker’s blood and bone.”
“What did he say, Harry?”
Harry sighed and faced Dumbledore’s portrait again. “He created a bond with me, sir. He asked that I become Harry Slytherin, and take up the legacy of Slytherin with him, and behave in the manner of a real Parselmouth.”
“A real Parselmouth,” Dumbledore repeated dazedly. “But that gift came from the Horcrux. It should have died with Tom.”
“Apparently, it didn’t,” Harry said, with another helpless shrug, and glanced at Salazar. “What do you need for the potion?”
“The blood of a native speaker, and a small bit of your bone.”
Harry grimaced, thinking of Lockhart Vanishing his bones in second year. At least this would be for a better purpose. “All right.” There was no question but that Salazar would use his bone and blood for the potion, he thought, even though probably the same material from any native speaker would do. He was the only one Salazar trusted.
Harry paused, startled. How did he know that?
“You are picking up some things from our bond as well.” Salazar stepped up to him and drew his hand down Harry’s cheek the way he had in the doorless room where Harry had found him. Harry felt his face burn, especially since Dumbledore and Snape’s portrait were watching. “That is only natural.”
“Why?”
“The kiss created a marriage bond.”
“Okay, what the fuck?”
*
“I know you said that he doesn’t hate Muggleborns, Harry, but I don’t trust him.”
Harry glanced up at Hermione as she sat down beside him on the lakeshore, and shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he thought. But it was the truest expression of what he was feeling.
“I know,” Harry said quietly, looking out over the lake and watching the small ripples come to shore. It seemed almost unnatural not to be speaking in Parseltongue, given that he’d used it more often than English now for the past few weeks. “He forged a marriage bond with me and didn’t tell me. I don’t fully trust him either.”
“Then why trust him at all? Why not enact the ritual Professor Dumbledore wanted you to and summon back Godric Gryffindor?”
Harry blinked at her. “So he could take over my body and eliminate me?”
“I—I didn’t mean—” Hermione ran her hand through her hair, which wasn’t much more effective at putting it back in place than Harry’s hand was for Harry’s hair. He swallowed a grin at the way it was sticking up. “I keep forgetting that was the price.”
Harry shrugged again and nodded. “So do I.”
“Do you think you could persuade Slytherin to let Gryffindor have his body?”
Harry winced, hard, at the pull of betrayal on the marriage bond. “No.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
Harry turned to face Hermione. There was a note in her voice that he didn’t like, and he thought he might as well have it out with her here and now, or spend the rest of the summer bickering about it.
“Do I feel particularly good about the fact that the Founder I’m closest to is Salazar Slytherin? No, I don’t. Did I lie to you about having lost my Parseltongue? Yes, I did. I’m sorry for that. Does the marriage bond that Slytherin forced on me without telling me what he was doing infuriate me? Yes, it does. But it happened, Hermione! It’s done! I can’t go back and change things just because you would like it if I changed them! The marriage bond is here now and I can’t betray him that way—just as he can’t betray me—”
“Betray you any other way? Because I think he betrayed you when he forced the bond on you!”
“Yeah, any other way,” Harry said, fighting to keep his voice level. “But he said that he doesn’t want to kill Muggleborns, and I believe him. And he said that he wants to keep me safe, and I believe him. The ritual didn’t work out the way Dumbledore wanted. I’m not going to perform it again. Salazar won’t let me give up my body for Gryffindor, and he won’t give up his. Live with it.”
Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. Then she got up and stormed away.
Harry turned back to face the lake and put his head in his hands.
*
“I do not like it that you are so miserable.”
“I wonder why I am,” Harry said without turning around. “Could it be the marriage bond that you forced on me and the way it’s separated me from my friends? Could it be the disgusted way half the people in the castle look at me now? Could it be that more people than ever are writing stupid articles about how I’m evil and you’re evil and probably we inherited Voldemort’s evil? I wonder what it could be.”
Salazar stepped up behind Harry. They were in one of his hidden labs, a room deep in the dungeons that had remained in pristine condition because of the magic cast on it. Large mirrors hung on the walls, showing visions of past and present and future; Salazar could tune each one to focus on what he wanted. And panels of emerald-green cloth lined the walls, the better to focus Parseltongue magic.
“I will make it up to you.”
“You’ll sever the marriage bond?”
Salazar frowned. The potion that would give him the ability to speak English, complete with blood and chips of Harry’s bone, was bubbling away behind them, but he still didn’t like it when Harry shifted into English, out of their shared tongue. “No. I need you with me.”
“You don’t need me with you. There are hundreds of people who would welcome a bond with you, especially if you could give them Parseltongue.”
Salazar hissed and turned Harry around with his hands on his shoulders. Harry glared at him. His eyes were blazing green in a way that put even the panels of cloth on the walls to shame, and Salazar would have stopped to pay him compliments if he had thought that Harry would listen.
“I want you with me because you are yourself, and I need you with me because you are yourself,” Salazar said, running his fingers down Harry’s cheek. It was harder for Harry to scowl at him when he did that, he’d found. Salazar had the impression that no one else had touched Harry like that in the past, which he found baffling. “You will help heal Hogwarts and rehabilitate the reputation of our family.”
“Yes, but you didn’t need a marriage bond to accomplish that. You could have—I don’t know, adopted me or something.”
Salazar glanced over his shoulder at the potion, which was bubbling but not yet near the danger point when it would overflow, before he turned back to Harry. He would have to be more honest than he’d thought. It would cause no harm, not when someone like Harry was receiving the confession, but it still made his throat burn with discomfort.
“I was afraid of what would happen otherwise,” he said quietly. “An adoption bond is one that requires an elaborate ritual. You could have changed your mind before we could conduct it. Or someone might have convinced you to perform the walk through Hogwarts again and sacrifice your body to Godric.”
Harry studied him in silence. Then he said, “And you couldn’t have told me about the marriage bond? Let me choose it?”
Salazar turned away with his hands clenched behind his back. He hated admitting to weakness. He had told the true story of his weaknesses to someone he trusted, and Godric had betrayed him in response. “I was concerned that you would never choose it. I was concerned about the ones in your own time who might persuade you otherwise.”
“So you thought it was better to ask forgiveness than permission?”
Salazar had never heard the saying before, and he wondered if he was understanding it truly, given that he had to listen to the English words through the sense of his bond with Harry. But he ended up nodding shortly.
“I see,” said Harry, and at least he’d shifted back to Parseltongue. Salazar turned around to see him frowning at one of the mirrors.
“You do?”
“I understand. I still don’t like it.”
Salazar sighed. “Tell me how to make you happy, Harry. I do want to make you feel that way. I always intended the marriage bond to be a source of happiness to you, a support and a source of confidence.”
Harry was quiet, his head tilted, mysteries brewing behind his eyes. Salazar had added the stewed lacewings to the potion and crumbled up the magnificent emerald that he’d stored in a room deep in the dungeons before Harry at last said, “I want you to be honest with me from now on. And tell me about what the marriage bond can do.”
“It lets us sense the truth of what the other is saying,” Salazar said, relieved. He had already made a start on the honesty; it was simpler to let it continue flowing than he might once have thought. “It lets us know certain facts about each other, if we only think. It makes it impossible for us to betray each other.”
“No betrayal of any kind? I thought it just meant fidelity.”
“No betrayal of any kind,” Salazar echoed softly. He could see the way that Harry’s face was relaxing, and tilted his head in curiosity. He wouldn’t have thought that factor of the bond would matter so much to someone without his personal history. “That pleases you?”
Harry hesitated, then nodded. “People in the magical world have thought I was a Dark Lord and a liar and a cheater for a long time. They adored me, too, but then they would swing back around to hating me the instant something happened that they didn’t like. It would be nice to know there’s someone on my side no matter what.”
Salazar leaned closer, enough that Harry’s eyes widened a little. “I can promise I will never betray you,” he whispered. “I promise.”
He would have liked to say more, but the potion began to bubble so insistently that he had to turn around to tend to it. When it finished, it smoothed out into a shimmering emerald surface. Salazar examined it and nodded slowly. It would do.
“Will it work to let you understand English?”
Salazar nodded and glanced up at Harry. “But I will always prefer to speak in Parseltongue, the language of our souls.”
Harry started. Salazar supposed he had never heard anyone speak of Parseltongue that way, or include him in it. He reached out, smiling, and trailed another hand down Harry’s cheek.
This time, Harry leaned into it.
Satisfied, Salazar downed the potion.
*
“Mr. Potter, a word!”
Salazar felt the disgust shuddering through the bond that connected him to Harry, and immediately slowed down to walk beside his husband. Harry darted him a narrow-eyed glance, but didn’t seem to want to escape. Salazar nodded to him and leaned on the tree behind him. They’d just emerged from the Forbidden Forest, where they’d gone to see if Harry could attract a snake familiar.
The small adder who had answered their call was sleeping curled up in the crook of Harry’s arm. From the self-assured way the blonde woman approached them and reached towards Harry, she hadn’t seen the snake.
“I just want to know what it means to you to be Harry Slytherin,” the woman said, raking her gaze over Salazar but pulling it almost at once back to Harry. “Don’t you feel that you’re betraying your heritage? Because your mother was Muggleborn?”
“No.”
Salazar lifted a fist to his mouth to muffle the laughter that wanted to escape. Harry had taken at least one of his lessons to heart, then. Instead of trying to explain or justify himself to someone who asked him ridiculous questions, he could just offer a short answer that wouldn’t give anything away.
The woman blinked and shifted. Then she said, “But why not?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Harry was looking at the woman with the kind of distant, cool contempt that Salazar frankly thought he could stand to use on more people, like the scolding portraits in the Headmaster’s office. But at least he was using it on one person, and that was a start.
“Mr. Potter,” the woman said, whipping out a violently green quill from her pocket, “if you don’t give me the truth, I can’t guarantee what my readers might see tomorrow.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Look, Skeeter, no matter what I say, you won’t print the truth, because it won’t be exciting enough. And you’ll twist things to sell papers. So I might as well save some time and breath by not speaking to you or worrying about what you’ll write.” He turned to Salazar. “Do you think we should get Death back inside?”
Skeeter flinched and nearly tumbled backwards. Salazar inclined his head. He would have liked to speak in Parseltongue, but English was better for this circumstance. “I think she would appreciate that,” he said, and stroked the small adder’s back. She stirred but didn’t wake. The calling had taken more out of her than it had from Harry.
“Death?” Skeeter squeaked. “You named your snake Death?”
The snake’s name was actually Death-to-Small-Frightened-Animals, but it sounded less impressive in English than Parseltongue. Salazar smiled at Skeeter. “She named herself. Did you forget that Harry can speak to snakes?”
“And that my name isn’t Potter anymore?” Harry added. His voice had once again gone drawling and cool. Salazar was learning to appreciate English, if only because it was easier for Harry to sound like that than in Parseltongue, where he always sounded serious. “It’s Slytherin.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“You can’t just—you can’t just rename yourself! What about all the people depending on you?”
Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “Depending on me to be Harry Potter? Why would it be—oh. Oh, I see.”
“You see what, Harry?” Whatever revelation it was, it had left Salazar behind.
“They want me to be exactly the same,” Harry said, examining Skeeter the way Death might have examined a mouse. “The same frightened boy who didn’t retaliate when they called me names. It would have reassured them that nothing had really changed even though we had the war and everything should have changed. But I altered my name. They’re afraid of what else I might alter.”
Salazar nodded. The analysis sounded judicious to him.
“And I can be the one who controls your reputation one way or another, Mr. Pot—Slytherin.” Skeeter had straightened back up and reached for her quill again. “You would be well-advised to make an ally of me.”
Harry snorted and walked past her, cradling Death in his arm. He said to Salazar in Parseltongue, “Do you think we could invite Hermione and Ron over for dinner tonight? They should get to see you in an informal setting.”
Skeeter turned pale at the sound of the Parseltongue. Salazar gave her no more than an amused glance before he turned back to Harry. “Is it an advisable time for them to meet your new familiar?”
“No time like the present. She isn’t changing or going away, any more than our marriage bond is.”
Salazar reached out and clasped Harry’s shoulder as they walked, pushing some pleasure down the marriage bond.
Harry smiled back at him.
*
“Are you ready?”
Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He and Salazar stood on opposite sides of the Room of Requirement, which Harry hadn’t required anything from since the Fiendfyre had raged in it. Frankly, he was a bit scared of what might happen if they did ask something of it.
But this place, which was apparently a copy of the one where Salazar had spent centuries being a statue, seemed to be easier for the room to form. There were only a few cracks across the stone floor, which was seamed with the ritual circle of silver and copper, and the decorations on the walls had automatically filled in with pearls.
“From here, we reach out to the heart of the school,” Salazar whispered. “Give her your dearest memories.”
Harry had wondered why there was no elaborate chant to learn or the like, but now he thought he knew. This was a ritual made of their memories, of how much they loved Hogwarts. It had to use the words that told how they loved her, instead of some pre-made chant.
“I saw her the first time when I was eleven years old and riding in on a boat,” Harry whispered. “I had never seen anything so beautiful.”
It was difficult speaking like this with Salazar’s words overlapping his, talking about a time that he had defended the school from an attack by goblins, but Harry managed to concentrate on his own story. And he could feel the magic slowly swirling up from inside the circle and away from the decorations on the floor, sinuous as the snakes those decorations mimicked, finding ways to reach out to the school.
There was a large tug that seemed to judder through Harry, and he nearly stopped speaking in surprise. But he saw Salazar’s frantic head-shake, and reckoned that stopping right now would be a bad idea.
So he started talking about the time that he had attended his first Christmas feast and seen the Great Hall decorated for it, and caught Salazar’s relieved smile from across the circle.
Harry talked about feasts, Quidditch games, quiet evenings that he’d spent with Ron and Hermione in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, watching Fred and George escape on their brooms in his fifth year, teaching the D.A., opening Christmas presents for the first time, and so many other things that he couldn’t recall them all and his voice was hoarse. He could hear Salazar whispering about his friends, about opening the school for the first time, about marrying his wife, but those words blended and were lost.
And then the Room of Requirement shuddered, and the cracks in the walls withdrew into themselves like the legs of spiders.
Harry sagged to the floor and rolled on his back. His throat was fiery with pain, and he wished he had a glass of water.
A jug materialized next to him so suddenly that he jumped. He reached out and touched it tentatively, then winced. The sides of the jug were so cold it burned his fingertips. But he picked it up and tilted the cold water down his throat.
“We have repaired the Room.”
Harry rolled his neck and shoulders. “Anything beyond that?”
Salazar tilted his head and closed his eyes. Harry could feel him reaching out to the school, although he didn’t get the immediate sense of Hogwarts that his husband did. (His husband. That was still so weird to think about). Instead, he got a muted and reflected sense of some of the staircases and the walls.
Harry sighed. “It’ll take past the end of summer to repair the school at this rate. I hoped that people would be able to return on September 1st.”
“It only took this long with the Room because the magic here is the most complicated in Hogwarts,” Salazar said, and reached out to a jug of something that smelled alcoholic which had appeared next to him. “We will be able to go faster when we are talking about repairing the ordinary wounds in the walls.”
Harry smiled, and then he smiled more broadly, and laughed. He saw Salazar staring at him with wide eyes, but frankly he didn’t care.
He was joyful.
*
Harry was beautiful when he laughed.
It was a shame that he didn’t do it often, Salazar thought, as they sat down at the table in the Great Hall that the professors usually used. They were sitting across from the Headmistress, and such professors as she had remaining to her. Of those, many had outright rejected the notion of a pair of Parselmouths and true Slytherins helping heal the school, and the Headmistress was still wary of them. Apparently she had been told by the previous Headmaster’s portrait that Harry would certainly be summoning Godric Gryffindor.
At least Professor Filius Flitwick had accepted them right away, although that might be because of his passion for history. He winked when Salazar looked at him.
“We have to discuss your continued resistance to our work,” Salazar said quietly. He was aware that Harry had shifted over so that they were sitting directly beside each other, and he appreciated the support. Harry might claim that he was terrible and brash and had no political instincts, but he did well enough when he let himself act on the knowledge flowing through their marriage bond. “We intend to continue working to repair the physical cracks in Hogwarts, but the mental and spiritual ones will continue if you hate us this much.”
“You’re Salazar Slytherin.” Pomona Sprout made it sound like a curse. “The one who wanted to end Muggleborn attendance at the school.”
Salazar shook his head. “The history has corrupted my stance, as I told you.”
“Then tell us where that came from!”
“My son, most likely. I should never have left him in the care of his wet nurse as long as I did.”
From the way Sprout folded her arms, she didn’t believe him, but it was McGonagall who spoke up this time. “You say that we must accept you. But how can we do that when you have shown us so little to accept?”
“My husband and I have already healed the walls and cracks in such a way that none of you have been able to. My husband died for you. Is it not our place to ask what you will give to the effort, instead of suspicion and distrust?”
McGonagall’s cheeks went dark red, and she glanced at Harry and then away. None of them knew what to make of Harry, sitting calmly at Salazar’s side.
Someday, Salazar resolved, it would be with more than calmness, more than contentment. But they were not there yet.
“We should do the ritual again,” said Hagrid, the half-giant who had avoided Salazar’s gaze and Harry’s presence ever since Salazar had returned from stasis. “Summon Gryffindor back. He’d know what to do.”
“Certainly,” Salazar said. “Would you like to do it?”
Hagrid started and stared at him. Salazar smiled back at him, and then swept the table with that smile. More than one of them flinched.
“Every single one of you has expected sacrifices from Harry,” Salazar said softly. “You assumed that of course he would give his body and life for this ritual. I wonder how much of your reaction is hatred of me, and how much of it is simply disappointment that he has once again survived and you are being asked to make your own sacrifices.”
“That is not—”
“Of course we’re happy Harry survived—”
“You don’t act like it,” Harry interrupted.
They shut up and stared at him. Salazar wanted to shake his head, but managed to refrain. Harry had such a commanding presence when he wanted to use it. He simply appeared to believe that he shouldn’t, or that using it to defend himself was selfish unless he could use it to defend someone else at the same time.
The shape of their marriage bond at the moment, a protective outstretched one extended towards Salazar like a hand, told Salazar which reason this was.
“You act as though I should have just died or become possessed, whatever the ritual qualifies as, out of the goodness of my heart,” Harry continued. “Even Dumbledore’s portrait didn’t see any other solution. He could have told someone else to do this ritual. He could have helped them. He didn’t. And he’s not happy that Salazar was the Founder who came back, even though any Founder would have a connection to the school and we’ve already begun healing Hogwarts. He wanted a particular thing. He had a particular vision for me. All of you did.” Harry folded his arms. “It didn’t come true. Deal with it, or get out of our way.”
“And my husband does mean that literally,” Salazar added softly. “While you are in Hogwarts and resent our presence, you are a literal impediment to the atmosphere around the school, poisoned by Voldemort.” It was entertaining how many of them still flinched at that name. “Leave if you cannot accept us.”
They wanted to debate and argue. Salazar listened without speaking. Harry largely did the same thing. When that streambed had dried up, Harry stood.
Their eyes fastened on him in adoration that Harry didn’t seem to be entirely aware of. Nor were they, Salazar thought. But part of them resented adoring Harry, having to pay so much attention to him. It was probably a large source of the animosity and betrayal Harry had dealt with down the years.
“You made your points,” Harry said softly. “None of it changes what has to be done. Salazar is still the only one with the knowledge and the connection to the school that can heal it. Accept it or leave.”
More than one person shifted as if they would get up from the table and stomp out of the Great Hall, but Harry didn’t wait for them to do it. He turned and extended his hand to Salazar.
Salazar accepted it and stood, extending the protective hand of the bond to Harry at the same time. Harry was smiling as they left the Great Hall, and ignored the huffs and complaints of the people behind them as if born to it.
May I give him more than contentment.
*
“I just don’t see why you had to lie to us about your Parseltongue being gone.”
Harry tilted his head back. He had been lying on the stones at the top of the Astronomy Tower, which was finally repaired enough to be stable for that. Next to him, Death was digesting a mouse, and lifted her head and hissed in response to Ginny disturbing them. Harry put a hand on her back. “She’s a friend.”
“She does not smell like one.”
Harry soothed his familiar with one hand, feeling the bright glow of the bond inside his soul, lighter and less persistent than the bond with Salazar, but there. It had helped ease a little of his grief over losing Hedwig.
He looked back at Ginny in time to catch her flinch. He nodded. “You’re scared of it.”
Ginny flushed, but she had always been one to face her fear, and she folded her arms. “Can you blame me, after what happened in our second year?”
Harry shook his head. “But that’s why I lied about it. I thought we might get married at some point, or at least date, and I didn’t want you to be frightened of me.”
Ginny sighed and hung her head for a long moment. Next to Harry, Death hissed a little about how delicious the mouse had been—a common subject of snake conversation, Harry had found—and curled up to sleep.
Then Ginny murmured, “We’re never going to be together, you and I.”
“No,” Harry said softly. He heard acceptance in her voice, and he had accepted it even before he made his walk through the school that had ended up summoning Salazar. “That’s just the way it worked out.”
Ginny nodded, gave him a sad smile, and turned around. “I suspected it,” she said over her shoulder. “I just had to confirm it.”
Harry lay there when she’d gone and tried to feel regret in himself. But he didn’t think he did. Yes, lots of things about the way that he and Salazar had got married had been less than ideal. Still, he was internally celebrating the idea of someone who was bonded to him, who couldn’t betray him, who would always be loyal to him and put Harry’s interests first.
Who couldn’t leave him, the way his parents and Sirius and Dumbledore all had. Even Snape. Even Ron and Hermione, sometimes, although never for very long.
“You smell content,” Death said, in the whispery voice that meant she was on the edge of sleep.
Harry stroked her scales again, and lifted her to sleep on his stomach, which Salazar had said would accelerate their bond. “I am.”
*
“You’re ready to share a bed?”
Salazar had to admit, the last thing he had expected was to come into the suite of rooms that he had opened for them, and where Harry had his own space, and find Harry in his bed.
Harry rolled over and looked at him with fathomless green eyes. Salazar liked to think that he had lit a new light in those eyes, even if he also had to admit that he wasn’t sure.
“For sleeping only,” Harry said. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready for mating.” He made a face, probably at the way the Parseltongue word had turned out. “It could be years. And I don’t know how patient you’ll be.”
“As patient as need be,” Salazar whispered, overwhelmed in a way that he hadn’t felt since Godric had betrayed him. He checked to see what Harry was wearing, and saw the drape of a light linen robe around his frame. Salazar stripped down to the last layer under his clothes, which was the same thing. “I can wait, Harry. Our lives are tangled together. I will wait.”
Harry gave him a hesitant smile. It wasn’t as calm as the one he had worn in the past when they were facing the Hogwarts professors, or the joyful one he had worn when they’d healed the Room of Requirement. But it had the echoes of all those emotions in it, the promise of happiness that Salazar might someday bring him.
“Thank you.”
Salazar slid into the bed and hesitantly put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry rolled towards him, and their shoulders and their flanks touched.
Salazar closed his eyes.
The world had changed. Until tonight, he had not known how much.
But he looked forwards to finding out.
The End.