Work Text:
Harry Potter heard the spell and saw it leave Theodore Nott’s wand, but he was still unable to dodge it. The jinx brushed the edge of his knee and sent him stumbling to the stone floor as he tripped over his own feet. His hands smarted, but he could tell by the feel alone that they weren’t bleeding.
Snickers came from the nearest table in the library; he glanced right to see a group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws staring at him with cruel amusement.
“Haven’t learned to walk yet, Potter?” Nott taunted.
“Obviously not,” muttered Harry sarcastically.
Instead of retorting, Nott’s smirk just widened as he leaned back in his seat and twirled his quill between his fingers. Nott’s companions followed his example like shadows.
Before Harry could ask what was so entertaining—because it wasn’t like Nott had never hit him with the tripping jinx before—Harry noticed one of the Ravenclaw girls was blushing and pointing to his left.
Turning, Harry felt his face catch on fire as he realized that he was kneeling before a chair that Dianthe Malfoy was sitting on as she studied.
Only, she wasn’t revising anymore; she was peering down at him from under her golden eyelashes, gray eyes flashing with shock and something else she hid too quickly for him to recognize.
Now the students’ amusement made sense. Harry was mortified.
Kneeling in front of a pureblood maiden was tantamount to declaring an unavoidable preference and deep love. It was, essentially, asking for a witch’s hand in bonding by placing himself at her feet and silently announcing that he would always place her above himself. It stated that she was worthy of his love, respect, protection, and more.
Right now, he was unintentionally stating to all who knew the old customs that he felt Dianthe was worthy of reverence.
Harry could have leapt to his feet and fled the room, which likely would have been his godfather’s advice (because Sirius Black didn’t believe in settling down before a wizard had lived a little). However, his godfather had raised him properly, teaching him the Potter family traditions and customs after his parents’ deaths, and he wouldn’t dishonor his heritage—especially not when he would inherit the Potter Lordship when he graduated.
Closing his eyes and wishing the floor would swallow him whole, Harry waited for the inevitable humiliation of rejection.
He had offended Dianthe on the Hogwarts Express before first year by sitting with Ron Weasley—the Malfoys and Weasleys were blood feuding, still; he hadn’t known that at the time—and she had reviled him ever since.
Due to their rivalry, Dianthe would likely see this as a perfect chance for revenge.
In fact, he wouldn’t even be able to blame her for his embarrassment when she rejected him. Nott was the one who had tripped him, after all. The scrawny git was always trying to make Harry look like a fool when Dianthe was around. Harry suspected that Nott was hoping to win her—
Harry sucked in a breath when fingers carded through his hair, which caused everyone who had been snickering at him to gasp. He glanced up to verify that Dianthe’s hand was in his hair. Yes, it was.
She had just agreed to bond with him. That was impossible!
A quill snapped.
Harry glanced to his right to see a broken peregrine feather in Nott’s grasp. Black ink was splattered all over his hand and dripping from his sleeve. The essay he had been writing, which curled down to the floor, bore splotches and streaks; it was ruined. It was for Potions.
Serves you right , Harry thought. The git had been driving him mental all year.
“Potter!” spat Nott.
The hatred on his face was reminiscent of the way Voldemort glared at Harry when he was being particularly aggravating.
Harry grinned and tilted his head, sighing as the action forced Dianthe’s fingers deeper into his hair.
“Yes, Nott?”
He placed a special emphasis on Nott’s name, as if to say: You’re not going to possess her. She’s not going to be yours. You’ll not taste her lips—ever.
Harry closed his eyes as a vision of him holding Dianthe to his chest and kissing her lips wove itself through his mind. Harry had lost count of how many times he had fantasized about claiming her as his own.
Nott drew his arm back, jagged peregrine quill pointed at Harry. He was liable to stand and attack Harry at any moment, piercing Harry through the eye before constricting his neck until Harry’s throat was crushed.
“Potter, I swear I’ll . . .” Nott’s jaw clenched, a suitable threat not readily available.
“Voldemort couldn’t defeat me, Nott. What makes you think that you could hurt—?”
“Stop it,” said Dianthe, as her pinky finger brushed the shell of Harry’s ear.
I win, Harry rejoiced as Nott’s mouth clamped shut.
“Harry, mate, what’s going on? You’re lat—”
Ron rounded the bookcase, speaking much too loudly for a library. He came to a sudden stop and gaped at Harry, before flushing rubicund.
“What is going on?” Ron hollered.
“What does it look like? Heir Potter and Dianthe just got engaged. Obviously. You’re a pureblood, despite your family name. You should know that,” Pansy Parkinson said snidely.
This was the part where Harry would always chime in to defend his friend, but he didn’t this time, because he was still shocked senseless that Dianthe had agreed to be his wife.
He had developed feelings for her when he was thirteen and they had only flourished over the intervening years. However, Harry had never planned to tell her, because he had been absolutely sure that she loathed him. Pining after someone he could never have hurt badly enough; he hadn’t intended to tell her and have his love cast aside as rubbish.
Dianthe’s fingernails scraped across his scalp; Harry shivered.
“Tell me she’s lying, mate! You can’t have picked Malfoy!”
Dianthe’s expression shuttered, like she expected Harry to pull away from her and say, “I can’t believe you fell for it! I don’t want you. How could I ever care for you?”
Ron fumed. “W-what about my sister?”
“What about her?” Harry asked without thinking.
What was Ron on about now? Ginny was one of the guys; she was like a little brother who occasionally cross-dressed.
“Ginny loves you!” exclaimed Ron.
If he kept talking at that volume, Madam Pince would kick him out of the library in the next ten seconds.
She did? Harry hadn’t seen that coming at all! Ginny hung out with guys most of the time, and she didn’t wear make-up (except when she wore dresses, which was plain weird and not like her). She punched people and burped and wasn’t the least bit like a lady.
He didn’t want someone who would let other men put their arm around her shoulders, or pick her up and spin her around. He was an only child, despite his younger cousins, and Sirius had informed him multiple times that Potters could have whatever they wanted and never needed to share. And while Harry had learned to share, regardless, he didn’t like the thought of anyone else touching his wife.
After all the stories (and memories) Sirius had shared about Harry’s parents, James Potter and Lily Evans, Harry had decided that he wanted to bond with a lady. His mother was fierce and spirited, but she was well-mannered and kind. She was beautiful, and it was easy to imagine his father falling in love with her.
As Harry had fallen for Dianthe.
But whereas his father had possessed the courage to relentlessly pursue his mother, accepting refutations one after the other, Harry had stayed silent. His heart wasn’t as strong as his father’s; he wouldn’t have been able to bear the pain of Dianthe repeatedly brushing him off after he had confessed.
One stab at his love would have wounded too deeply for him to ever mention it again.
“That’s unfortunate,” said Dianthe, “because she can’t have him.”
Ron yanked his wand from his pocket and pointed it at Dianthe, snapping, “I don’t know what you’ve done to him, Malfoy, but I won’t let you get away with it.”
Harry stood up, regretting the loss of her touch, and faced Ron. His arms were folded across his chest as he twirled his wand between his fingers and blocked Dianthe from view.
“Don’t threaten her.”
“You can’t be serious, mate! She’s cursed you. Or gave you a love potion, or something! Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey. She’ll fix you,” said Ron.
He sneered at the nearby Slytherins.
“Let’s get out of here before we catch their cowardice.”
“I know you don’t have a high opinion of me, Weasel, but I’m not a thief. Love potions are for the pathetic and desperate. I assure you that I’ve never found a use for them,” Dianthe said, leaning around Harry, a sneer on her face and eyes spitting molten pewter.
“Like I’ll take your word for it? You Slytherins are nothing but liars!”
Dianthe’s visage turned glacial at the insult.
It was a low blow; Harry didn’t appreciate it in the least. Just because students was Sorted into Slytherin didn’t mean they weren’t trustworthy. Pettigrew had been a Gryffindor, after all. And Harry, himself, had been considered for Slytherin. He always kept his word, thank you very much.
“Besides,” Ron said with a sneer worthy of Severus Snape, “all Malfoys are lying cheats.”
“That’s enough,” Harry stated before gritting his teeth.
He had known this would happen if Dianthe ever gave him the time of day. He had known Ron would throw a tantrum, act like a prat, and that he would probably lose his best friend.
Ron blinked and gaped. “You’re not siding with her. She’s a Malfoy!”
Harry sighed and ran a calloused hand down his face. So it would come down to this. He had hoped that Ron would be mature about it, but had known better than to expect a positive reaction. In all his daydreams and fantasies of Dianthe returning his feelings, Ron had never supported his decision. It seemed that even his imagination hadn’t been able to invent such an improbable scenario.
Sirius had stood by Harry’s father for seven years as he fought for the girl of his dreams, and Ron wouldn’t support Harry for one minute. It hurt to think that their friendship was so brittle, but he couldn’t deny the truth that was staring him right in the face. If he had to choose between his best friend of six years and the woman he loved—he’d pick Dianthe.
“Yes, I am,” said Harry.
A silent resignation was within him, an acknowledgement that everything was changing.
Ron’s hand trembled as he pointed at Dianthe and accused, “You did something to him! Tell me what, right now, or I’ll—”
“Mr. Weasley, this is a library!” Madam Pince hissed. “Be quiet or remove yourself immediately.”
“Let’s go, mate. I’ll take you to Pomfrey and we’ll get this sorted out,” said Ron as he beckoned, his voice shaking as he beseeched Harry to follow him.
“You’re unbelievably thick, Weasley. The Malfoys and Weasleys are blood feuding. Heir Potter is engaged to Dianthe. Ergo, unless your family makes recompense with the Malfoys for the disgusting crime they committed, all ties between you and Heir Potter will be broken,” Pansy said as she examined her fingernails for any imperfections.
“Your mother was a Prewett. You should already know these things,” Blaise Zabini said, yawning as if bored by the entire matter.
Ron was flabbergasted as he spoke, “Our disgusting crime? It was Malfoy’s family—”
“Actually,” said Harry, knowing Ron would probably never forgive him for this, “it was your family’s fault.”
He had researched the matter in third year, when he started having feelings for Dianthe and wanted to know why she hated him so much for sitting with Ron on the train.
“And I bet she told you that, huh? It’s a lie, Harry. You know my family. It’s the Malfoys’ fault. All of it!” Ron snapped.
Ron glared at Dianthe, who was still peeking around Harry, face stiff.
“No, it’s not.”
Harry sighed and fought a wince. This would cost him his best friend, but Sirius had insisted that Potters were honorable to the letter, unable to let injustice go unanswered. Dianthe deserved no blame, whatsoever, in the matter.
“I searched the records. The Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy lodged a blood feud over seven centuries ago for crimes committed against them. Mother Magic wouldn’t have accepted it if the accusations weren’t true.”
“You can’t be serious, Harry.”
“Yes, I am. Deadly serious.”
Ron’s many times great-grandfather had broken honor in the vilest manner. The House of Weasley was the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy’s First Vassal at the time. The Head of the Family was Bedivere Weasley. Bedivere, who was charged with protecting Lady Adelaide Malfoy—the eldest daughter—wandered off for an afternoon frolic with a Muggle, leaving her unguarded. Three wizards from an enemy family brutally assaulted Lady Adelaide in his absence.
The thought alone made Harry sick to his stomach. No woman deserved that fate.
After what Lady Adelaide endured, he couldn’t blame the Malfoys for their undying hatred for all things Weasley and Muggle.
Dianthe would not suffer that fate; Harry would gladly protect and honor her his entire life.
Hmm, perhaps he should get Nott a gift for accidentally causing this whole mess and giving him a chance.
“If you stay here with her”—Ron gritted his teeth and pointed at Dianthe threateningly—“we’re through, mate. Do you hear? I’ll never forgive you if you pick her over my sister.”
Harry nodded, and then turned and offered his hand to Dianthe. “Would you like to go for a walk, my lady?”
A tender and victorious smile curled her lips. Dianthe placed her hand in his and then stood, grinning as she set her arm atop his. “Very much.”
“Lady Dianthe,” Nott murmured, one hand held out, begging her to turn away from Harry.
She sighed and shook her head, much to Harry’s relief.
Harry glowered at Nott for trying to change her mind and steal her away, and then mouthed his triumphant conquest. She’s not yours. She’s mine .
“Harry? Mate?”
Ron goggled at them as they walked around him and out of the library. Perhaps he had thought his threat would bring Harry to heel, but that wasn’t the case.
Potters were famous for loving young and to immense proportions. Harry wouldn’t chance losing or offending Dianthe—not when she was his fiancée, and not when he had previously believed she would never return his affections.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team was in the hallway outside the library, chatting in their practice robes.
“Ready for practice, Harry?” Dean Thomas asked as he looked away from Ginny and offered Harry’s Firebolt to him.
Harry took the Firebolt, got a brilliant idea, and then said, “Practice is canceled for the day. We’ll do it tomorrow morning, instead. Pass the word along.”
“What? Why?” asked Ginny.
She stared at Dianthe like she had never seen her before, as if Dianthe were a threat that had Apparated through blood wards to hold a dagger to her jugular.
“Because my fiancé and I have matters to discuss,” Dianthe purred.
Harry shivered and grinned; everything about Dianthe was alluring. The sight of her golden hair taunted him and he longed to bury his hands in it. He wanted her alabaster complexion to turn pink with passion and her voice to turn breathy with desire. He longed to see her lips swollen and parted from his kisses, pupils dilated. He wanted to feel her magic—heady and powerful—as it twined with his.
As his teammates stammered and gawked, he led Dianthe away and outside the school.
Once they were on the steps, Harry mounted the Firebolt and then grinned. He wanted an excuse, any excuse, to hold her in his arms. Now that they were engaged, he had privileges he wouldn’t have had if they were only courting—assuming Lucius Malfoy would have ever allowed Harry to court her. Now he didn’t have to worry about any of that.
Thanks to Nott’s ill-advised jinx, Harry got to skip all the beginner and intermediate courting protocols. He was very grateful for that. It gave him less time to stuff it up.
“Care to go flying with me, my lady?”
Dianthe had chosen him. That was all that mattered.
Instead of swinging one leg over the broom as he had always seen her do, Dianthe sat sidesaddle, perching on his thighs. Harry wrapped his left arm around her, leaving his right hand free for steering, and pushed off from the ground. He clutched her and buried his nose against her hair, inhaling her natural fragrance; it was divine, which was fitting, since her name meant ‘flower of the gods.’
When they had leveled out and were flying over the lake, Dianthe said, “I gave you time to get up and leave.”
She had intentionally offered him a chance to escape? Why? If he had left, it would have been highly insulting for her.
“I didn’t take it.”
“Why?” Dianthe whispered.
“Why did you give me a chance to get up and leave?” Harry countered.
Dianthe sighed and leaned her head against his chest. She was quiet for so long that he didn’t think she would ever give him an answer.
Then, almost inaudibly, her voice fluctuating as if it took all the courage she possessed to tell him the truth, Dianthe said, “Because I love you too much to trap you into a bonding.”
“Because I’ve wanted you to be my lady since I was thirteen,” said Harry, answering her query.
He kissed her neck and smirked when she shivered in his arms.
“I would never dishonor you by getting up and leaving, especially in front of witnesses. You are worthy of love and reverence.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief when she relaxed against him further.
“I thought you were going to break my heart.”
“And I thought you would break mine,” Dianthe replied.
Her hands seized his forearm. There was a wealth of heartbreak in her voice as she said, “You never sent me a courtship offer. I waited for one all last summer, but it never came.”
Last summer had been the worst. Harry had written an offer for her hand every single day, but he never sent any of them.
“Until half an hour ago, I was sure that you would reject them, and me. I just c-couldn’t . . .”
Harry’s chest burned with the remembered ache. He had spent months wondering who was taking her out on Courtship Dates, boycotting the Daily Prophet for fear her engagement would be headline news with each new day.
“Them?” queried Dianthe, one eyebrow raised.
Harry flushed and confessed, “I might have written more than one.”
Each one started with To My Dearest Heiress Dianthe Malfoy and ended with Your Devoted Servant, Heir Harry Potter.
“But they were all for me,” Dianthe demanded, a hint of insecurity in her voice.
She stiffened against him; he hated it. It placed more distance between them, and there had always been too much of that for his tastes.
“Most definitely,” Harry assured her.
Sirius had teased him mercilessly for weeks, claiming he was moping about the manor.
Harry hadn’t even entertained the thought of offering for someone else; courting was serious business for a Potter. He wouldn’t dare offer for anyone else while he loved Dianthe. It wouldn’t be fair to him or his second choice. Because, through no fault of her own, whatever witch he might have chosen to court would not have been Dianthe.
Therefore, inevitably, she would have been inadequate in his eyes.
Dianthe melted back against him, tension evaporating from her body.
“Good,” she said smugly. “I don’t share.”
“Neither do I.”
Dianthe traced her nails across his forearm and asked, “What are you doing on the 29 of June?”
“Er . . .”
That date sounded familiar. Why was that? Oh!
“Graduating from Hogwarts,” Harry replied.
“Wrong!”
Harry blinked and checked his mental calendar again. “No, I’m sure we graduate on 29 June.”
Dianthe snickered. “So we do, but that’s not why you’ll remember it.”
“Oh?”
He craned his neck so that he could see her face. She was smiling gaily, and her eyes were sparkling like silver starlight. Harry was grateful that he hadn’t said that aloud; if Sirius knew he thought in such fanciful terms, he would never hear the end of it.
“Why will I remember it, then?”
“Because it will be the anniversary of our bonding,” said Dianthe.
She released his forearm and wrapped her arms around his neck before pulling him down and kissing him. It was soft and heated, nothing like he had imagined, and even more right because of it. His arms were tighter than a corset as he embraced her and steered the broom with his knees. Dianthe withdrew and licked Harry’s bottom lip.
Sweet, sweet torture.
“I’ll never forgive you if you forget our anniversary. Two major events in one day should be enough of a reminder,” Dianthe warned him.
June 29 was almost three weeks away. There was no chance that Harry would ever forget almost a month of sweet suffering—not when it ended in him finally claiming the lady he loved.
Harry kissed along her neck and whispered, “Your father would kill me if he could see us now.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Dianthe replied as she tilted her head to allow him better access.
“Father knows you’re nothing like the Weasleys, that you’d never allow harm to befall me—especially at your own hands. The Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter’s honor is legendary.”
“Mmm,” Harry murmured against her skin, relishing in the shiver that racked her body.
“My mother, on the other hand, might decide she doesn’t want grandchildren after all,” Dianthe teased.
She smirked up at him from beneath her eyelashes when he winced.
Narcissa Malfoy née Black—cousin to Sirius Black. The thought of any wizard holding Altaira Black, Sirius’s only daughter, like this and kissing her neck would result in castration—courtesy of his godfather. Harry didn’t even want to imagine what Dianthe’s mother might be inspired to do, knowing as many Dark curses as she surely did.
“Joking, Harry. I’m just joking! What? You can’t handle the threat?”
When Dianthe kissed him, he regretfully pulled away after a few seconds.
“Thanks,” he said wryly, “but I’d like to live to see our bonding.”
Dianthe threw her head back and laughed.
“All right, hero, take me back now. The Slytherins are going to think you absconded with me.”
“I-I would never—” Harry’s heart fluttered.
He wouldn’t let a single doubt enter her head; he was in this for life, not a romp by the lake. In three weeks, Harry’s unattainable dream would become a reality.
“I know. I was only teasing.”
Harry steered them back toward Hogwarts in a daze.
When they landed, Dianthe dismounted and then shifted, a wicked smirk taunting him.
“You’ve kept me waiting almost a year with your cowardice, Heir Potter. I expect to be worshipped.”
Harry bit his tongue and stared. What on earth had possessed her to act like this: brave and forthright? It was a ferocious aphrodisiac. His Potter blood sang with want.
“I won’t disappoint you, my lady,” Harry growled.
Dianthe bit her lip, before staring at the ground demurely. Harry adored the fact that she felt comfortable enough around him to drop her mask, and he didn’t want her to regret it either.
He swung off the Firebolt and set it on the ground. Knowingly and willingly this time, he knelt before Dianthe Malfoy.
Harry chose his words carefully, because he wanted her to know that he would treat her well, respect her wishes, and never harm her. Dianthe would be his wife, Lady Potter, and she warranted everything his father had proffered his mother.
“Let me treasure you.”
“Treasure is a strong word. Are you sure you can live up to all it implies? I have high standards, Heir Potter. I’ll order you to brush my hair every night, every morning, and whenever else I feel like it. I’ll expect love, devotion, presents—lots of them, and kisses whenever I want them. I’ll complain most vociferously when you make plans with friends, because Malfoys don’t share anything. I’ll likely overrule all the names you’ll want to give our children. And, most importantly, I will murder every witch who tries to steal you away from me. Do you think you can handle me?” inquired Dianthe.
Harry chuckled and shook his head.
“I don’t think anyone can handle you, my lady. But I want you anyway.”
“Very well, then. I accept,” Dianthe said as she fruitlessly attempted to smooth his hair. “I’d like one of those kisses now.”
“Right now?” he asked.
Dianthe nodded and tugged on his hair, saying, “Yes, right now.”
“Are you sure, my lady?”
Oh, this was going to be a wonderful adventure.
Dianthe’s brow furrowed as she glared at him and yanked his hair, saying, “Harry Potter, if you don’t give me my kiss right now I swear I’ll—”
Just like his father, Harry had been lucky enough to capture living passion and fire, all wrapped up in the body of a beautiful and vivacious witch.
Triumph beating through him, Harry stood and obeyed her command. Dianthe could save her threats for something else. He would be content claiming her lips for the rest of his very long life.