Chapter Text
It was quite and all was still in Malfoy Manor except for the ruffling noises from right behind him where Hermoine corrected any remaining folds in his dress, yes he was wearing the dress, so pristine he felt like a sinner wearing a saint’s robe, only it looked nothing like a robe he knew nothing about dresses but once he slipped it on he knew he was quite in fact wearing the most elaborate and expensive wedding gown in the whole wizarding world perhaps.
Said gown was magically handcrafted in the 15th century by over 10 female elves and witches whose names were written in a booklet followed by their working hours as they signed in and out of the manor to work on the gown, each decorative item and stone used, filled in small packets as samples threaded onto the pages of the booklet, each detail sketched onto the following pages. They were extremely skilled ones at that, as was evident by the unbelievable detailing of each white rose and grand design embroidered around the helms of the dress.A fascinating ancient floating charm crafted by the very same elves had the dress always trailing exactly half an inch over any surface.
Never in a million years would he have dreamt that he would be wearing the wedding dress of Malfoy’s ancestors, it was tradition, a magical spell cast on the wedding gown in which the dress had to be willing handed down as a gift to the next bride in a small ritual by the current Malfoy mistress who should have previously worn the dress for her wedding ceremony. The dress recognises and fuses every bride’s magical signature onto itself, acknowledging them as a Malfoy. A Malfoy wedding where the Malfoy groom’s bride or the Malfoy bride married without the consent of the current Malfoy mistress meant no ancestral wedding gown worn at their wedding which also meant the marriage would be cursed.
Yes, it was cruel but the Malfoys, as one would knew were one of the oldest, powerful and richest wizarding families. Maintaining such status and power for centuries was not exactly a walk in the park, every alliance and important acquaintance would have to be skilfully and intelligently crafted and one of the most impactful alliances was a marriage, so marriages for love were out of the question for Malfoy’s ancestors, hence a particularly power hungry ancestral Malfoy couple came up with this cruel “gift” of a dress, though deceiving beautiful and stunning, would curse any Malfoy maiden or Malfoy heir’s bride marrying outside of the parents’ arrangement if not worn at the ceremony.
Hermoine lastly adjusts his veil, pauses to look at him, she sniffles a sob as she takes his shaking hands in hers, “oh Harry you look so beautiful, you will be okay love, I promise it’s all for the best” she pulls him in for a hug and quickly pecks him on the cheek before she leaves.
He is left alone with Narcissa Malfoy who was standing quietly in the corner a black silk handkerchief clutched in her hands, she was still mourning the death of her husband. She hadn’t said anything to him since they had made the agreement, after which the proposal was made public.
The wizarding world was not new or shunning of homosexual marriages, powerful wizards were said to have same sex partners to balance their magical core with a partner of a similar or same magical powres despite the gender and she knew her son needed Harry.
Draco Malfoy had been a forced ally of Voldermort, he had been subject to torture, to look upon it and inflict it on others, Harry knew this by the detailed testimony Draco had given at the court to avoid Azkaban. He had admitted to all of it. He had come back to eighth year in Hogwarts just like Harry but he was only a shell of the boy he used to be.
The excessive use of his magic on his victims, the abuse of his own magic had brought out the full potential of the powerful ancient Malfoy magic in his blood. Now he was just like him suffering from post trauma attacks and nightmares lashing out self defensive but harmful magic that shook the rooms, terrifying and sometimes hurting his roommates. He saw the familiar pain and anger on his face at not knowing how to control the power, his own magic as it spun out of control so scared he'd hurt more people, feeling hopeless not knowing how to stop, on how to regain his control. For Harry it was his pain, in Draco he saw anger. Anger towards voldermort? Towards his father who forced him into serving Voldermort? Harry could see through it, it was a mask, because if he let the anger go he would have to face the pain, the guilt, the loss, the dread he endured everytime voldermort had summoned him, threatened him.
Narcissa was surprised to see the dress fit his form well, he did not have those broad muscular shoulders like her son despite them being the same age, or the strength or muscle in his arms like a 19 year old boy would by now. His usually pale skin almost looked malnourished after the war. He had a visible slender waist accentuated by the rich ancient fabric of her wedding dress. She noticed a slight tremble in his hands as he pushed a lock of unruly hair behind his ears, his normally unkempt hair falling to his shoulders now neatly combed and held by the floral diamond pin underneath the wedding veil. Those striking emerald eyes sparked with pain and uncertainty but a steely strength in them shone through, she had to admit he looked angelic in the light covered in all white, how coveted he would have been if he were born a witch.
They were young to marry and be magically bonded but too young to go through such magical instability alone.
So she needed Harry, needed his son to be stable again. She hated it everytime she would have to see him lose grip of reality, giving into the dark memories and despair, lose control of his emotions and magic, spiralling in a destructive dark whirl. She would be bruised and thrown across the room anytime she tried to approach him even before his magic got wilder. She could only to call out and scream her baby's name hoping he wouldn't destroy or lose himself completely this time to the darkness that had become his magic.
She poured into every book in the manor's library day and night from ancient fables to advanced healer texts anything that would hint at a cure, she visited and sought nearly every healer old and new, they all answered with the same. He needed an anchor, an anchor as powerful as his own magical core. As disruptive as his, so that it would resonate with his own by having the same frequency, it will find and sing in harmony with the partner's magic core, soothing each other's magic in order to slowly transform back into it's stable form.
The only way one's magic can take root in the other's for the magical cores to resonate with each other is by being magically bonded and mated for life. There was only one person at the present who was magically compatible with her son. If Harry were to wed someone like Granger or Weasley, his magic would destroy and consume their weaker, more stable magic core when they would be bonded during the wedding ceremony.
She sought Harry, hoping he would atleast consider the proposal, she had saved his life after all. It would benefit the both of them, wouldn't it? She had already suspected Harry too suffered from intense magical instability as her son, him being powerful and having gone through such trauma as well. Unfortunately she was right.
Hermoine had done her research as well, she had come to Harry with it, explained to him the cure and about the bonding, it would take a few years into the marriage but he would finally be normal and stable again. They both knew she was alluding to wedding and bonding with Draco. They all had witnessed his lash outs, his power was evident, strong magic akin to Harry's. So he wasn't completely taken aback when Narcissa came to him with the proposal.
Harry wonders for a moment what Draco would think when he sees him, his childhood nemesis dresses as his bride in his mother's ancestral wedding gown. He feels the bazaar urge to laugh, all of a sudden it all seemed too comical. Would he still eb devoid of all expression or would he look away on disappointment to see what his life has come to, "Marrying Harry Pottah". The only other time he had showed any emotion at all was anger during his magical outbursts. Throughout eighth year he looked lifeless, harry could tell he felt that way as well, face serious and devoid of all emotion. He would sit with Zabini and Parkinson for classes and meals but they wouldn't chat like they did before the war. Other times he kept to himself with a potions book or occupy himself with drawing sketches. He hadn't prodded into his sketch book so Harry still wasn't aware of the subject of these sketches.
Boxing had strangely garnered quick popularity in the wizarding world much to harry's surprise during the start of the war, tensions rose across the wizrading world and these tournaments where this new brute force instead of magic seemed to hurt and break people steered a raw thrill among the maddening masses. The blood, vigour and craze displayed during these fights seemed to satisfy people twisted by the effects of the war. It began in bars, and on streets by random strangers, now it had become a sport much like the one in the muggle world in just over three years. Zabini, Draco and other students from Hogwarts would often visit these tournaments every weekend night. During the war in his seventh year he would find Draco in the Forbidden forest early mornings on his Maurauder's map. Following him there to his spot under his cloak he found a heavy sand bag hung from a tall tree branch, all he did was punch it till his knuckles bleed or till the branch broke.
Watching him from inside his invisibility cloak every morning he could tell he was passionate about it but he loved the pain, the feel of something solid hitting him back opposed to the sharp numbing emotional turmoil he constantly felt washing over him. It was like a distraction but he felt grounded in those moments where pain would flare up his jaw or when his knuckles would pulse before going numb with pain. Sometimes he would even smile when he felt his head hit the ground when Zabini would knock him out. Other days Zabini would be with him practicing punching and deflecting punches on each other. Even in eighth year after the war ended Harry found him going to the forest every morning. Harry would sometimes find himself there the entire session hypnotised by the muscles flexing and moving across his bare torso and arms.
Narcissa walks up to him, takes both his hand in hers, she looks serious, takes in a deep breath before breathing out a firm" Thank you,...Harry". She looks tense, concerned even, but he knows what he is getting into: A loveless life. He knew Draco could get violent even without the magical outbursts but he could protect himself he wasn't magically weak. He wasn't going to get the doting husband with Draco's heart hardened with hate and anger. Harry would be lucky if all of it wasn't directed towards him.
The bond did not require love between the partners to fuse their magical cores together in order to create harmony in their magic, reducing the outbursts and transforming it into a controllable stable magic like before all the trauma. The bond only required them to not have any sexual affairs or other similar energy or magical transfers with anyone else, they also could not share intense emotional bond too which meant falling in love because that too would affect their established bond. Love changes the magical signature of a wizard like it changes the chemistry of the brain. If these rules were not maintained their bond would sense the foreign disharmony which disturbs it's balance causing it to destruct itself killing the bonded mates. It is said that a wizard without his magical core or his core destroyed is like a muggle without oxygen. This was one of the more serious and deadly pacts in the wizarding world. Harry had to sign numerous consenting forms as did Draco.
Hermoine was in his room last night begging him not to do this, not to be wed to Draco for life. She promised she would find some other cure, maybe a spell to help stabilise his magic for extended periods, or a ritual for the same maybe? She can do that, anything but this Harry, she had pleaded. She believed Harry of all people deserved to spend his life with someone who loved him. Harry liked Draco and hoped to not hate him in the future and he could live with that, he wouldn't dream of anything else like love between them or something nonsensical like love from him. He really didn't know if Draco still hated him because not once did he talk to or look at Harry all through out Eighth Year. He knew his chances of finding love were over and too soon, but he could live without love, he was brought up without it anyways. It wouldn't be anything new.
Harry steps outside the back room of the hall, walks towards the aisle, he stops at the start of it, his eyes immediately fall on Draco. It is the first time he seeing him after all in over three years from when he last saw him in Eighth Year, Hogwarts. For all the arrangements he only met with Narcissa.
His eyes would occasionally wander off to the newspaper headlining his win over some opponent from around the world in the famous Wizarding Boxing Championship. "Death Eater turned Boxer Draco Malfoy nick named "The Dragon" by fans bags another championship for Britain with win against USA's best: Jenson Rivers" He would be tempted to go to one of these tournaments knowing it was always too frenzied and over crowded for anyone to notice him but he would stop himself from thinking too long about it. Bad Idea. He always warned himself. Because to him it wouldn't be seeing "The Dragon" beat up some guy, he was one of the very few who knew the true motive behind his reckless, passionate but precise punches.
It was all a distraction, all the passion in the ring stemmed from something dark, something deep and painful. His magical outbursts seemed to have gotten worse over the years, which was why Narcissa resorted to reaching out to him. She was afraid she would loose him soon.
Harry suffered from them too, he would still be hit with flashes of loosing Fred, Cedric, Sirius and others causing him to spiral into a storm of uncontrolled magic shooting and destroying anything near him, but they have lowered in intensity he noticed.
He loved his job of making wands from scratch. Maybe because it is a wand he creates, something that will stick to the person until his last breath. or maybe it was how he would infuse the magic with a piece of wood and watch the two become one forever, or maybe it was the way a particular wand would nudge at him to be given to the girl beginning her first year. He didn't know for sure but he knew he was healing bit by bit, his outbursts have destroyed developed wands but he know he was quietly but slowly healing. But. he knew thaw wasn't the case with Draco, he was evading the wounds not tending to them.
Draco is taller than he expects him to be, he faces Harry at the end of the aisle, hands held in front of him, head bent. His short blonde hair, glistening in the bright light. Standing behind him in the centre of the altar are three priests wearing blood red robes each holding a white wand, waiting to bond them. Harry's heart skips a beat, then beats loudly in his chest as everyone notices his presence and all rise to greet him. It takes him more than a moment to register the guests standing and he looks up and straight at Harry.
He doesn't blink, not one muscle twitches on his face as he takes Harry in, Harry meets his gaze head on and begins walking down the aisle towards him. It feels like eternities have passed before he finally stops right before him, Draco turns to the altar.
The procession begins, they recite the wizarding vows to each other, and now for the bonding.
The priests chant a ritualistic spell, they both unconsciously raise their hands towards the priest in the middle, he cuts them with a sharp knife that had a strange engraving on it in a language Harry doesn't recognize. Before he can register the sharp sting his hands are drawn to Draco's cut and they fuse, their fused blood trickles down on to the step beneath them but are burned and vaporised into the air as red smoke.
Their hands separate, the blood flowing out from the cut rises swirl around the other before snapping into the diamond stud of the golden rings held by one of the priests while they all screamed the chant in a trance. The blood filled diamonds flash a bright white light blinding the entire hall for moment before going out. His hands once again are drawn to Draco's and the cut heals on contact with his.
Draco takes the ring offered to him by the priest, turns towards him, Harry offers his hand and he slides the ring onto his ring finger, the ring wiggles before latching on to his skin, Harry winces at a hot and painful flash of heat at the point of contact but it lasts only for a second.
The priest offers him the ring, and he slides them on to Draco's finger. He is not able to think straight distracted by the priests chant echoing in his ear. He looks up at Draco who seems to be looking at him he seems to be in a trance as well, he is unable to shake his eyes off him to check how long it had been or if the guest were still watching the procession. They feel a magic engulf them prickling their skin, both wait for the chants to end and he blacks out.