Beautiful, the Dark Heir (bdh10)

Chapter Ten

Fic Adopted from Bittersweet Alias

Assertion or Confirmation: The action of Asserting or Declaring True

Affirmation

Harry and Micah stared at each other for several minutes before Harry smiled shyly and placed his mask back on. He motioned for Micah to follow him toward a hidden passage in the corner of the chamber. Micah followed complacently; the thought of Harry as the Dark Lord’s Heir had yet to fully sink in.

They trekked down a lowly lit hall toward another set of chambers that led to a massive room. Here, Harry took off his mask.

Micah peered around; the room was definitely Harry’s, he thought, pausing when he saw Harry shrug out of his robes, causing the t-shirt underneath to rise up and show his flesh. Micah’s eyes narrowed on it and, in an instant, he pushed Harry gently up against the wall, causing him to gasp. Micah’s hands rested on either side of him.

“What are you going to do, Romeo?”

Micah reached up, tugged Harry’s braid, and glared at him. “First, I’m going to kiss you, then I’ll apologize in a more physical way. . . .“

Harry’s eyes dilated with lust, his tongue brushing across Micah’s moistened lips before their mouths crashed into each other, faster and harsher. Their breathing became more pronounced and unbalanced with every taste.

Micah, whose senses had completely opened up, was submerging himself in the depths of Harry’s sweet mouth.

Harry whimpered underneath the kisses, feeling heat surround him in folds and layers. His nimble fingers reached up and slowly began to unbutton Micah’s robes. His eyes were half–open, just barely peeking under his lashes.

Micah watched him, feeling Harry’s fingers work their magic. He cupped the boy’s cheeks and frowned when he peered at the bruise. “I would never have intentionally hit you.”

“Shh!” Harry placed a finger to Micah’s lips. “My fault —my stupid panicking. I’m a Gryffindor . . . what can I do?”

Micah narrowed his eyes. “I know that we haven‘t been involved very long, and that I‘m not a person who speaks well with words, but damn you, Hadrian. I claimed you. Do you know what that means? I claimed you before we ever had sex. You should‘ve known this.”

Harry smiled grimly. “My past is rather disturbing, Romeo. I always fear the worst when I get what I want. A natural habit, I suppose. I – I was shocked when I saw you had the book I gave you.”

Micah rolled his eyes, but he did not deny it. Instead, he drew Harry closer against his body, shivering unconsciously when he felt fingers glide up his smooth torso.

Harry placed his hands flat on Micah’s chest and pushed him toward the large bed. He collapsed onto it, leaving Harry to grin. “Has it sunk in yet?”

 “No, let me sink into you first, then we’ll see,” he practically snarled.

Harry snickered and settled on Micah’s lap. “You sure you want to do that? You might regret it.“

Micah’s growl was low and feral. He clutched Harry and, in one swift movement, the Dark Heir was underneath him.

 
A dangerous thrill rode up Harry’s spine as he realized what was about to happen. He curved his hand through Micah’s hair, effectively pulling the strap from it and drunkenly enjoyed the taste of his lips.

It was an hour later when Harry’s screams of release brought Micah into a world of chaos and caused him to react the same way. They were hot and sweating. Micah hadn’t let Harry go for a minute, and Harry collapsed on his chest. Beads of sweat rolled off both of them.

Micah kept fisting Harry’s hair, tugging on it to get the braid out and allow it all to come forward.

Harry’s fingertips were gliding along his newly created mark; this caused Micah to shiver and breathe in sharply. “I was having second thoughts about that.”

Harry bit his lip and continued to graze over it. “Looks nice,” he murmured.

“How the fuck did this happen?” Micah asked, eyes widening. The afterglow of sex was receding and everything dawned on him. “How on earth did you get wrapped up in this?”

“It started when I found out that Dumbledore was paying the Dursleys to hurt me.”

“What?” Micah hissed, hands clenching so tightly his nails almost sliced through his palms. “What do you mean, hurt you?”

Harry raised his head and looked Micah square in the eyes. “The Dursleys hate magic. They‘re Muggles. They tortured me from the time I was a year old. I finally decided that perhaps I would see what Voldemort had to say or offer. A few revelations came out during the meeting between us.” Harry sighed bitterly, frown lines appearing on his face as he remembered.

” There were a few major pieces of a puzzle that neither of us had known about. Whether I was his archenemy or not, growing up with Muggles is what incited him to begin with. Especially ones that attempted to, uh – what’s the word? – squash the magic out of you. Sirius and Remus were the ones who advised me to go to Gringotts, where I found everything out. I confessed to them that I was joining Voldemort. They followed me.”

Micah’s eyes widened. “You mean Sirius Black was never . . .“

“No, he wasn’t. He was loyal to my dad and I, but not my mother. He never cared for her. They weren’t hard to convince after I showed them everything. They actually swore their loyalty to him. So during all that time I was training.”

“All that magic, what you did to Adrian, Draco, and Pansy?”

“I created it,” Harry said with a smirk as he settled comfortably on Micah.

Micah observed Harry. “You were the Heir all this time. I was trying to figure it out and I was sidetracked by the Heir himself!”

“You started it,” Harry mused as he trailed his fingers along Micah’s chest.

Micah placed a hand over his face. “Had you hated me, you would‘ve gone straight to the Dark Lord, wouldn’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Had I hated you, Romeo, I’d have taken care of it. I don’t really need him to fight my battles. Besides, you were too pretty and amusing to hurt,” he purred.

Micah growled. “I don’t do pretty, that’s your job, Juliet,” he taunted, arms tightening possessively around Harry.

Harry laughed and placed his elbows on Micah’s chest, resting his chin there. He was small enough not to hurt Micah in the least.

“I can’t believe you’re the little shit I hated though!” Micah snapped. “Why couldn’t you have given me a clue?”

“Bigger than having a “father” and suddenly being a Gaunt?” he asked rhetorically.  “I couldn’t. There was only one person who suspected me of being the Dark Heir.”

Micah frowned. “Blaise?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. He suspected it, but kept it to himself. I really wanted to mark him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t have been fair. But I think the Dark Lord will mark him in the coming months, before I choose the next group.”

“You’ll be my superior?” His voice had a sudden edge to it, as if the mere suggestion rankled him.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Only in the public eye as Viridian,” he said softly. “I don’t want to be your superior. I don’t like weak guys.”

“What do you mean?” Micah asked curiously.

“I like someone more dominant than me. Way more dominant. Anything else just doesn’t appeal to me.”

Micah smirked smugly. “I see.” He ran his strong hands down Harry’s bare back, stopping them at the swell of his arse.

“Had someone like Malfoy been chasing me about, I would have stopped them before they could get anywhere.”

Micah contemplated that and understood. “My father‘s going to be pissed.”

“I’m sure we can come up with something.  For example, how does the Heir of Death Eater and Muggle-Killer Sirius Black and an unnamed Gaunt, direct descendent of the Salazar Slytherin, sound?  Dark enough for him, do you think?“

Micah snarled, hands clenching and pressing against Harry’s back. “I’m going to try not to kill him. He’ll be worse with his words than you could ever be,” he said coldly. His whole body was stiffening up at the mere thought. Flashes of red appeared in his golden eyes.

Harry grinned impishly. “I had to goad you. It wouldn’t look good if I approved of Harry Potter, now would it?”

“Not in the least. You have everyone fooled, Hadrian,“ Micah grudgingly conceded.

“Good. Mission accomplished.” Harry was visibly relieved that Micah wasn’t treating him differently. That was the main thing he had worried about. If Micah had started acting stupid, then Harry would‘ve had sharp words with him and that inner–wolf of his.

“So, what happened to me?” Micah asked curiously. “We all know sex isn’t the punishment.”

Harry snickered. “I gave you an illusion much like I did to Adrian.”

Micah frowned, shoulder muscles bunching.

“I’m not really going to do it!” Harry said with a scowl. “Do you really think I can hurt you, Romeo?” he asked suddenly livid.

Micah blinked. “I – I, no.”

“Fucking hell, Micah!” Harry rolled off him and drew the sheet closer.

Shifting, Micah sighed and pulled Harry back against him. “Don’t start pouting.” Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was a little irked. Micah growled. “Hadrian!” The teen in question quirked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you dare give me the silent treatment!”

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned up and snuggled his nose against Micah’s neck, getting an instant reaction.

Micah squeezed Harry close, trying to absorb everything he had found out in the last two hours. Damn, it was a lot to take in. He inhaled Harry’s scent. “When can you find out?”

Harry bit his lip and shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose around the first.” He thought more about it. “I’m going to have to talk with Father about what we’re going to do about the situation involving you and Harry Potter when it goes public.” 

Micah grimaced. It was weird to know that Harry thought of the Dark Lord as his father. “Yeah . . . I kind of lost my cool . . .“

Harry laughed and snuggled up to him. “I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

Micah scowled. “Would you stop jumping to conclusions now? If there is something you‘re unsure about – fucking hell, Hadrian – ask me! I’m not one to piss around and I won’t lie to you.” He paused.  “Well, whatever he decides, we have to get married as soon as possible for the child to be legitimate.”

Harry sighed.  “Pureblood legitimacy,” he whined, “is so complicated.  Father made me read a book on it over the summer, and I still don’t get it.”

The Slytherin couldn’t help but laugh.  “It’s simple really.  For the first child, the parents must be bonded within six weeks of its conception for it to be legitimate.  It’s how we make sure our blood remains pure.  Even a pureblood without legitimacy would be considered a half-blood at best.”  Micah rolled Harry over until he was under his larger frame, then kissed his lips softly. “No child of ours will be called a filthy half-blood,” he concluded.

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “Even if I was a half-blood before all this?”

Micah buried his face in his mate’s hair and sighed.  “You would have been mine anyway, even if you were fucking a half-blood,” he confessed.  “And with both your parents being magical, any child of ours would have been pureblooded; the Potter and Montague names would have pushed him through so that even the Malfoys would have been forced to accept him.”

Harry sighed and just let himself be held, enveloped in the warmth of Micah’s love.For that’s what it was: even if Micah couldn’t name it, even if Harry was still too afraid to acknowledge it.

“Is there a way to sneak out of here?” Micah asked after awhile, shifting his weight so he was leaning on one elbow, his free hand cupping Harry’s face gently.

Harry’s brows furrowed, but he nodded nonetheless.  “Yes, why?”

“No matter how the Dark Lord makes it come about, we are going to be bonded before we go back to Hogwarts.  It’s easier that way.”Harry still looked at him in confusion.  “Rings, Hadrian, we need rings and marriage wands.  And we need to be seen.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much,” Harry teased as he allowed Micah to pull him off the bed.

His only answer was a searing and possessive kiss that made him forget what he had just been saying.

---

“Muggle clothes,” Micah hissed under his breath as he Apparated them into an empty London alleyway. 

“I told you,” Harry sighed, “Father dislikes them, and Siri adores them.  Win-win all around.”

“I hate them,” his fiancé responded heatedly, thinking that Harry looked far too edible in them. He glared as a Muggle businessman walked by and practically devoured Harry with his beady eyes.

Harry stuck his tongue out childishly.  “I love them.  I never had clothes before this year – clothes that were mine,” he amended at the shocked look on Micah’s face.  “I only had Dudley’s cast-offs.”

Micah flicked the dangling silver earring that was close to him.  “You’ll be a bad influence on our son,” he griped, just to be difficult.

“It could be a girl,” Harry argued, neither one of them saying that Harry might not be pregnant at all.

“Next time.  This one’s a boy.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Well, I’ll let you dress him up as any little pureblood should.  We can even ask Draco for pointers.” He grimaced, thinking of the poncy and spineless prat.

“My son will never dress like that blond idiot.”  Micah took his arm and quickly showed him into the Leaky Cauldron, which was now sprigged with holly and mistletoe for Yule.

As soon as they made it into Diagon Alley, the couple headed to Gringotts, as neither of them had enough money on them for their purchase.

“Hadrian Gaunt,” Harry stated softly to a Goblin, holding out a small golden key.

Micah could barely repress the growl that erupted in the back of his throat.  “Hadrian, I’m buying the rings.”

Harry looked up, shocked.  “What? But –”

The goblin looked between them, his small eyes dark and calculating.

Micah didn’t respond.  “Graham Micah Montague,” he said to the goblin, holding out his own vault key.

After a long pause, the banker finally took the key.  “This way,” he said, scuffling toward the carts that would lead them into the underground tunnels. 

Half an hour later, they were on the snowy streets of Diagon Alley, a large bag of gold securely fastened in Micah’s cloak.

“Are you sure we’re going to need all that?” Harry asked for the third time, still unbelieving of just how much gold two rings would cost.

Micah only stared at him in response.

Taking his small lover by the hand, Micah led him toward the more exclusive section of Diagon Alley, where Harry had never had any reason to go before.

They were only in the cold streets for a few moments before Harry found himself in a wizard jeweler and, by the looks of it, a very expensive one, too.  The shop was nicely lit, with display cases against all four walls.  Deep blue and purple swaths of silk cushioned the rings and broaches on display, giving the small establishment a sense of elegance and exclusivity. 

“Romeo?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, his eyes widening at the sheer beauty of some of the items on display.

Micah only drew his hand upward for a soft kiss, tightening the grasp in reassurance.  He knew Harry, no matter how magically powerful, was out of his depth, having been raised by disgusting Muggles. But his little mate deserved this – all of this.  The wealth, the opulence, the full legitimacy of their heir. Anything Micah could give him, he would – not out of obligation, but simply because Harry was his.

A soft cough alerted them to another presence.  “Ah, gentleman,” a small witch in expensively tailored robes addressed them, “how may I be of service?”  Her dark brown eyes took in Micah’s simple yet sophisticated robes, then squinted disapprovingly at Harry’s fashionable Muggle attire.

“Bond rings for a pureblood ceremony,” Micah said resolutely, pulling Harry further into the shop.

The shopkeeper stared perceptively at him, no doubt running through all of the betrothal and engagement announcements in the last several issues of The Daily Prophet.

“Of course, Mr. –?” Her voice lilted upward as she looked between the engaged couple.

“Montague,” he growled at her, but she only nodded.

She turned toward Harry.  “Your name, sir?”  The Glass Slipper – which was her family jewelry store – was the most exclusive in Great Britain and rivaled the jewelers of Paris and Vienna.  As such, Micah knew she could afford to choose her customers and this particular witch, as well as her family, had no reluctance in turning ‘riff raff’ away, if they weren’t considered wealthy or pure enough.

Harry, of course, was a bit of a wild card, depending on which name he chose to give.  As the Boy-Who-Lived, he could get almost anyone to overlook his birth, but the Glass Slipper was notorious for having turned down a half-blood Minister of Magic.  If he gave the surname Gaunt, however . . .

As if sensing his thoughts, Harry turned to the witch and smiled slightly.  “Hadrian Muliphein Gaunt, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.”

The look on the ageless face remained unreadable except for a slight loosening of the mouth.  “Of course, Mr. Gaunt, Mr. Montague.  Have you decided on which metal you would prefer?”

She took in Harry’s silver earrings before turning her attention to Micah.

“Platinum.”

She nodded her head in acquiescence.  “Of course.”  She led them toward a small stand near the middle of one wall that displayed several masculine bands. 

“Are we picking out our own or each other’s?” Harry asked calmly, his eyes narrowing in on one that he thought was perfect for Micah.

“Whatever you want.”

Harry nodded once before pointing out a platinum torque ring.  It was simple and wide, and exuded a strength that Harry could not ignore.  He thought it suited his wolf-like fiancé perfectly.

The witch’s eyes glinted slightly as she pulled it out of the case.

“What size are you, Romeo?” Harry turned and asked, lips curling slightly.

The jeweler t’sked.  “In the wizarding world, Mr. Gaunt, jewelry sizes itself to the owner.  For hereditary pieces, they resize once every generation or so.”

“Hmm,” he hummed.  “That makes sense.”  He laughed slightly.  “I don’t think Muggles’ll ever invent something that can do that,” he mused to himself.

Taking the band in his hand, he grasped Micah’s left hand before gently sliding it onto his ring finger.  He held the hand carefully between his own as he angled it several times; he lowered his face so that he could decide whether or not it truly suited his Romeo.

The witch watched coolly, though she admitted quietly to herself that the strange, small wizard fascinated her.  He exuded a power that was completely intoxicating and his name. . . . The last of the Gaunts, she was certain, had died nearly seventy years earlier; yet here was the Gaunt heir, who also stood to inherit the entire Black fortune – an heir who dressed in Muggle attire and knew nothing of the subtleties of pureblood culture.  The boy was a walking conundrum, a creature with too many secrets that she could never hope to unravel in her lifetime.

“Micah?” he quietly asked.

The Montague Heir stared into the deep jade eyes of his lover and lost himself for a moment before nodding silently.  Whatever Harry picked out for him would be perfect, he decided. And, with a sense of contentment, he slid the band off his finger. 

“What would you like for yourself?” he gruffly asked as possessiveness overtook him.  The thought of Harry wearing his ring for all eternity on his small hand was enough to make him aroused, though he sought to keep his lust at bay.

“You choose,” was the only answer he received.

Wrapping his arm around Harry’s slim waist, he glanced through the platinum bands set before him, each glimmering slightly with basic protective spells before the two rings were linked with each other magically. 

Seeing a more delicate match to his ring, he quickly pointed it out.  It would look perfect on Harry’s smaller hand and would match his own perfectly, showing the world that Hadrian Potter-Black was his and his alone – his husband, his love, his mate.

With tenderness he didn’t even know he possessed, Micah slid the ring onto Harry’s slim finger and sighed at the sight of it.  “Perfect,” he whispered, echoing his sentiments from when he had first physically claimed Harry.

Harry’s expressive features lit up in happiness as he looked down at their intertwined fingers, not minding for the first time in his life that someone felt so possessive of him.  He felt safe and warm and wanted for himself, not for being the Boy-Who-Lived, or the son of James Potter, or even for possessing a piece of someone’s soul, but just for being Harry.

“We’ll take them,” Micah said, his eyes never leaving Harry’s body.

The witch just smiled. “An excellent choice, if I may say so, gentlemen,” she said before claiming the two rings.  “If you will give me twenty minutes, I will complete the enchantments.”

“The darker spells,” Micah quietly instructed and, at his words, Harry’s attention snapped back to the witch. He nodded his agreement.

“Naturally.” She smirked at them.  “My family rarely indulges in the weaker light spells, except when specifically required to, and even then . . .” Her voice trailed off, though her eyes gleamed.

After she exited the showcase room, Harry smirked.  “I think I like her,” he confessed to his fiancé.

“The Greengrasses have always been excellent, perhaps the best, creators of dark pieces,” Micah conceded.

“She’s a Greengrass?” Harry asked, astounded.

“Daphne Greengrass’s cousin, I think,” Micah replied.

“Hmm,” Harry pondered.  “Oh, are you and your parents free the evening of the fourth?”

Micah looked at him askance.  “I think so.  Why?”

“Aunt Narcissa invited ‘the House of Black’ over for dinner.  As we’ll be bonded then, I thought . . .” He trailed off, feigning interest in a rose gold engagement ring.

“You’re going.”  It wasn’t really a question.

Harry nodded.  “Yes.  I’ve never really had family before, and I can’t really go many places with Sirius and certainly not with Father, unless it’s a raid or some other illicit activity.”  He playfully pouted.  “I’m certain Narcissa would welcome your parents if you wanted them there, as long as we gave her enough notice.”

“I’d rather not deal with my fucking father, but I’ll be there.”  Micah hated social engagements.  They were all about being nice to people he would rather curse.  Usually, he let his foul mouth off at the hostess or some other important guest in frustration and was kicked out.  They tended to invite him back, though, as a sign of respect to his father, unfortunately.  But if Harry wanted it, then he would go, and most likely bite right through his tongue.

Over the next ten minutes, the couple wandered throughout the store, looking at less expensive rings, while Harry occasionally ran his hand along Micah’s arm just to see his eyes darken with lust.

“Hadrian,” Micah warned before catching the mischievous expression on Harry’s face.  “You little tease!”

“What surname will we give the baby?” Harry asked in order to distract his lover.

Micah’s brow furrowed in thought.  “There are several to choose from.”

“Montague, Potter, Black, Gaunt . . .” Harry trailed off, his eyes not really seeing the beautiful broaches before him.

Before Micah could answer, a ringing at the door sounded and the two wizards turned to see a rather determined looking Ginny Weasley half–dragging a red-faced Hermione into the exclusive store.  “Come on, ‘Mione,” she gushed, “it doesn’t hurt to look.”

“But I read about ‘The Glass Slipper’ in The History of British Wizardry.  They refuse to serve Muggle–borns and halfbloods.  Even blood traitors are often thrown from here.  Why the Ministry permits such prejudiced behavior is beyond – Harry?”

The wizard tensed as he was recognized, but said nothing.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione’s eyes shifted to the Head Boy who was lounging on the only sofa in the establishment, acting as if it were his right to inhabit it.

“Christmas shopping,” he answered casually, noticing how Ginny’s face had flushed a rather disturbing shade of pink.

“Look.” Ginny stepped in, before Hermione could go on to say something about Merlin-knows-what.  “I spoke to Ron, and he said that he never tried –“

“Wrong brother.” Harry cut her off before turning to look imploringly at Micah.

Her face darkened.  “And you can’t take anything the twins do seriously,” she insisted. 

Micah rolled his eyes.  He didn’t like anyone looking at Harry like Bill and the twins did when they thought no one was looking (well, the twins really didn’t care who noticed). 

“Just, why don’t you come home with us for Christmas?  It’s not really safe for you to be wandering around Diagon Alley by yourself with –” She faltered.

“With the Head Boy?” Harry interjected casually.

Tension erupted between the four of them. Micah glared murder at the youngest Weasley, who clearly could not take ‘no’ for an answer.  Not that he was one to talk, really. . . .

“Ginny,” Hermione said quietly, when the redhead started pointing out an expensive engagement ring – as if Harry needed any more reminders of that particular plan of Dumbledore’s – “Harry and I aren’t purebloods.”  She looked up at the other Gryffindor prefect and her eyes narrowed.  “What’s Montague doing here?”

“Ah, gentleman,” Miss Greengrass greeted as she reentered the room with three boxes in her hands.  Her eyes narrowed slightly at the presence of Ginny and Hermione.  “I trust Royal Purple is agreeable?”

“Royal Purple?” Harry asked in confusion.

She bowed her head slightly before grasping the larger oblong box and opening it.  Harry and Montague walked steadily over to her while the two other Gryffindors attempted to drift over.

Inside the box were two handcrafted, platinum marriage wands, each engraved with one of their full names.  Harry couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of his own: Hadrian Muliphein Gaunt of the House of Black.  It was simply perfect.

“Traditionally, gold is used and, when the ceremony is complete, red intertwines the wands, symbolizing blood.  But given your impeccable blood status and preference for platinum bands, I engraved the rarer platinum-colored wands, and charmed them to display the bond in royal purple considering –” She paused as she glanced distastefully at Hermione, who was still too far to see the engraved names but could clearly hear the conversation. “– the unique heritage of one of the participants.”

Harry blushed slightly at the reference to the Gaunts’ Slytherin heritage and then reverently touched his marriage wand.

“They’re beautiful,” he complimented sincerely, his voice tinged in awe.

Ginny inched forward and, at the sight of the wands, gasped.  “Are those pureblood marriage wands?” she asked, her voice hitching.  She looked frantically at Harry before turning a wide-eyed look at Micah.

“And how,” Hermione put in hesitantly, her mind reeling with what she had witnessed, (surely those two little boxes could not contain wedding bands as well), “are you being served here?  Your mother was a Muggle-born.”

Miss Greengrass’s head snapped up.  “I would kindly remind you not to insult my esteemed customers.  And you are?”

Hermione blushed fully, her eyes sweeping over the shop.  “I-I,” she stammered, before Micah answered for her.

“Hermione Granger.  Her parents are Muggles.”

The witch nodded, her expression closed, before turning her attention to Ginny.  “A Weasley, I presume?”

Ginny could only bow her head, before her eyes flashed in defiance.  “And you can’t get married, Harry, if that’s what you’re doing.  I mean, what would Professor Dumbledore say?  Harry Potter marrying a Death Eater!“

“Potter-Black,” Harry corrected instantly, causing Miss Greengrass’s eyes to narrow slightly in thought.  “And Dumbledore has no say in what I do, and certainly not who I marry,” he emphasized the last point.

“Of-of course he does,” Hermione interjected.  “He’s your magical guardian, Harry.”

“Blood adoption, Granger,” Harry reminded her coolly. She flinched at the use of her last name.  “Sirius Black is, by both pureblood and magical law, my father.”

The temperature in the room dropped and Hermione and Ginny could only stare at him.

“Th-this,” the Muggle-born prefect stammered, “is why he’s been in your room!” She put the pieces together.  “Surely Sirius cannot approve.”

“Clearly, Mr. Potter-Black’s guardians do approve of this particular transaction,” Miss Greengrass sternly interjected, “as he and Mr. Montague would not be present at this exclusive establishment if they did not.”

The jeweler turned away, then presented Micah with an itemized receipt.  The Slytherin glanced at it, keeping it in his hand and away from Harry’s inspection (who knew what he would say?), before taking out his bag of Galleons.  He had slightly overestimated by fifty Galleons.  Withdrawing the difference from the bag that held one thousand Galleons, he left the remaining gold on the counter.

The witch quietly took it and set it on a magical scale behind her, waiting for a quiet ticker tape to tell her how much money Micah had given her.  Smiling at the number she received, she placed the gold in a small, magical safe.

“Thank you, gentlemen.  May you have a joyous Yuletide season.”

With a stone-faced glare, Hermione and Ginny quickly followed the wizards out of the store. 

“Harry,” Ginny puffed, “you can’t really marry him.  You’re fifteen!  And he’s a boy.”  The last bit was barely more than a whine.

Micah growled loudly, his eyes glowing a harsh gold in the winter light as he snaked his arm possessively around his mate.  “And that fucking marriage contract?  You’re only fourteen,” he pointed out stoically.

Harry looked up at him in wonder, and a small smile graced his face.

“Th-that was different,” she defended.  “Betrothal is not marriage.”

“Perhaps we’re only betrothed, then,” Harry interrupted.  “You don’t even know if the marriage wands were for us, Weasley.  Stop jumping to conclusions.”

The Gryffindor’s face turned white as the not-so-merry troupe trudged down Diagon Alley toward the shops Harry was more familiar with.

“Lunch?” Micah inquired.

Only if we lose the dunderheads, Harry wanted to reply. Instead, he only nodded his head.

Before either of their unwanted companions could catch up, they walked into an exclusive bistro and ordered a table for two, leaving the Gryffindors out in the snow, staring at them in shock.