Work Text:
Merlin, this was bad.
This was really bad.
Harry Potter, slumped against the glass countertop of a Muggle jewellery display with his head in his hands, was having something of a crisis, to put it lightly.
He squinted at the dozens, if not hundreds, of glittering gold, silver, and platinum rings laid out on velvet in the display case, trying and failing to decide on one that would suit his purpose in coming here. They all looked practically the same, even if they were different - how in the world was he supposed to pick something Ginny would like?
The whole idea, which had come to him in a panic after Scrimgeour'd showed up and delivered Dumbledore's bequeathments an hour ago, stemmed from Harry acknowledging the very real possibility of death in the course of his, Ron, and Hermione's quest for Voldemort's horcruxes. It had been compounded by the days he'd spent with Ginny over the past month, and seeing how happy Bill and Fleur looked together, and wanting that, even if he knew he was at risk of losing it all before the year was done-
So. Yeah. It was the night before the Weasley wedding and Harry was in Harrod's on an ill-advised hunt for an engagement ring. That Ron and Hermione hadn't tried talking him out of it was.. telling; they'd retreated from the vicinity, which was even more telling, but at least the only person to witness Harry's ongoing struggle was the evening attendant, a young Muggle man perhaps a year or two older than him, who was demonstrating remarkable patience in guiding Harry through the process.
"..is the marquise cut, this oblong shape you see here," the attendant held up a ring with a huge, glittering diamond, its upper and lower ends tapering to points. "Bold, sharp designs are in vogue, as are bands made of white gold and platinum. The princess cut of the sixties," he held up another ring, whose glittering diamond was very square, "is also coming back." He retrieved a third ring, which seemed a lot simpler in design. "But gold bands with solitaire stones - that is, just one diamond - remain a timeless classic."
Harry nodded along, but he was clearly out of his depth. The attendant offered an understanding smile and nod, and put the three rings he'd shown back in the display.
Then he perked up, looking past Harry's shoulder. "I'll give you some time to think," said the man, before stepping aside to a different part of the counter. Harry stared down at the rings, resigned, and listened to the conversation in the background.
"Good evening, sir," the attendant was saying, "how may I be of service?"
"Good evening," replied a voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck rise. "I have a set of cufflinks on order."
Harry remained frozen where he stood. It couldn't be.
"Certainly, sir. May I see your order receipt?"
The rustle of paper. "Here you are. It should be held under 'Riddle'."
Oh, no.
The attendant continued on, blissfully unaware of the situation. "Ah, yes, this has just arrived today; one moment." The click of fine shoes, walking into the back of the department, and a sickening dread pooled in Harry's stomach as he realized he was now alone.
With Voldemort less than ten feet away.
How, he wondered, had nobody noticed? It wasn't like You-Know-Who could blend in, with his face like that, he didn't have a nose-
And this thought proved Harry's undoing, because it was funny, and he laughed a little laugh through his nose that was just loud enough to be overheard.
Bugger.
An inquiring noise from the vicinity. Harry was doomed. He almost couldn't bear to turn around when he heard slow, measured footsteps approaching, but he was a Gryffindor, so of course he did turn, looking up into the face of his death - and then he blinked.
Voldemort.. had a nose.
He had a whole face, actually. And hair. He looked like an older Tom Riddle, and that was perhaps the worst observation he could've made, because Tom Riddle had been hot.
So. Voldemort was hot.
And he was looking at Harry with the mildly surprised expression one wore when encountering an acquaintance on the street, an expression that shifted into a smile like the cat who'd got the cream when he laid eyes on his scar, and properly recognized him. "Why, Harry," Voldemort smiled, "what a surprise to see you here."
"What a surprise," Harry echoed, schooling his features to something blank as his heart pounded in his ears.
It only seemed to amuse Voldemort, who carried on their conversation without need of Harry's input. He peered past Harry to the display case, brows rising. "Goodness, engagement rings? At your age? My congratulations," a hand rose to pat Harry on the shoulder, the contact making him shudder. "Who's the lucky witch - or wizard?" he teased.
Belatedly, Harry remembered to avoid eye contact, looking instead over at the attendant - who was returning with a neat black box tied with equally-black ribbon, and a gold embossment reading 'Alexander McQueen'. "Here you are, Mr. Riddle," the attendant said brightly, oblivious to the tense atmosphere. "Harrod's thanks you, as always, for your patronage. Might I be of any further assistance?"
"Thank you, Christopher, that will be all," Voldemort said warmly - warmly, it gave Harry the weirdest feeling to hear him talk like that. He chanced a glance up at the man, thrown, and found Voldemort was giving the attendant an easy smile, one that had the attendant - Christopher - turning.. a bit pink?
The man blinked a few times, realizing Harry was looking in his direction, and swiftly redirected his attention. "Ah, perhaps you might be of aid to us, Mr. Riddle," Christopher suggested. "This gentleman is choosing his engagement ring."
"Indeed, I was just asking him about it," Voldemort was still smiling, as though his intentions weren't the complete conquest of Britain. "One of your friends, perhaps, Harry? Seeing as you've come alone."
The pieces clicked together in Harry's mind - he wanted to know so he could kill them. Surely, he would make Harry watch. Harry bit his lip, panicking: he couldn't put Ron or Hermione in more danger by lying about either of them, and he obviously couldn't name Ginny, that would completely undo all his effort to keep her safe - in fact, he couldn't name anyone, because that would just put them in undue danger, and Voldemort would just rip the answer out of his mind if he refused to say anything-
He'd been quiet too long, hadn't he? Shit. But what to say? The only one he could name that Voldemort wouldn't kill was-
"Erm," Harry felt his face going red under the ‘friendly’ scrutiny, "well, it's. It was supposed to be a surprise, but. You.”
Silence.
Harry chanced a glance up and found both the attendant and Voldemort looking at him, astonished, before Voldemort covered his mouth with his hand and burst out laughing.
"It's true," Harry insisted, doubling down on his claim. "Obviously you wouldn't believe me-" -for any number of reasons, starting with Harry being completely unconvincing under pressure- "-but it's true."
Voldemort simply held up a finger, making him wait, while he regained his composure. "Harry," he chided, "you are a terrible liar. Come now, who is it really?"
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm telling you, it's you. I even have - his blessing." Dumbledore's, he meant, which was the most blatant lie of all; the headmaster was probably rolling in his tomb.
But that claim, apparently, proved convincing: Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and he frowned at him, contemplative. "The old man takes his 'power of love' nonsense too far, if you ask me," he sneered. "But I doubt even he would actually advise you to marry me."
"He did," Harry insisted.
The Dark Lord's lips quirked up at the corners. "If that's true," he drawled, "then do it. Propose to me, right here, right now." He leaned in, looming over Harry.
Fuck.
"I haven't picked a ring out yet," Harry protested. "At least give me time for that."
A raised eyebrow. "Time to run off, more like."
"I won't run," Harry said, and he meant that if nothing else; if he had to duel Voldemort right here in the middle of a department store on a Wednesday night, he would.
Voldemort appeared to consider this. "Fine," he said at length. "But have Christopher show you the designs I like. These are..." he shook his head rather than comment.
Distantly, Harry wondered if Ron and Hermione were going to come back soon. They'd said they were going to look around, and how long ago had that been? He let a somewhat stunned Christopher lead him to one of the other displays; of course Voldemort liked rings with skulls on them. Of course.
"He's had his eye on this one since it was added to the catalogue," the man pointed out a particularly ridiculous ring. "Ah, but.. I must apologize for interfering earlier," he went on, "coincidental as it was, to spoil your surprise for him.."
"It's all right," Harry sighed, reaching into his pocket to fish money out of the mokeskin pouch. Not like I’m going to complain when I’m about to die-
Just as he had that thought, his fingers brushed the Snitch that had been gifted unto him earlier in the same day, and with a faint click, he heard it open, depositing something into his hand.
Something - ring-shaped.
Harry took his hand out of his pocket and looked at it.
"Oh, that's lovely," gasped Christopher, leaning over the counter to see.
Gleaming especially bright in the lights of the store, the Gaunt Ring rested in the center of his palm. "It's," Harry started, "it's supposed to be his anyway." This was true, from a certain point of view.
"You were keeping an heirloom all this time?" Christopher whispered, hand over his mouth. "Oh, that's so romantic..."
"I wasn't going to give it to him," Harry confided, which was true - it was a horcrux, or it had been, and Voldemort would immediately realize Dumbledore's plan if he saw it. "But..."
"Honey," Christopher laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "trust me, he's going to love that. Let me get a ring box for you."
Somehow that was when it started to sink in what Harry was doing. He swallowed, throat gone suddenly very dry and tight, and leaned against the counter, vision tunnelling in on the skulls sculpted on the rings displayed there. What the hell was he doing? He should run - screw his promise, this was madness, there was a war on, there were no rules. What did it matter if Voldemort mocked him for the whole charade afterwards?
The Dark Lord would be mocking him either way - there was no way he'd say yes, after all, it was just entertainment to him to debase the Boy-Who-Lived before he killed him.
And since Voldemort was going to say no anyway, playing along was keeping him from hunting down Ron and Hermione and the other people Harry cared about. He could send them a Patronus right now and warn them to run-
"Here, here," Christopher laid a neat black box on the counter, lined with equally black velvet. "No charge," he insisted, before Harry could go for his wallet (Hermione had gone to Gringotts and exchanged Galleons for a thick stack of bills, earlier). "Go and get your man."
It was meant to be encouraging, but all Harry could muster was dread. He ran a hand through his hair and considered one more time the merits of running, but gave it up for a bad job. So he took a deep breath, stood up straight, and returned to where Voldemort was waiting for him, ring box held behind his back.
The Dark Lord was smiling at him, obviously entertained by the whole situation. "Well, Harry?" he teased.
This is it, Harry told himself, trying not to grind his teeth. Make it or break it, now's the time. He took a step closer, and raised his head to meet his enemy's eyes.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Harry, "I have known you for as long as I've known anybody." To our mutual detriment, he thought, and knew Voldemort had heard that bit from the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "We have.. challenged each other," to put it lightly, "time and time again, and come out the stronger for it-" stretching the truth a little there, Harry- "and through all of that, discovered a connection we couldn't deny."
Voldemort's eyebrows had raised, infinitesimally, in surprise. "Some," Harry went on, "would call it - destiny. Fate. I don't know about you, but I hate prophecies."
Red lips pursed against a smile.
"Anyway." Harry sighed, blowing his fringe out of his eyes. "I didn't kneel to propose, because I'm already shorter than you, and I'm supposed to be marked as your equal, aren't I-" but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not- "-so. Erm." Harry shuffled his feet, the ring box heavy in his fingers.
"I know you don't believe in love, V- Tom," Harry bit his lip, "so I won't use that word for what we have between us. And you don't believe in good and evil, so I'll leave it out of this. But, there is something powerful, and.. I'm not too weak to seek it."
He brought the box out from behind his back. Breathed in. Breathed out. "Tom," he braced himself, closing his eyes, "will you - will you marry me?"
He opened the box.
Harry had expected a Killing Curse. Instead, over the pounding of his heart, he heard a soft "Oh," and the sound of footsteps coming closer. When he opened his eyes, Voldemort was standing right in front of him, hands coming up to hold the box. The Dark Lord's eyes were wide, a dusting of red high on his cheeks, as he looked down at the Ring. "Oh, Harry."
"It's.." probably not how you would want to get the news about your Horcrux being destroyed, "not as fancy as the rings they sell here."
"I already knew that," Voldemort answered, his voice gone much softer. "It was obvious." Well, shit, Harry thought, filing that detail away for later. "You were serious, weren't you? About proposing."
Harry - really hadn’t been, not when he’d started this. But he couldn’t say that now, and not just because it was a bit too late to retract the offer. What he felt toward Voldemort was.. a lot different than he’d felt for Ginny. Had felt, as in, past tense - he had at some point in the course of this insanity come to realize that marriage was not the bond he wanted with Ginny, never had been, and that it had been impulsive to rush here for rings when they weren’t even officially dating…
He bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Harry. Look at me.” Harry raised his gaze from where it had handed on the floor: Voldemort was looking at him with an intensity that made his stomach flutter. This close, Harry could see flickering threads of red in the brown of his irises.
“I have… underestimated you, as I did before,” the Dark Lord murmured. “Time and again you have used that to thwart me; to deny; to evade. I found you frustrating beyond belief, and treated you as a lucky fool, disregarding the very real strength you hold. This,” he touched the ring box with one manicured fingertip, “is a reminder of that strength. Of my weakness. Power, indeed.” The hand rose, slowly, to rest cool against Harry’s cheek; his breath stuttered. Belatedly, he realized he ought to be feeling pain from Voldemort’s presence alone, much less physical contact, and wondered that he wasn’t.
"Then..?" Harry wondered, blinking slowly. He was a bit dazed by this turn of events, you see.
"Yes, Harry. I'll marry you."
The words struck Harry like a blow, and not entirely in a bad way. He plucked the Ring out of the box; the cracked stone set into it was warm against his fingertip, like it had been sitting in the sun all day. Voldemort took his hand off Harry's cheek so he could put the Ring on his finger, and the sensation of touch lingered, spreading heat across the whole right side of his face.
"I'd say 'til death do us part', but," Harry joked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
Voldemort threaded their fingers together, laying the empty ring box on the counter. "I know."
...And it was at this moment that Ron and Hermione returned to the jewellery department, breaking into the conversation with a startled, "Harry? What are you doing?" and "Who's this?"
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. "It's not what it looks like," he blurted out on sheer reflex. But he was still holding Voldemort's hand.
"When we left, you were pulling your hair out over an engagement ring," Ron observed, "and we've come back to find you holding hands with a handsome stranger."
"Who we're never met before," Hermione added.
Voldemort's thumb rubbed circles into the side of Harry's hand. Harry glanced down at it, then back at his friends, knowing he'd gone very red. "Erm," he said.
"Who's this, Harry?" Ron prompted, with a 'go-on' hand gesture.
Harry blushed even worse. "..my fiancé?"
His friends' jaws dropped.
"I thought you said this was for Ginny!" Ron blurted out.
Well, shite. Harry knew Voldemort was sending him the smuggest look at finding out the real answer to his question; it was a look that spelled trouble, or it would have, but he wasn’t particularly concerned about that right now.
“Tom Riddle,” the Dark Lord introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you both after all this time. Harry has always spoken highly of you.”
"Well, it's nice to meet you, too, Tom," said Hermione, bold as ever, shaking his hand. "Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley. I'm sorry Harry hasn't been as forthcoming with us as he has with you." She shot Harry a sharp look.
"That would be my fault," Voldemort admitted, not looking sorry at all. "Things being as they are, you can see why we'd keep things secret."
Harry's friends' faces went appropriately grim at that reminder of the war. "So you're, you know," Ron made a gesture like he was swishing a wand. He seemed relieved when Voldemort nodded, which Harry found suitably ironic. "Oh, thank Merlin."
"So is he coming back to the Burrow with us, then?" Hermione asked Harry. Then she blinked, turning to Voldemort. "Sorry - are you coming back to the Burrow with us, Tom?"
"I wasn't planning to," the Dark Lord replied.
“There’s barely enough space as it is,” Harry pointed out. “And the wedding is tomorrow-”
Voldemort turned to him sharply in alarm. "You arranged our wedding for tomorrow?"
"What- no, not ours," Harry blushed again, "Ron's brother Bill's."
"Oh, all right then." The death grip (heh) on his hand let go.
Ron and Hermione both looked like they were going to laugh.
"What?" Harry asked.
"It's just," Ron snorted, dissolving into giggles. Hermione managed to keep her composure long enough to explain, "You two are really suited for each other."
They were?
"But anyway," she handwaved, "is Tom coming to the ceremony? I didn't see his name on the guest list, Molly's gone over it a dozen times."
Harry looked at Voldemort, then back at his friends. "I didn't plan on it, no." It would kind of defeat the entire purpose of the protective wards on the property.
"I already have other plans for the day," the man added. And didn't that sound foreboding, knowing who it was coming from?
It was about that moment Ron and Hermione noticed the ring on 'Tom's' finger. "Isn't that," Hermione started, before Ron elbowed her in the side.
"Yeah," Harry scratched the back of his head. "I gave up trying to pick out something."
"Didn't know you had that," Ron said. "Kind of ominous, but it's nice."
"More like wildly irresponsible," Hermione wrinkled her nose, "who knows what kind of," she lowered her voice, minding Christopher in the background, "spells are on it still - but it is rather symbolic, isn't it? Almost like Dumbledore's blessing-"
That was apparently the last straw before Voldemort burst out laughing, still not letting go of Harry's hand as he doubled over, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. "The, the irony," he wheezed, leaning on Harry amidst fits of giggles, "he would've hated it - if that old goat saw me now-!"
Ron and Hermione sent Harry confused looks. Harry shook his head, not willing to try and explain it just yet.
At last, Voldemort sighed, leaning closer to Harry and unlacing their fingers to sling his arm around his shoulders. "Ah, all right, I'd best be on my way," he smiled at them all. "Let's meet again tomorrow, after the day's events are done."
Again, Harry was struck by the feeling that there was something amiss about his choice of phrasing. "Where at?" he asked instead.
"I suppose," Voldemort thought about it, "I could come to you?"
(In retrospect, it all made a terrible amount of sense.)