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batsutousaiTitle: Growing Old With You
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Lily Evans/Severus Snape, others
Warnings: Alternate Universe (canon divergence & soulmate), Slytherin!Harry, minister!Tom, age difference, politics, dating in the public eye
Summary: A chance meeting between a Hogwarts student and the Minister for Magic spirals into a love story that the tabloids adore, while those involved are just trying to figure out how they actually fit together.
A/N: This universe is based on a vague idea for a universe for a potential future fic in my Like a Ghost in My Town series. *uncrosses eyes* Basically, Tom went the legal route up the ladder of power, rather than becoming a dark lord, and Harry is raised by Severus and Lily. (James is out of the picture.)
PoV switches back and forth between Harry and Tom between sections.
This was written for the 2018 Tomarry Big Bang, and my artist is dale! The piece they did is here on tumblr, and references a scene in this chapter.Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter 1/3
-0-
Harry Snape had spent the first six years of his Hogwarts career being the perfect student – getting good marks, winning more points than anyone else in his year, only using his blood-father's cloak and contraband map in emergencies, and becoming one of the most honourable and universally respected Slytherin prefects in decades – but with the end of his childhood approaching like a noose, he'd decided to follow his honorary uncle Sirius' long-time advice and sneak out, maybe leave some pranks in the common rooms of the other houses. And not even getting caught and given detention by his mum right before the winter holidays could really stop him (though it had taught him not to get drinks in the village he'd grown up in).
Which was why he went to Diagon Alley the first night of the new term that he didn't have detention, stopping by Fred and George's shop first, because they'd give him so much hell if they found out he'd come 'round Diagon without popping past.
"Our favourite snake, out for a stroll," one of the twins said when they saw him.
Harry squinted – the lighting in the shop always made it a little hard to spot one of the dozen little differences between the twins, most of which Ginny had taught him as payment for lost bets or payment for assistance with assignments – before saying, "I do so always appreciate you and George not being arseholes about my house."
Fred let out one of the ridiculous and over-the-top gasps that Harry was near certain they'd picked up from Draco just to piss him off. "But I am George!"
Harry made a show of rolling his eyes, which made Fred laugh and brought George out from the back room. "Naughty, naughty, little hisser," George said with one of those grins that would make a sane person run like hell in the opposite direction.
Harry, unfortunately, had never had much sanity – his father, Severus, blamed Sirius or, when he thought it wouldn't get back to Lily, James – and so considered himself rather immune to most of the twins' attempts to spook people off. (At least, that's the way he put it; most people said he simply lacked the sense to escape while he could.)
"Heard you got detention for drinking your body-weight in old Abe's best moonshine," George continued as he joined Fred.
Harry snorted. "Please. I had one glass of firewhiskey. Whoever you're getting your Hogwarts gossip from is clearly getting it as far from the source as possible. You should look into that."
Both twins grinned and shook their head, and Harry suspected they either didn't care how ridiculously unrealistic their gossip was, or they'd got the truth, then mucked it up themselves, just for Harry's reaction. Which, well, either was certainly possible; Harry's saving grace was that they liked or feared him too much to embarrass him in front of customers. (Or, worse, their mum.)
"So," said Fred, "what's the occasion for this escape attempt?"
Harry shook his head at that description. "Celebrating not having any more detention," he admitted, though that was only half of it. (Not that Fred and George wouldn't understand, if he explained he'd just had the need, he just wasn't in the habit of being completely truthful. Especially not with agents of chaos.)
The twins both raised opposite eyebrows at him, perfectly in sync. "Really," George said in a voice that was dry and unimpressed enough to impress Lucius Malfoy.
"And when your mum catches you again?" Fred asked, voice just as dry and unimpressed as George's.
"How long did you two practise that?" Harry asked in return.
The twins just stared at him, raising their other eyebrows in perfect sync.
Harry let out the most put upon, overly dramatic sigh in his arsenal – perfected via knowing Draco for his whole life and sharing a dorm with him for the past six and a half years – then explained in his best 'I can't believe I have to explain such a simple concept to you pair of dunderheads' – also perfected because of Draco – voice, "Obviously, I'll serve detention, then have another little celebration when it's over."
The pair of them laughed at that; Harry strongly suspected they'd served out their own 'misbehave, get punished for misbehaviour, celebrate end of punishment with more misbehaving, get punished again, celebrate yet again' cycle a fair few times themselves. Especially since he had a better than passing familiarity with the Weasley family matriarch.
"So, going out to get tipsy again?" George guessed.
Harry shrugged. "What else is there?"
The look the twins traded had the hair on the back of Harry's neck standing on end, but they had a hold of his arms before he could think to run for it.
"You haven't met your soulmate yet, right?" Fred asked.
Harry huffed. "Kinda hard to tell, young as I am," he pointed out, because it usually wasn't obvious until after you'd finished your schooling and it became clear you weren't ageing.
The twins just stared at him, because while that was certainly true for muggles, Hogwarts taught a spell to check your status in first year, and it was generally accepted that most witches and wizards checked themselves after meeting new people. (They also taught, in fifth year, a spell to reveal who your soulmate was, once you'd found them. Because it was often a little hard to tell exactly who it was when you met a group of people all at once.)
In truth, Harry wasn't as careful about checking as some people he knew, but he did usually check end of the first week back at Hogwarts. Because, yeah, he hadn't met his soulmate yet, and he was really sort of hoping it was another student. Mostly because most magical people had better luck finding their soulmates while still in school, likely due to their small number.
But, too, most people who didn't find their soulmates at Hogwarts – or whichever magical school they attended – didn't end up meeting their soulmate until well past twenty-one, which was the age it was widely accepted in the magical world, at least, that you should either be settled in a career or already married. Or both.
Which meant most people ended up marrying someone who wasn't their soulmate, and while you could be happy that way – see Lily and Severus; both of their soulmates were dead, but they'd been friends forever and ended up marrying as much for the stability as because they loved one another – there was supposed to always be a sense of loss or not belonging or something. And Harry, who had grown up watching his parents hurt even as they loved each other, very much didn't want that for himself. (He also, more importantly, didn't want to refuse to marry, only to find his own soulmate had done so and was perfectly happy with their family, because he was fairly certain that would be the absolute worst.)
"Fine, no, I haven't found them yet," Harry muttered, because they'd all been silent long enough, it was obvious they would be content waiting all night for him to speak. (And, unlike the last time, there wouldn't be salvation in the form of one of their mothers to get Harry out of their grasps.)
"Well," Fred started, smiling a little too wide.
"It just so happens," George continued, and Harry bit back a groan; he didn't know a single person who enjoyed twin-speak. Other than the twins themselves.
"That this is the night–"
"–when the Leaky Cauldron–"
"–holds their weekly–"
"–Singles' Night Mixer!" they finished together.
"I hate you both," Harry informed them, but he didn't fight them as they pulled him out of their shop and through the alley to the Leaky.
Fred and George, Harry knew, were each other's soulmates – a particularity that most identical twins suffered – and he suspected they'd gone to plenty of these Singles' Nights, looking for partners who didn't mind the idea of settling down with someone who wasn't their soulmate. (George, Harry knew from Ginny, had had his heart set on one of the Gryffindor chasers in his year, but she'd apparently found her soulmate and ended things. Or something equally depressing; Harry honestly hadn't paid that much attention once he'd realised that using the failed relationship to tease George would be far too cruel.)
The pub wasn't quite packed, but it still felt a little too hot, especially with winter cloaks on. Harry stayed long enough to meet a couple of witches, most of whom were introduced to him by one of the twins, because they clearly knew far too many of the people there, then made his escape out the back while neither of them were close enough to stop him.
He checked the time, decided he should have enough time to pick up a proper drink from the pub down Knockturn – which he wasn't supposed to go to, really, but the Leaky proprietor had clearly been intent on keeping any alcohol-related incidents from happening, because he hadn't been serving anything, and no way in hell Harry was going back to the school without drinking something – and made his way down there.
The pub was two doors down from the apothecary Severus preferred to get ingredients at, and Harry ducked as he went past it – the windows looked grimy from the outside, but he knew they were plenty clean inside, and the owner knew him well enough that he might just recognise him and tell Severus – then straightened and did his best to look confident as he pushed into the pub.
The place wasn't anywhere near as packed as the Leaky had been, and it had the same sort of grim air as the Hog's Head. As much as Sirius liked to talk that sort of ambiance down, Harry found it almost soothing, and he felt himself relax as he walked up to the bar and slid onto an open stool.
"Singles' Mixer?" the wizard to his left guessed after Harry had been slid a drink.
"How did you–"
The wizard – who, Harry couldn't help but notice, was way too handsome, with slightly wavy dark hair and eyes that looked almost red when the candlelight hit them right – reached out one long, thin finger and pressed it against Harry's chest, over his heart.
It took Harry a moment to realise the other wizard had been pointing out the nametag George had made and stuck to his cloak while Fred held him still, and then he groaned and ripped it off. "My friends dragged me," he muttered as he crumpled it up and shoved it in a pocket.
"Too crowded?" the other wizard suggested with a long-suffering sort of smile.
He looked to be Harry's age, and he was a little familiar, but Harry couldn't quite envision him in school robes, which meant he was probably older, someone he'd seen while shopping. Which also meant he very likely hadn't met his soulmate yet, and had his own experience with the Leaky's mixer.
"A little bit," he allowed. "But, also, not really something I was looking for tonight. If ever." And, wow, that was a lot more than he'd usually tell a stranger; Harry cast his glass a slightly suspicious look.
"Too loud, too bright, and not enough alcohol?" his barmate suggested.
"A little too heterosexual," Harry heard himself say, then followed it up by casting a couple of detection spells on his drink.
The other wizard laughed, quiet and warm. "It's not in your drink," he said, then shook back the sleeve of his robe enough to show a bracelet of dull metal chains. "It's charmed to push people to tell me the truth; I'm afraid it activated when I touched you."
Harry frowned at the bracelet. It didn't look like much, but he knew from Sirius that it was best to use non-flashy objects for important charms, because then it was less likely to be taken away if you got robbed or captured. (Harry, himself, wore a plain, dull gold cartilage earring that, should he need help, he could take it out and it would send his location to Lily, Severus, and Sirius.) "Are you an auror?" he had to ask.
"No, but I do work in the ministry," the wizard said, tilting his head to the side slightly. "You haven't left."
Harry straightened and narrowed his eyes, because that had sounded a little bit like a challenge. And, well, he may have been sorted into Slytherin – and a part of him certainly knew he was best running for it, before he said something incriminating – but the Hat had suggested he'd do well in Gryffindor, and that was most obvious in his inability to back down from a challenge.
"I don't let truth spells scare me off," Harry said, which wasn't quite the truth, but it was a better response than– "Anyway, you're way too gorgeous for me to just walk away."
That. Harry really should have retreated when he had the chance. Shit. He took a long swallow of his drink, as if that would actually help him.
Unlike the first (and only) time Harry had foolishly propositioned a wizard he hadn't already carefully felt out on the matter – in Cedric's defence, he'd been horrified at his friends' reactions, and swore he would have turned Harry down gently, had he been given the chance – he didn't get cursed or spat on. Instead, the other wizard's eyes narrowed and the look he cast Harry was heated in a way that he'd never really imagined being faced with.
"Gorgeous, am I?" the wizard asked, his voice silky and low.
Harry was going to be dreaming about that voice for months, he just knew it. "Yeah," he whispered, and was fairly certain the word had come out far too breathless. "You should probably be illegal. Are you illegal? Am I going to have a hard time explaining you to my uncle?"
The wizard laughed, quiet and maybe a little surprised. "You don't know who I am," he murmured.
It didn't really sound like a question, but Harry had to ask, "Should I?"
The wizard let out a quiet hum, then long fingers were catching Harry's chin, and his face was turned so he was meeting the not-quite-red eyes of the other wizard. "How old are you?" he asked, his voice gone a little stiff.
Harry swallowed, knew he was damned if he told the truth, but he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Seventeen."
The wizard's expression shut down the same way Severus' would when Sirius said something that hurt him, and he let Harry's chin go so fast, it was almost as though he'd been burnt. "Go back to Hogwarts. Now," he ordered.
And Harry, his chest aching for some reason, slipped off his stool and did.
Probably the only victory of the night, was that he didn't get caught.
Tom Riddle-Gaunt was hardly the first Minister for Magic who hadn't found his soulmate, but he was, perhaps, the most notable, both for his background – the muggle-raised halfblood of one of the most anti-muggle families in centuries – and for his plethora of pureblood supporters, despite his policies, which called for more rights and an earlier addition of muggleborns to the magical world. He was firmly against the inclusion of and marriage to muggles, but he held to that children should not be held accountable for the choices of their parents. (Given his own background, many people could guess where such a firm stance in regard to the latter had come from.)
Appearing seventeen meant he was often underestimated or talked down to. The former proved beneficial more often than not, but the latter often left him in a terrible temper. Retreating to the pub down Knockturn, where power mattered far more than appearance – it was troubling how many of the darker members of their society never found their soulmate – had become his preferred way of unwinding after a long day spent slogging through the paperwork a nation created.
Finding Hogwarts students in the Knockturn pub was hardly a common occurrence, and it was even less usual for them to admit to attraction to Tom without knowing exactly who he was, but that still didn't make meeting the boy with the bright green eyes particularly notable. Honestly, Tom put the meeting out of his mind almost right away, and had completely forgotten about it by lunchtime the next day. (Piles of dry paperwork had that effect on him; there were days he honestly wondered why he'd ever wanted to be minister.)
So it was a surprise that, when Amelia Bones, the head of the aurors, said, "Are you ageing, Minister?" at the start of their twice a month meeting, that green-eyed young man was the first face to pop into Tom's head.
"I–" he started, before stopping as he realised he wasn't really certain how to respond. As much as he'd like to insist he would know if he'd started ageing or had met his soulmate, he knew that wasn't quite true; any change in his appearance would be subtle and unlikely to be spotted by himself or anyone else who saw him regularly, and he'd heard and read about plenty of soulmates who never realised they'd actually met.
Well, there was one way to be certain, and he was casting the half-familiar spell before he really thought about it.
Every time he'd ever cast the spell, since he'd learnt it sixty years ago, nothing had happened. But, even though he half expected he'd botched it – it had been well over a decade since the last time he'd checked – he started to glow.
Amelia cleared her throat. "Congratulations, sir," she said, her tone suggesting she wasn't certain it was something to celebrate.
(Tom was rather with her, on that.)
"I hadn't been aware you were seeing anyone," she added once the glow had died away, likely an attempt to fill the heavy silence.
"I'm not," Tom admitted, and his voice cracked, making him wince.
"Ah." Amelia shifted in her seat. "Perhaps we should reschedule?"
Relief rushed through Tom, sharp and unexpected; he was so used to the political dance and the constant attempts to get one over on each other, he sometimes forgot that there were actually people in the ministry who weren't looking to use a second's weakness against him. And he was so, so very grateful that it was one of those people who had spotted his ageing and been in the room when he tested it.
"Thank you, Amelia," he said quietly, and offered her what was, very likely, the most honest smile his office had ever seen. "If you'll speak with Cornelius on your way out, I'm certain he can fit you in later this week."
"I'll do that," Amelia promised as she stood. She had her hand on the doorknob when she turned back, her expression troubled. "Tom, don't sit on this too long, or it may just explode in your face."
Tom straightened his back and nodded. "I'm aware." Because he'd been playing the political games for far too long to believe Amelia was the first person to think he might be ageing.
(Very likely, the current series of Wizengamot meetings and the lack of otherwise newsworthy updates from his office were the only reasons it had yet to break in the papers.)
Amelia inclined her head, then left.
Tom didn't wait long after the door had closed behind her before pulling out a sheet of parchment and one of his quill-sharpening knives. It took him a moment to recall the spell for discovering the name of his soulmate, but he'd always been excellent at retaining knowledge, even spells he'd considered useless trivia when he'd learnt them.
He cast the spell on the parchment, then nicked his finger, squeezing it so sufficient blood would fall to the parchment to spell out the name of his soulmate: Harrison James Snape
He caught himself staring after a moment, healed his finger, then destroyed the parchment. And then he took a walk down to the records room.
He was careful, collecting the books for a wide range of last names, and retreated to his office, casting a dozen spells against spies before cracking open the book Snape would be in.
It didn't take him long, in the end; there were only four Snapes in the records, one dead, and the year of birth next to Harrison's name didn't really surprise him, not after those green eyes had flashed through his mind earlier, but it did win a slightly bitter laugh.
"This," he whispered to the heavy silence of his office, "is going to be a political nightmare."
Harry had stayed in Hogwarts after his little adventure in Knockturn. If anyone had thought to ask why, he'd probably have said something about how he didn't want to push his luck any further, or that he needed to focus a bit more on his classes and studying for the NEWTs. Both things were even true.
Honestly, though, he didn't really know why he'd stopped. Perhaps being told off by a complete stranger had just soured the fun of sneaking out. Or perhaps he just wasn't certain where he could sneak out to that it wouldn't eventually get back to his mum.
It didn't really matter, either way. He did his studies and helped out in Slytherin and kept his mum happy.
It was about three weeks after his last excursion that the news broke that the Minister for Magic had found his soulmate. Which was great for him – story was he'd been desperately searching for fifty years, which sounded pretty shitty to Harry – and honestly not something Harry would have ever cared about. Except he saw Pansy's paper – she was waving it around and making certain that absolutely everyone had seen; she was perhaps a little too enamoured of their minister – and the photo on the front page was of the very man Harry had met in Knockturn. Just as unnecessarily handsome in black and white as he'd been in colour.
And then, of course, he realised the photo was meant to go with the article Pansy was so excited about. That was the minister. Mr 'You don't know who I am,' himself.
Harry wanted to bury himself in his porridge, because surely that would be less embarrassing than not recognising the minister. No wonder he'd asked about Harry's age.
"I wonder who it is," Pansy was saying. "I would kill to be the witch on his arm."
"Say that a little louder, Pansy," Blaise said drily. "I think a couple of professors mightn't have heard you plotting murder."
Pansy sniffed and turned up her nose at him.
Harry felt somewhat suddenly cold as he connected 'the minister isn't saying who his soulmate is' to 'I met the minister for the first time three weeks ago'.
Could he be the minister's soulmate? Could the minister be his soulmate?
Harry suspected he might be about to throw up.
Still, he'd been in Slytherin long enough to know better than to leave right away, and he knew how to silently vanish his food, so none of his housemates would think to wonder at why he'd stopped eating.
He wasn't the first to leave the table, wasn't even in the first five, and he forced himself to walk at a leisurely pace all the way to the nearest toilet. There, he walked into one of the stalls, locked the door, and cast the soulmate revealing spell on himself.
He glowed.
"Slytherin protect me," Harry whispered, and then he started laughing, just a bit, as he recalled that Minister Riddle-Gaunt was purportedly descended from Salazar Slytherin.
Assuming the minister was his soulmate. It could just as easily been someone he'd met in the Leaky.
There wasn't a great deal of space in the stall, but Harry had been intending to go straight to the library for his free period, and stopping back past the dorm was out of the way, so he'd brought his bag with him. Which meant he had parchment and his sharpening knife.
The name that wrote itself in his blood wasn't actually a surprise, not after everything else that morning, but Harry's smile still felt sad as he stared down at the name Tom Marvolo Riddle-Gaunt.
He was halfway to the dungeons before he realised he was moving, and he stopped on the stairs, trying to figure out where he'd thought to go.
"Harry?" his mum called from behind him.
And, just like that, he knew exactly where his feet had been trying to take him, and he turned to look at Lily with an expression he desperately hoped wasn't as shattered as he felt. "Mum, can we talk?"
"Of course, sweetie," she said, almost immediately wrapping her arm around him and ushering him down the stairs and through the darkened corridors to her office.
Harry was shortly settled comfortably in one of the visitor's chairs, with the container of chocolate biscuits Lily always kept in her desk for emergencies open and in easy reach for him. Lily hadn't taken her usual seat on the other side of the desk – she rarely did when Harry wasn't in trouble – instead turning the other guest chair so she was facing him, her face twisted with concern and love. "What's wrong, baby?" she asked, gentle and so very kind.
Harry wrinkled his nose at the 'baby', as he'd been doing since he was old enough to think himself too old for such, and forced himself to take a breath, then said, "I found my soulmate."
"Congratulations!" Lily exclaimed, catching both of his hands in hers.
The crinkling of parchment reminded Harry that he was still holding the parchment with his soulmate's name on it in one hand. He shook her grip free and held it out to her.
Frowning, Lily took the parchment, smoothing it out a bit so she could read it. She held perfectly still for a moment that seemed to take an eternity, her eyes slowly widening.
And then her eyes snapped up to him and she demanded, "Harrison James, when did you have the chance to meet the minister?"
Harry choked out a slightly terrified laugh, because leave it to his mum to go immediately to his rule-breaking. "I, uh, I'd ruther not say?"
"Detention."
"Mum, come on."
"Tonight, seven o'clock," Lily continued, clearly content to ignore Harry's whining. "You'll meet me in the entrance hall. Dress warm."
Harry groaned, because it wasn't the first time she'd dragged a student out to the Forbidden Forest with her while she collected one rare ingredient or another. Still, he knew there was nothing he could say against it, and at least she hadn't taken any points, so he muttered, "Yeah, okay."
"Now, scat. And take a biscuit."
Harry shook his head, because his mum was the only person he knew who would punish him with detention, then shove chocolate down his throat.
(Actually, no. He suspected Molly Weasley or Alice Longbottom might do a similar sort of punishment with sweets thing, though he'd never had occasion to find out.)
He did indeed take the biscuit – the only time he'd refused, the biscuit had followed him out of her office and kept knocking against his head until he gave in and ate it – and fled to the library, hoping he could get his mind to focus on something other than the minister or his coming detention.
He didn't have much luck.
In all honesty, when he'd made the announcement to the press shortly after looking his soulmate up – Amelia had been correct in saying that he needed to handle that with all speed, though he intended to sit on the who as long as Mr Snape would let him – the last thing he'd expected was to receive a letter from Lily Snape partway through the following morning. Delivered by house-elf, no less, which suggested a level of cunning and forethought that, he had to admit, he hadn't really expected of someone whose son had decided to visit Knockturn while he should have been in school.
She requested a private audience that evening, which Tom suspected he was best served agreeing to. So it was that, instead of retreating to the familiar grunginess of Knockturn after a rough day of smiling for the cameras and dodging too-personal questions, he had dinner in the echoing dining room of the minister's manor, then waited in the receiving room for his guest. He very rarely opened the floo, and a tiny part of him panicked, just a bit, that he'd got the time wrong; a fine way to end his evening, having caused a floo incident with his soulmate's mother.
But his vague panic was for naught, as just over five minutes after he'd opened the floo, a rather stunning woman with long red hair and the same brilliantly green eyes as his soulmate stepped through the flames. "Mrs Snape," he greeted her.
She smiled and very pointedly stepped aside, leaving room for Tom's soulmate to come through. The young man looked like he should rather be anywhere but the minister's cold manor, a sense Tom fully appreciated. "Minister," he whispered, ducking his head.
Embarrassment, Tom thought, looked rather fetching on his soulmate. Which was something of an unusual thought for him; he usually felt smug at seeing other people's embarrassment, not fond. He chalked it up to some mystical nonsense related to them being soulmates and put on one of his kinder smiles. "Mr Snape."
They suffered a slightly awkward silence – Tom couldn't begin to guess how to approach matters, his soulmate was clearly too embarrassed to speak, and Mrs Snape seemed content to just watch them – which was broken by Dipdy, Tom's personal house-elf – most of the ones staffing the manor actually belonged to the estate, rather than the minister housed within – who popped in next to him, curtsied, and said, "Dipdy has set out tea for Master and guests."
"Thank you, Dipdy," Tom murmured, and she popped away. To the Snapes, he said, "You may hang your cloaks on the rack here, then follow me," then turned and, once they had both hung up their outdoor wear – revealing teaching robes for Mrs Snape and a Slytherin House uniform for his soulmate, which Tom very carefully didn't react to – led the way to the smaller sitting room.
The smaller sitting room hadn't seen much use since Tom moved in, as most of his smaller meetings were better served being held in public with anti-eavesdropping spells, or in his office at the ministry. When he invited guests to the minister's manor, it was almost always a group of people, and the larger sitting room or the ballroom were the better choices. They both looked far richer, with bold colours and the constant shine of silver and gold, intended to impress delegations or donors, Tom had always assumed; that was certainly what he tended to use them for.
The smaller sitting room, by contrast, was done in duller shades, with softer lighting and only the bronze of the fixtures to hint at any wealth. Tom had never been particularly impressed with the room, but, he realised as they all settled around the coffee table with the tea things, the room seemed to have been made for his soulmate, whose complexion – rather darker than either his mother or Tom's – seemed well suited to the colours.
"I admit," Tom said, once it became clear that he would have to start any conversation, "that this is something of an unexpected development."
His soulmate let out a quiet snort, likely believing Tom's word choice was too mild.
"I can only imagine," Mrs Snape said, her voice rather dry. "And what, may I ask, are you intending to do with my son, Minister?"
"Mum," his soulmate complained, covering his face with one hand.
Tom met the piercing stare focussed on him without flinching; he'd spent far too many years in the political arena to baulk at facing down someone's mother. "If you're implying I might infringe on his honour is some way, Mrs Snape, I assure you that I have no such intentions."
"Reassuring, but not what I meant," Mrs Snape returned, a sharp edge to her voice that Tom was a little impressed by. "You've been a politician longer than Harry's been alive; where's our assurance that you won't use him in some way to further your own gains?"
"Do you believe my political stance on such rocky footing that I might need a student to better it?" Tom asked in as mild a voice as he could manage. The nerve of the woman!
"Oh, I think we both know your approval rating is bought."
"I would have preferred the detention," his soulmate announced before Tom forgot himself and actually pulled out his wand; it had been decades since someone had attacked him so directly. (Even Dumbledore and other politicians at least had the sense to sugar-coat their insults.)
"Give me your bracelet," the young man demanded, holding out a hand to Tom. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, Tom saw for the first time, like he was, perhaps, not quite so daft as his actions the night they'd met had suggested; perhaps the house crest emblazoned on his chest wasn't quite as improbable as Tom had half been thinking.
"Bracelet?" Mrs Snape asked, her confusion softening the sharpness of her voice.
Tom, for his part, weighed his options for a moment – he always had ways around the magical objects he wore, so they couldn't be used against him, but pointing that out would likely be opposite to his soulmate's intentions – then called, "Dipdy, bring my truth charm." Because he hadn't, in fact, intended to use it while meeting with Mrs Snape.
It took but a second for Dipdy to bring it, and Tom motioned for her to give it to his soulmate, which she did after only a brief hesitation.
"I just have to touch you, right?" his soulmate asked as he slipped the bracelet on. "And then you'll be compelled to tell the truth?"
"Essentially," Tom agreed with a shrug he forced to be careless. And then, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, he added, "I will, however, only be compelled to answer the wearer truthfully."
"Suits me," he soulmate said before Mrs Snape could do more than open her mouth, likely intending to insist she be the one to wear it. And then he leant forward, holding his hand out over the tea things, the bracelet's dull gleam looking so much brighter than Tom was used to against his darker skin.
Tom made a show of hesitating, if only because it would lend to the fiction that he couldn't resist the charms, then reached out and took his soulmate's hand.
The truth compulsion closed in around him, slipping easily past his mental defences, as he'd made it to do, so even other occlumens wouldn't notice it sneaking in; most of the people he spoke with, after all, had at least some sort of mental barriers. He had three different ways to banish the compulsion, but he found himself leaving it be, instead focussing on the brilliantly green eyes across from him, and the warm hand still holding his.
It wasn't like him to so blindly trust, nor to allow so constant a contact, and yet he seemed to be breaking personal rules left and right when it came to his soulmate. Disconcerting.
"Are you likely to use me to further your own ambitions?" his soulmate asked.
That was...a rather clever way of putting the question, and rather Slytherin, besides. "Only with your consent," Tom said, because that seemed fair, to him, and gave them both some wiggle room.
His soulmate's mouth quirked, like he knew exactly what Tom was thinking. "Are you intending to announce who I am to the press?"
"Again, with your consent," Tom replied. "However, the longer it takes, the more likely someone will find out on their own, then attempt to spin it to damage one or both of us."
His soulmate's expression made it clear he'd expected something of the sort, though his mother let out a quiet curse. "Any other burning questions, Mum?" Mr Snape asked, turning to look at Mrs Snape.
Tom couldn't see his soulmate's expression, but the twist of Mrs Snape's mouth made it clear he was doing something that made her sour. Still, she did say, "No," and didn't follow that up with any glares at Tom, which was perhaps a little bit of a surprise.
And then Tom was being pinned with his soulmate's sharply intelligent stare again. "And you, Mr Snape?" he had to ask, because he hadn't let go yet.
"Yeah," his soulmate said, his chin raising just the slightest, the same as he'd done when Tom had commented that he hadn't fled after finding out about the truth compulsion. "Does the age difference bug you?"
Tom could make a pretty good guess what had spawned that question. The truth was, of course, complicated, because a part of him was uncomfortable with the age difference, but the age of consent for soulmates in the United Kingdom was sixteen, despite the genders or any relevant positions of authority, and Tom had largely resigned himself to sleeping with people who looked younger than he felt when he was in his thirties.
The truth compulsion allowed him to get away with, "Only in that you're still a student," which was simpler than trying to get into the full back-and-forth of the matter.
His soulmate nodded, then let go of Tom's hand, at last – Tom tried very hard not to notice how suddenly cool his hand felt – and took off the truth charm, which he tossed to Tom.
Tom caught the bracelet and slipped it into his pocket, where he wouldn't accidentally end up using it, but it could be easily retrieved, should Mrs Snape require further proof of his honestly. "Was there anything else?" he asked as he picked up his cup of tea, letting the heat of it warm his too-cool hand.
"If it's best done sooner, we may as well discuss how to break news of who I am to the press," Mr Snape said somewhat drily, before casting a tired look at his mother. "And Dad, Uncle Sirius, and Uncle Remus."
Mrs Snape sighed. "Remus should take it fine, if you want to write him a note, and we can probably leave filling Sirius in to him. I'll talk to your father tonight."
"Sirius Black?" Tom asked; many of his soulmates comments during their first meeting certainly made a bit more sense if he knew one of the most talented aurors of the United Kingdom. Too, given Auror Black's long history of misbehaviour, his trip to Knockturn when he should have been safely tucked away in Hogwarts made more sense.
"Yeah. I take it you're familiar with him?" Mr Snape said, the turn of his mouth wry.
"Indeed," Tom agreed, because he was indeed familiar with the white sheep of the Black family; the eldest son of one of the purist families who supported Tom, but publicly against them and everything they stood for, including Tom himself. "I'll have to warn Madam Bones that he may be...difficult."
"I certainly hope he doesn't start acting like a child over this," Mrs Snape said, a sharpness to her tone that made Mr Snape wince. "I really don't see what your father ever saw in him."
Mr Snape just let out a quiet sigh, like he was plenty familiar with that rant.
As much as a part of Tom wanted to chase after that, find out a bit more about his soulmate's extended family – he certainly hadn't been aware of Auror Black being friendly with any Snapes, but the aurors were hardly the members of the ministry he felt the need to keep tabs on – they did need to sort out the formal announcement. And Mr Snape, at least, would eventually be missed.
It didn't take them long to hash matters out. In truth, it would largely be up to Tom to manage everything, as he was the one in the public eye. Mrs Snape would be casting wards around her family to return hate mail to their sender, so Mr Snape should be well protected from the majority of the fallout.
"Honestly," Mr Snape had said with a shrug that seemed a little too careless, to Tom, "the only fallout I'm worried about is Ginny. Which, actually, related to that, can we wait a day? She'll kill me if she finds out from the papers."
If the little fool got himself cursed by jealous students because he was careless with his own safety, on his own head be it. Tom was washing his hands of the whole mess.
(At least until after his soulmate had learnt his lesson. Whereupon, Tom would have to swoop in and clean things up; at least it would help his image.)
Still, decision to be involved in his soulmate's school life or no, Tom couldn't quite stop from holding him back at the floo, letting Mrs Snape go on ahead and leaving them alone for the first time in almost a month.
"Minister?" his soulmate asked, his voice just a little uncertain.
"Tom," he heard himself say, and couldn't quite find it within himself to regret it when those brilliantly green eyes peered up at him. "I do believe you, of all people, have the right to use my first name."
His soulmate's smile was small and edged in uncertainty, but it was one of the most honest ones Tom had seen in weeks. "I suppose you'll have to call me Harry, then."
"It seems so," Tom agreed, hoped he didn't sound nearly as uncertain as he felt; he didn't do relationships, had never done this particular dance over what to call each other. Or, for that matter, how to give gifts, so he cleared his throat and pressed his truth bracelet into his soulmate's hand. "I expect you'll find this...useful."
Mr Snape looked down, then immediately back up at Tom, his eyes wide. "I can't accept this!" he insisted, holding it back out to Tom. "You'll need it!"
"It's hardly the only one I have," Tom returned, even though it actually sort of was. (It wasn't as though he couldn't make a replacement, however. It would almost certainly mean getting in late to the ministry in the morning, but it was doable.) "Take it."
"I–"
"Harry, please," Tom said, taking care to use the nickname his soulmate had specified and putting just the slightest hint of pleading in his voice.
There was, again, that gleam of intelligence peering out at him from behind brilliantly green eyes, and Tom felt disconcertingly like he was being seen straight through. As though his soulmate could see that a part of him honestly was worried for his safety; he had served his time under Hogwarts' towers – had at times been the best known, and the least loved – and the ability to tell exactly who his true allies were had served him far better than the protections of the professors or his being the Heir of Slytherin.
"Thank you," his soulmate said at last, and slipped the bracelet away in a pocket. And then, with only a brief show of hesitation, he leant up and pressed a kiss to Tom's cheek. "Goodbye for now, Tom," he said, before hurriedly grabbing a pinch of floo power and vanishing after his mother.
Tom reached up and pressed a hand to his cheek, feeling a little confused and maybe a little charmed.
"Well," he told the empty fireplace, "that's unexpected."
And then he closed the floo and went to see about making himself a replacement truth charm.
Despite his careless attitude in front of his mother and the minister, Harry was far from unaware of how much danger he could be in when he was announced as the minister's soulmate. He had, after all, put up with Pansy and her infatuation for five and a half years – it would have been six, but Dumbledore had foolishly hired Gilderoy Lockhart for their second year, and Pansy had been one of the besotted ones – and heard plenty of her plots to take out the minister's soulmate, should he ever find them.
So, while he did indeed warn Ginny – she really would unleash hell on him if he didn't – he also sat down with those he trusted in all of the houses – the thing about being raised by both Gryffindors and Slytherins, was he'd never really bought in to the whole 'we mustn't be friends with members of other houses' nonsense, and he'd started Hogwarts with friends who got sorted into each of the houses – and felt them out, then shared the truth with those he trusted wouldn't go spreading it about early, and asked them to help keep their housemates in line.
(The bracelet the minister had given him actually ended up making things far easier than he'd anticipated; he'd have to come up with a suitable thank you. Somehow.)
For Pansy, he pulled both Draco and Blaise aside, as Draco was the closest thing she had to a best friend, while Blaise was her long-suffering soulmate. (Harry felt for him. He really did.)
Draco, the arse, patted Harry's shoulder once he'd finished explaining and said, "I'll say something nice at your funeral."
"I'll haunt you forever," was Harry's retort.
Draco, probably on reflex, immediately covered his perfect hair with both hands.
Blaise outright cackled – Harry was far from the only one in their dorm who took joy in messing up Draco's hair, he was just the one who'd started it and usually took the blame – then promised, "I'll see if I can't break the news to her tonight. With my wand out, in case she needs to spend a couple of nights in the infirmary."
"Thank you," Harry replied, honestly grateful.
Blaise offered him a smile that was crooked. "Don't get me wrong, Snape; I'm not doing this for you."
"We'd be lucky if the minister only killed her for attacking you," Draco agreed, voice low and serious in a way he rarely bothered with.
Harry frowned between them. "Explain that."
They traded uncertain looks.
Harry had already discovered that his bracelet only compelled people to tell the truth, and those who were occlumens had some defences against it – he blamed already having had a bit of his drink on why he hadn't been able to resist in the pub – so while he'd already touched his dormmates to activate the spell, he wasn't really surprised they weren't immediately telling him whatever it was they knew about the minister that was spooking them.
So he resorted to pulling out his wand and locking the door with a click that was almost too loud in the empty dungeon classroom, then cast one of the auror-level privacy wards Sirius had taught him over the summer. "If one of you two doesn't start talking right now..." he warned.
"You know all the old families support him, even though he's not properly against mudbloods?" Draco asked, not waiting for Harry to finish his threat; Harry had trained him well.
Harry grimaced at the slur, but nodded; he'd been living with purists long enough to resign himself to hearing that particular word. "Sure. But that's because everyone who's ever run against him is pro-muggles. Right?"
Blaise and Draco traded a look again; Harry might have to curse them if they did it a third time.
"This is mostly speculation," Draco warned, his expression open and pleading in a way that he'd only allow around select few people, of which Harry was markedly proud to be a member. "But I've overheard Father calling him the dark lord a couple of times."
Harry raised an eyebrow, more intrigued than disbelieving; if the minister called himself a dark lord in private, that would explain why so many of the purist families continued to support him, even with his pro-muggleborn politics.
"Theo, his grandfather went to school with the minister," Blaise added, referencing one of their other dormmates, Theodore Nott, Jr, who had always been required to keep a distance between himself and Harry because of Lily's blood status, "and he often talks about a dark lord who will bring back the old ways and banish the muggles and mudbloods back to the pits they came from."
"Charming."
Blaise offered him a smile that was a little bit apologetic. "Just what I heard, Snape. Don't shoot the messenger."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And you think the minister is the dark lord he's putting his hopes on?"
"I think he'd be supporting someone else in the political arena if it wasn't."
Harry nodded, because that was a good point; Thaddeus Nott wasn't known for his patience or charity, and if he was supporting the minister, there had to be a damn good reason. So either Riddle-Gaunt was the one Nott was calling a dark lord, or he was somehow paving the way for them. And, given how against associating with 'dirty blood' the Nott family was and the minister's own muggle father, it was far more likely that the minister was Nott's dark lord.
"Maybe I'll ask him," Harry said, just for the horrified looks Draco and Blaise turned on him. "He's my soulmate; I'm going to end up involved somehow."
"Fair point," Blaise allowed.
"Maybe you should ask him sooner, rather than later," Draco added, casting a quick worried look towards the warded door. "If he is aspiring to be the next dark lord, we may find allegiances changing."
In other words, those members of the purist families who refused or simply weren't allowed to associate with Harry would very quickly be offering their hands in friendship. As would any and every other person in the school who thought he might provide an in with the minister. Those Harry had already been anticipating, but he should really know if he should be expecting purist alliances, as well.
"Can you sneak out tonight?" Draco asked. "I know you usually bribe Greg and Vince, but–"
"Oh no," Blaise said before Draco could finish. "I'm not going to play chicken with Professor Snape, no way. Especially not on top of Pansy."
Harry snickered, because it was hard not to enjoy how much his mum spooked even the students who mocked her because of her blood. Though, given her temper gave him pause, too, and he really didn't want to have to deal with the fallout from Pansy, he agreed, "Fair point. You're excused."
Draco snorted. "Well, I'm not doing it alone. No offence, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll catch Vince and Greg, get some chocolate for them on my way back."
"Or bribe the house elves when you get caught."
"No harm having a backup plan."
"Goodbye, House Cup," Draco said in his most overly dramatic wail. "For so long did we know you, alas, alas..."
"There's a word for people like you," Blaise informed him, while Harry brought down his wards, because when Draco started with the over the top drama, it was time to leave. If only so he didn't chance busting something due to the inevitable laughing fit.
"Yes, I know. I am a master," Draco announced, throwing his arms wide.
Harry made his escape before Blaise could figure out a proper response for that.
.
