Year 7-11: Red Wedding

A/N: WARNING: if the title didn't tip you off already, this is probably the darkest chapter of the story thus far, and you may find some of it unpleasant to read. Just know that this chapter was revised several times to tone down the darkness...yes, this is the tame version, trust me!

Harry spent the next few days wondering what Voldemort meant with his cryptic parting message. What kind of news was coming? Were the Potters going to be made a wider example of to the public? Was the Dark Lord going to kill someone Harry cared about as punishment for what he did to Amycus Carrow? He dreaded what was to come, knowing that anything that made Voldemort that gleeful could not be a good thing.

He did not have to wait long for the headline to drop. As soon as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast, he knew something was up – the entire room was full of nervous chatter as students hunched together over copies of the Prophet. When he arrived at his seat, Daphne was already reading her own copy, brow furrowed in concern. When he took his seat beside her, she shifted the paper to her right so he could read it over her shoulder:

MINISTER POTTER ANNOUNCES NEW RE-POPULATION EFFORTS

By Adam Staunton, The Daily Prophet

"Minister of Magic James Potter yesterday announced a series of sweeping measures designed to help re-build Britain's magical population after decades of stagnation and decline.

'Britain was once the shining pinnacle of magical society,' said Potter in a statement to the press. 'But after a century plagued by war, emigration and dangerous cross-breeding with Muggles, our bloodlines have been decimated and diluted from their original purity. Such a trend must be put to rest, lest we face the total collapse of our society within the next few generations.'

Potter also announced a series of marriage laws designed to help encourage greater procreation among pure-blooded families. For instance, wizarding couples with at least three-quarters magical parentage will be subject to heavy taxes, which can only be waived if they produce three or more magical offspring within seven years of marriage. Alternatively, couples with less than three-quarters magical parentage shall be limited to two offspring in total, with significant financial penalty for each additional impure child.

A similar tax will also be applied to un-married pure-blood males until they marry an eligible pure- or half-blood female with the intent to reproduce. Additionally, all un-married pure-blood females under the age of 40 will be barred from employment in the wizarding world, until they have entered into a magical marriage contract resulting in pure-blood offspring. This ban may be lifted if they submit themselves to public availability, such that any pure-blood may claim them as a bride.

'The youth of today does not possess the same urgency to procreate as my generation did,' said Minister Potter. 'Britain cannot afford to wait for them to make up their minds on where to work and whom to marry. We must make such decisions for them, for the future survival of our great nation.'

Potter declined to answer questions from the press about the nuances of these new laws. For instance, will pre-existing married couples without children be exempted from the tax? Will seventeen year-old witches be permitted to complete their education at Hogwarts prior to marriage? Will current un-married witches be fired from their jobs? Will there be penalties for pure-bloods choosing to marry Muggle-borns, as the Minister himself once did?

The Minister declined to answer all questions, except for one. 'I am not above this law myself,' he clarified. 'I too will be re-marrying to do my solemn duty for Britain and purify the Potter bloodline once more. Both of my existing children will also be expected to follow suit.'

The new laws will go into effect on January 1, 1998. For more on the implications of the laws, see pg. 3. For a comprehensive list of pure-blood witches eligible for marriage, see. pg. 8."

Harry's stomach sank the more he read of the article. Daphne looked like she was going to be sick, poring over the article multiple times beside him and even diving deeper into the paper looking for answers. She flipped to the list of eligible names on page 8, and sure enough her name was on there...as was her sister, Astoria, under the 'Soon-to-be-of-age' section.

"This is barbaric," Daphne seethed. "Even in the Dark Ages witches weren't prohibited from employment like this. How could anyone think this is a good idea?"

Harry scanned the rest of the Great Hall to gauge the students' response to the news. There were looks of horror from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff tables, many of whom had pure-bloods in their ranks who would be subject to these laws. The Slytherins mostly looked pleased, especially the boys, who were leering excitedly at their female classmates. Harry suspected that many of them had yet to secure marriage contracts, but with such a looming threat of penalty against both the men and women, that ought to be rectified rather quickly.

The Slytherin girls, to his shock, appeared pleased by the news as well. Pansy Parkinson hung off of Draco's arm, snuggling up close to him, seemingly certain of who her future husband would be. Millicent Bulstrode was making eyes at a burly Slytherin who was on the Quidditch team...clearly she had been trying to secure a marriage contract from him as well. Makes sense, Harry reasoned. Most Slytherins have been preparing for this kind of reality all their lives. The girls don't see it as degrading because they've been conditioned to be proud of it.

Harry also wondered what James meant when he said that his children would 'be expected to follow suit'. He and Dahlia were both half-bloods...what did these new laws have to do with them? Would they have to subject themselves to the new laws as a show of solidarity with their father? Harry had no intentions of taking a pure-blood bride, and he doubted Dahlia would willingly give up her Healer aspirations to pump out children for some wealthy suitor.

Was this all Voldemort's doing? Was this a ploy to appease his Death Eater followers and ensure that they could find willing pure-blood brides for themselves? Or was he simply using James Potter to enact such cruel legislation, so that when he was finished with him, he could swoop in and become Britain's savior with less overt laws that nonetheless subjected people to his rule?

Making matters worse was that Harry was forced to attend a double-hour of Muggle Studies that same morning, and Alecto Carrow took the opportunity to praise the new laws. "This has been a long time coming," she said with glee. "'Bout time we 'ad a Minister with the balls to do summat about the growing Mudblood population 'round here."

"Will you be required to marry under the new law, Professor Carrow?" asked Terry Boot.

"No, you stupid boy," Alecto sneered. "I am over forty, well past my child-bearing age, and I have better things to do than rear little twerps for the rest of my life."

"But you didn't have children while you were of child-bearing age," Terry pointed out. "Doesn't that make you part of the problem, failing to do your 'duty to Britain'?"

The class snickered at Terry's clever snark. Alecto rounded on him, looking murderous, so Harry decided to intervene.

"Detention, Boot," Harry barked from across the room. "Another word, and you'll be off the Quidditch squad."

Terry threw Harry a dirty look, but thankfully fell silent as Alecto preened in triumph. Harry knew he had to at least give off the impression of being a hard-ass, in order to appease Voldemort and give the Carrows fewer opportunities to harm his classmates.

Harry was forced to run detentions nearly every night now, as more and more students were getting into trouble for talking back to the Carrows or asking too many questions about the way things were in the world. He usually forced them to write lines or perform manual labor, like cleaning without magic, while also trying to impress upon them the importance of staying in line. He doubted anyone took him all that seriously – most students viewed him as a part of the problem, not someone to be listened to.

Ginny Weasley was one of his most frequent visitors, earning detentions seemingly every other night of the week. "You have to be smarter what you say to professors, Weasley," Harry admonished her one evening as she and a half-dozen other Gryffindors scrubbed the dungeon floors. "If this continues much longer, it could start to impact your future outside the castle."

"What future?" Ginny scoffed. "I'll be seventeen in less than a year, then I'll be sold to some pure-blood prick and forced to have his babies."

Harry had no retort for this. He'd forgotten that Ginny would be subjected to the new laws as a pure-blood herself. It was a grim reminder that she was entirely in the right for fighting back against the system she found herself in...he could not blame her for rebelling, but nor could he be seen supporting her actions, so there was little he could do.

I don't pity the Death Eater who tries to force her into submission, Fleur wrote angrily as Harry consulted her on the matter one evening. She'll sooner mutilate his family jewels than bear the children of a man she hates.

That's what worries me most, said Harry. This time next year she'll either be in Azkaban, pregnant against her will, or dead, and I'm not sure what the worst of those outcomes would be for her.

Then let's finish this war before it comes to that, wrote Fleur.

Agreed. You aren't being forced into anything with these laws, are you?

No, I am still considered a 'half-breed' by other pure-bloods and am not legally bound to marry. That hasn't stopped a half-dozen of my co-workers from offering marriage contracts anyway, and pestering me to 'stop playing hard to get'.

Harry felt his rage building once more at the injustice of it all. Dahlia had rightly predicted months ago that the new reality would be more difficult for young women than just about anyone else. The thought of so many girls' futures being taken from them made him all the more determined to finish this war before things got even more out of hand.

Harry also suspected that Voldemort had something sinister in store for the Potters. He may be a half-blood and exempt from the laws himself, but he doubted the Dark Lord would pass up on the opportunity to use Harry as a proxy for his arms. He didn't know what, but he sensed a hidden part two to all of this that he was not yet privy to. It was only a matter of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And it seemed he wouldn't have to wait long to find out. The very next morning, a flurry of owls entered the Great Hall during breakfast, far more than usual for the morning post. A gaudy purple envelope was dropped in front of Harry, as an identical one landed in Daphne's porridge bowl. They exchanged confused glances, before each tearing open their envelopes to read:

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

You're invited! You have been selected as one of the lucky few guests to attend the Minister's Ball, next Saturday the fifteenth of November. The Minister of Magic himself, James Potter, welcomes you to enjoy a night of dinner, drinks, and dancing in celebration of the passage of the new marriage laws.

All gentlemen are expected to wear formal dress robes for the occasion. Ladies must wear traditional gowns or dresses, with shoulders and arms covered and hems extending to at least the ankles.

Please R.S.V.P. no later than the twelfth of November. No guests or reporters will be permitted entry.

Cordially,

Andromeda Black

Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic

Harry glanced over Daphne's shoulder at her own letter – it appeared to be identical. "What d'you reckon this is about?" she asked him worriedly.

"No clue," Harry muttered. Looking down the row, a few others at the Head Table seemed to have received the same invitation. Both of the Carrows were reading theirs, as were Snape and Lily. And all across the Hall, students of all Houses were reading their own invites – all pure-bloods, Harry realized. Many Slytherin sixth- and seventh-years were invited, along with a handful from other Houses. All three of the 'Terrible Triplets' of Gryffindor had gotten one: Ginny, Astoria, and Dahlia, all looking puzzled by the invitation.

Harry knew this could mean nothing good. Why had so many been invited, some as young as sixteen? What was this 'Minister's Ball' truly about? Why were guests and reporters prohibited? Something strange was afoot, and he could only guess what was to come.

The following Saturday, Harry and Daphne made their way down to the Entrance Hall, where dozens of other students awaited, all dressed in their formal best. Many Slytherins chatted excitedly, while others nervously bunched together, silently dreading whatever was to come. Eventually Snape descended the steps with Lily on his arm, beckoning students into a side chamber where a Floo connection had been established. He ushered students through the hearth one by one; Harry was the last to go, stepping into the green flames and spinning away from the castle.

He stumbled out of the grate into what appeared to be a large ballroom. Enchanted windows shone brightly with moonlight as men and women of all ages milled about the space, conversing quietly and sipping on glasses of expensive-looking liquor. Soft orchestral music wafted in from somewhere, and everyone walked around stiffly, performing all matter of ridiculous gestures and greetings with one another. It was like a parody of what Harry imagined a pure-blood function to look like, except it was real, and he was now a part of it.

Harry walked through the crowd for a bit, searching for a friendly face. There weren't many to be found. Most of the attendees seemed to be from wealthy pure-blood families, or members of the traditionalist faction of the Wizengamot. Dozens of Death Eaters were also in attendance: Barty Crouch, Gilderoy Lockhart, the Lestrange brothers, the Malfoys, and many more. Nearly everyone here seemed to be a Voldemort sympathizer or someone with connections to the top of the Ministry.

"Harry!" a voice called from across the room. Harry turned to see Sirius and Amelia waving him over; he approached and gave them both a hug.

"How are you guys?" he asked. Sirius looked tired but relatively unharmed, while Amelia was now sporting a baby bump, supporting her belly with one hand.

"Fine, just fine," said Sirius, though his clipped tone told Harry that things were not actually going all that well. "How's Hogwarts?"

"Fine," said Harry in a similarly stilted tone. Sirius seemed to get the message, grimacing and patting his godson on the shoulder supportively. "D'you know what this ball is all about?"

"No clue," said Sirius. "We're just expected to show up and be on our best behavior."

That couldn't be good news. If even they didn't know what was going on, who did? Harry had a strong suspicion what the answer to that question was, and he didn't like it one bit. He felt his robes to ensure the Elder Wand was within reach, just in case, not knowing if he would need it tonight or not.

"Potter," a new voice greeted him. Harry turned; Percy Weasley was approaching, regarding him warily.

"Percy," said Harry, inclining his head. "You were invited as well?"

"All of my siblings were," said Percy, head jerking to the left. "Well, except for one, of course." Harry turned to see the entire Weasley clan huddled together: Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ginny, all glaring daggers at him.

"Have any of you heard from Ron?" Harry asked in an undertone. "It's imperative that I speak with him."

"Not a word since he disappeared," said Percy. "As if we'd tell you even if he had."

Ouch. Harry did his best to overlook the clear rebuke. "What can I do for you, Percy?" he asked as politely as he could.

Percy looked around to ensure they weren't being eavesdropped upon, before speaking in an undertone. "I wished to offer my support to you and your father," he said. "And pledge to help you with whatever you may need in the future."

Harry sensed a greater meaning to whatever Percy was offering. "Why?" he asked.

"Just a show of good faith," Percy shrugged. "And, well, if there was anything that could be done about my sister...perhaps if she could be removed from that list of eligible brides until she is able to graduate Hogwarts as she has always dreamed…"

Ah. So that was the true purpose of Percy's offer: to spare Ginny the fate of every other pure-blood girl in Britain. "I'll, er, pass along the message," said Harry. "But I don't know if I have the power to grant exceptions to the law."

Percy grimaced; clearly this wasn't the news he'd hoped for. "Thank you for the time, Heir Potter," he said through gritted teeth, clearly resentful that he must address Harry as such. And Percy returned to his family, who welcomed him back into the circle without a word. Harry felt a pang of sadness at the looks of hatred the Weasleys were giving him – in his past life they were like a second family, and now they loathed him. They'd even managed to forgive Percy of his past transgressions, united by a common enemy in Harry.

Minutes later, James Potter took to the stage to get everyone's attention. "Please find your seats," he announced. "The proceedings are about to begin."

Everyone left the ballroom floor to find their seats around the dozens of tables situated around the stage. Harry was seated with his family and their close confidants: James, Dahlia, Sirius, Amelia, and Andromeda. To his surprise, James took his seat soon after beside Harry, leaving the stage empty. "Aren't you running the show?" he whispered to his father.

"No," James whispered back. "I was not told what this is about."

A feeling of dread began to settle in Harry's bones as the rest of the room took their seats. He could not shake the feeling that something bad was in store. And that feeling did not diminish a moment later when a side door opened, and Lord Voldemort himself strode into the ballroom.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the entire room turned towards him. Some stifled gasps, including Pansy Parkinson, who had clearly heard the rumors but had never seen the man in the flesh before. Then, people began to stand and clap as Voldemort took to the stage. More Death Eaters and sympathizers stood to show their appreciation as a grinning Voldemort stood to face them from his platform.

At first, Harry was shocked to see the Dark Lord coming out so brazenly into the open. But then, he realized that everyone invited here must have already known or at least suspected he had returned. It was yet another sign of Voldemort's growing comfort with his stranglehold over Britain, and another step towards his total takeover of the government. It seemed that Neville Longbottom was the only thing standing between him and open dictatorship.

"Thank you all," Voldemort said with a devious grin. "You have all been invited tonight because you are a crucial part of the new regime I am building in Britain. The public is not yet aware of what is to come, but you are. Britain's golden age is about to begin, and you will be the first to reap the rewards."

The crowd roared in appreciation once more. Only a few tables remained seated and silent, including the Potters, the Greengrasses, and the Weasleys.

"Now, tonight we are here to celebrate the new marriage laws," Voldemort continued once the fervor died down. "There have been many questions about how the laws will function and who will be the first to choose their lucky brides-to-be. I am pleased to inform you all that those who have proven their loyalty to me will be the first to enjoy the benefits that these laws provide."

Whoops of laughter and mirth met this announcement. Harry saw the eager look on the faces of many of the male Death Eaters around the room, who seemed to be taking stock of the young women in attendance, as if selecting their prey.

"But before we get to that," said Voldemort, "there are a few people I wish to recognize personally. Because fortunately, there are some who have already taken the initiative and begun their re-population efforts in earnest. Take, for instance, Lord Black and Lady Bones."

Harry stiffened as Voldemort crossed the room towards their table. He stopped in front of Sirius and Amelia; the former draped himself casually but protectively in front of his wife, while the latter rested her hand lightly on her growing belly.

"This is a pairing I can approve of," Voldemort said with a sickening smile. "Two proper pure-bloods uniting to produce a worthy heir. It warms my heart to see the wayward Black heir finally return home to perform his duty and continue his noble line."

Several Death Eaters laughed at this notion, Rodolphus Lestrange most loudly of all. He must have heard plenty about Sirius' defiant ways from his late wife Bellatrix, and knew that Sirius' intentions were not at all with the Black lineage in mind. But with Voldemort lording over him now, there was little doubt what the Dark Lord intended for the unborn Heir Black's upbringing.

"And then we have our poor Minister," said Voldemort in a lightly chiding tone as he turned to James. "He, too, went astray from centuries of pure breeding and married a Mudblood. But given the way she treated him and showed her true colors, it's safe to assume that he's learned his lesson about fraternizing with low-bloods. Wouldn't you agree, Minister?"

The Death Eaters around the room guffawed loudly at this. James glanced across the room to where Lily sat beside Snape, her eyes cast forlornly to the ground. Snape deliberately avoided James' gaze, eyes fixed impassively on Voldemort.

"But there is a silver lining to all of this, of course!" said Voldemort gleefully. "You are still young, Mr. Potter – not even forty years old, am I right? You have many years of child-rearing ahead of you, and are once more an eligible pure-blood bachelor. And we cannot have our own Minister viewed as above the very law he enacted...we must find you a suitable new bride!"

Voldemort scanned the room. Harry saw several younger women sit up straighter, puffing their chests out, as if hoping to be chosen as the Minister's new bride. But the Dark Lord's gaze didn't stray far, landing upon somebody seated at the very same table as the Potters.

"Ah, how poetic!" Voldemort smiled, as he rounded the table towards Andromeda Black. "Another wayward Black, who foolishly abandoned family traditions for a Mudblood. You are not yet so old yourself, Madam Black...perhaps you still have some child-rearing years ahead of you as well."

Andromeda looked stricken by the suggestion. She and James shared a horrified look, both realizing what Voldemort was implying.

"What a wonderful story to exemplify Britain's great turnaround!" Voldemort exclaimed. "A Potter and a Black, uniting to continue their noble lines. Never mind their past misdeeds and corrupted offspring...they too can be forgiven if they perform their solemn duty to their great nation. We shall have a grand ceremony this winter to celebrate the union!"

James and Andromeda both appeared stunned as the Death Eaters all around the room mockingly cheered the news. Now Harry understood why Andromeda had not been sent to Azkaban for Tonks' misdeeds as Amos Diggory had for Cedric's...Voldemort had a far more sinister and public punishment in mind for her.

Harry silently prayed that Voldemort would move on, would cast his attention elsewhere and leave the Potter table be. But unfortunately, that was not the case. His eyes lighted upon Harry, whose stomach dropped as a devious grin crossed the Dark Lord's features.

"Ah, young Harry Potter," said Voldemort softly. "My newest recruit. Half-blood though you may be, you remain the heir to a powerful family. You must therefore be thinking about your legacy, and the continuation of the Potter bloodline."

Harry had not been thinking about such things at all. His sole goal for the past six and a half years was the survival of the remaining Potters – the 'bloodline' could be continued at a future date.

"We must find you a suitable bride, Harry," said Voldemort, scanning the room. "One that is acceptable for a young man of your station, whose family can contribute to the Potter legacy—but, oh, the answer is so simple, is it not?"

Voldemort had spotted the Greengrass family sitting nearby: Daphne, Astoria, and their mother Ariadne. Dale was of course absent, serving his sentence at Azkaban; the three women flinched as the Dark Lord swooped over towards them, stopping in front of Daphne.

"Daphne Greengrass," said Voldemort, running a bony finger along her cheek and causing her to flinch. "Hogwarts' latest Head Girl, and heiress to the Greengrass line. A shame that your father could not be with us tonight, isn't it, Miss Greengrass?"

Daphne said nothing, trembling silently in her seat, eyes cast towards the floor.

"Lord Greengrass has proven to be quite an ally for the Minister in recent years," said Voldemort. "It is a wonder that no marriage contract offer has been made to formally unite the two families. Perhaps we ought to rectify that tonight, in light of the new laws. What say you, Lady Greengrass? Shall you permit your daughter to marry the future Lord Potter?"

Ariadne Greengrass looked stricken by the request. Her eyes flitted over to Harry, then to her own terrified daughter. She couldn't rightly refuse the Dark Lord to his face, so she merely jerked her head in affirmation.

"And you, Minister?" said Voldemort, turning back towards James. "Do you approve this union?"

James too looked to his son and to Daphne. He looked pained, as if realizing that he was responsible for this via his past business dealings with Dale Greengrass. He too could not refuse, so he nodded.

"Splendid!" said Voldemort, clapping his hands together. "Why not perform the ceremony here and now? Minister, would you care to officiate?"

Voldemort beckoned for the three to follow him up onto the stage. Harry felt numb as he stood and followed his father to the front of the room. Daphne joined them, still shaking terribly...he wanted to take her hand and reassure her, but worried that the gesture would be misinterpreted, giving the present circumstances.

James silently beckoned for Harry and Daphne to face each other. "Do you, Daphne Greengrass, take this man as your husband?" he said quietly.

Daphne tried and failed to speak a few times, before finally squeaking out a "Yes".

"And do you, Harry Potter, take this woman as your wife?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly.

"Then with my powers as Minister of Magic, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife," said James. "Please clasp hands."

Harry and Daphne hesitantly took each other's hands. James waved his wand over them, and Harry felt a wave of magic pulse through him, similar to that of the Unbreakable Vow; Daphne shivered as she undoubtedly felt the same.

There was suddenly a click and a bright flash of light. Somebody had taken a photograph of the moment from the front row. Harry realized then that this was the true purpose of the impromptu marriage: to make an example of him and Daphne. They would be the poster children of this new law, proving that even the son of the Minister and the daughter of a renowned Lord were not exempt. It was yet another method to control the Potters, and to tie their fates to the Greengrasses after Dale's transgression.

Harry, James, and Daphne returned to their seats, all three hopeful that this was the end of things. But Voldemort did not seem done with the Greengrass family just yet. He followed Daphne to her seat, eyes turning next to Astoria.

"Ah, but Lord Greengrass has another daughter, doesn't he?" Voldemort mused. "What is your name, dear?"

"A-Astoria," said the younger sister nervously.

"Of course...the rebellious Gryffindor of the family," Voldemort chuckled in recognition. "How freeing it must have been, to think yourself apart from your family, to not be beholden to the same lives they have led."

Harry felt Sirius stiffen in the seat next to his. Sirius, too, had been the rebel Gryffindor of his conservative family, and likely saw kinship between himself and Astoria.

"Unfortunately, Britain has greater needs at the moment," said Voldemort wistfully. "We must find you a suitable husband as well. Let's see...who shall it be…?"

Voldemort strode across the room, gazing around at the many attendees around him. Harry did not like the looks on some of the older Death Eaters' faces, eyeing Astoria greedily like a prize pig to be won. But Voldemort eventually stopped at a different table, whose eyes were cast downwards: the Malfoys, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco, all avoiding the Dark Lord's gaze.

"Ah, Draco," said Voldemort. "You too are without a bride. I am certain your father hoped to pair you with another heiress and secure a proper dowry, but given your family's recent...failures...it seems you may have to settle for a second-born."

Draco looked up in surprise. Across the room, Harry spied Pansy Parkinson watching on with horror, perhaps realizing for the first time that she would not get to marry the person she wanted after all.

"How about it, Lord Malfoy?" said Voldemort, rounding on Lucius. "Would you accept the hand of the younger Greengrass for your son?"

Harry had never seen Lucius Malfoy looking so tired and defeated. Despite being on the 'right' side of history and a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, he looked like he had no control over his own future. Lucius eventually nodded his assent; Voldemort turned back to Ariadne Greengrass, and she too nodded forlornly in agreement.

And now Draco's fate is tied to the Greengrasses as well, Harry realized. That had to be a punishment for his inability to kill Tonks at the raid, and Dumbledore the summer prior. He wasn't familiar with the political nuances of marriage in pure-blood culture, but knew this would have dramatic consequences for both families' reputations.

"How old are you, Miss Greengrass?" Voldemort demanded of Astoria.

"S-sixteen," Astoria whispered.

"And when do you come of-age?"

"Next September."

"Ah," said Voldemort, sounding almost disappointed. "So no ceremony can be performed today, I'm afraid. But once you turn seventeen, you will be able to drop out of school and begin your new life as a mother."

Astoria looked frightened by the prospect. Harry felt terribly for the girl...she would be forced to leave Hogwarts with only her O.W.L.'s, forced into an arranged marriage and expected to churn out the next generation of pure-blood bigots. It renewed his sense of righteous anger at the circumstances everyone found themselves in. And things weren't going to get any better.

"Now, for the rest of you!" said Voldemort, returning to the stage and addressing the Death Eaters seated all around the room. "I promised my most loyal supporters that they would have their first pick of the litter, so to speak. So let us begin the festivities!"

A side door opened, and a number of young women shuffled into the room, eyes cast at their feet, looking terrified. Each wore a garish ballgown to match the occasion, and looked to be around late-teens to early-twenties in age. Harry recognized several of them from the years above him in Hogwarts, whose names had been listed in the Prophet. Once they had all been brimming with excitement for the future; now they stood trembling silently in fear.

"Here we have a selection of the finest pure-blooded women this country has to offer," said Voldemort. "Each of you will have an opportunity to claim a bride for yourself before they become available to the wider wizarding world. And to begin, I have promised the first selection to the man who nursed me back to health, who remained loyal even when many believed me dead. I welcome Peter Pettigrew to the stage."

There was a quiet scrape of a chair, and Peter shuffled forward to the front of the room. Harry heard murmurs of discontent from the pure-bloods around the room – "Why does he get to pick first?" "Isn't he a dirty half-blood?" But Peter ignored them all, clambering up onto the stage and standing meekly beside his master.

"My Lord," he said reverently with a small bow.

"You have served me loyally thus far, Wormtail," said Voldemort. "And I have promised you your choice of a bride. So, here it is. You may make your choice."

Peter walked up and down the row, examining each girl closely, as they all did their best not to flinch away from his every move. Harry realized in that moment that Saul Croaker was right all along: this was Peter's true motivation for following Voldemort. His ineptitude with women had left him bitter and alone after Alice's death, and he wanted the power that would prevent his next object of affection from rebuffing his advances.

Eventually, Peter returned to Voldemort's side. "My Lord," he said, "they are all fine women, but none of them are whom I desire."

Harry saw a flash of annoyance cross Voldemort's face, but it was replaced in an instant by the same veneer of cool calm he always maintained. "We can sample from among the lesser families if you so desire, Wormtail," said Voldemort. "But these are some of the finest wives you can find—"

"Her," said Peter, pointing across the room. "She is the one I want to marry."

All heads turned to follow his gesture. He was pointing not at any of the women standing in a row before him. He was pointing at the Potter table, directly to Harry's left. Harry turned to see Dahlia seated beside him, stiffening in sudden fear.

"The Potter girl?" Voldemort said curiously. "She is a half-blood like yourself, Wormtail. Her bloodline is tainted, and Britain's bloodlines must be made pure again—"

"You told me I could have anyone I wanted," Peter said, sounding rather like a petulant child. "And I have made my choice. I will marry her."

Once again, Voldemort briefly looked furious at this rebuke, but he maintained his calm disposition. He glanced back to the Potter table; both Harry and James were trembling with rage, glaring up at Peter. That seemed to make up the Dark Lord's mind, a devious grin spreading across his face. He glided across the ballroom towards the Potter table, eliciting a tiny whimper of fear from Dahlia as he approached her seat.

"When do you come of-age, Miss Potter?" he asked sweetly.

"J-June," Dahlia squeaked, her lower lip beginning to quiver as she realized what was being asked of her.

"Only seven months away," Voldemort mused thoughtfully. "And you will be able to complete your sixth year at Hogwarts before beginning your new life as a wife and mother. What say you, Wormtail? A summer wedding with your new blushing bride?"

Peter nodded eagerly in agreement. Harry felt James begin to rise from his seat; he grabbed his father's arm to prevent him from doing something he would regret. But he too was barely maintaining his composure; one hand remained wrapped around the Elder Wand within his robes, prepared to strike if either Voldemort or Wormtail laid a finger upon his sister, consequences be damned.

Harry glared daggers at Peter, praying that he would make eye contact for only a second, so that he could project a fraction of the intense fury he felt towards his former friend and confidant. I will kill you, Peter Pettigrew, he vowed silently. If I ever see you in public again, I will end you in the most painful manner possible. But Peter never looked at him, instead shuffling timidly back to his seat.

Voldemort began to call up his followers one by one to select brides of their own. The Dark Lord's sycophants watched on with glee as young girls were selected, like prize cattle or slaves for auction, and guided out of the ballroom by their new husbands. Their decades of bigotry and outdated tradition were finally paying off in this morbid display of chauvinism.

But it wasn't all fun and games. Some of the Death Eaters and sympathizers bickered over who got to choose before the others, or begged for their desired bride not to be chosen before their turn. Two nearly came to blows when one chose the daughter of the other. One man set off a furious round of gossiping when he selected his own niece. Not so fun when your loved ones become the victims, is it? Harry thought sardonically.

Some in the crowd also quickly realized that they were not exempt from the selection process, either. Millicent Bulstrode's gleeful smile vanished when she was picked out of the crowd by Goyle Senior, looking desperately to her own father for help but finding none. Pansy Parkinson looked like she was about to burst into tears when she was selected by Gilderoy Lockhart. Meanwhile, Rabastan Lestrange was adamant that he should get to have Flora AND Hestia Carrow for himself; after a brief discussion with his brother Rodolphus, they each selected one twin for themselves, with the unspoken understanding that they would share.

Well, this is the future you wanted, Harry thought grimly as he watched yet another horrified Slytherin girl follow her new husband back to their seat. It was hard to truly feel sorry for these people who openly celebrated the very oppression they were now themselves subject to. But he was not so heartless that he could not feel empathy for the girls, now reckoning with the fallout of a system that was completely out of their control.

Amycus Carrow was one of the last to select his bride. He gave the remaining women on stage no more than a cursory glance – Harry suspected they were a bit old for his taste. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he found his target with a malicious smirk. "I'll take the Weasley brat," he sneered.

The crowd roared with laughter at his decision. Ginny Weasley paled in horror; Molly burst into tears, as her five sons struggled to maintain their composure, murder in their expressions. At least she's not of-age yet, Harry thought grimly. If Amycus tried to take Ginny from the ballroom then and there, he had no doubt multiple Weasleys would land themselves in Azkaban tonight, if not worse.

Eventually the final Death Eater took his turn, and Voldemort took to the stage once more as the remaining girls were ushered from the ballroom.

"There is one more union we are here to celebrate," said Voldemort, beckoning across the room. "That of Mr. Severus Snape and Miss Lily Evans."

Harry heard his father give a low grunt of anger as Snape stood and strode up to the stage, Lily nervously holding onto his arm. There were hisses of displeasure as they took the stage – Lily had been lambasted by the Prophet for months now, and her union to a half-blood was clearly not celebrated in polite society. Snape looked as bored and impassive as ever, but Harry knew the man well enough to see the nervousness etched in the hard lines of his greasy face.

"You have been a loyal follower and spy to me, Severus," said Voldemort, examining the couple before him. "And as with Wormtail, I have allowed you your choice of bride to begin your new life with. Though I confess myself...disappointed with your selection."

"My Lord?" Snape asked coolly.

"Your heart belongs to a Mudblood," Voldemort sighed, sounding disappointed by this fact. "I cannot imagine why such a disgusting creature would appeal to you as a mate. But, considering your loyalty and your commitment to ending the reign of Albus Dumbledore, I suppose exceptions can be made."

Snape seemed to relax slightly at this admission. But Harry sensed something was very wrong – Voldemort looked excited, as though he was merely playing with his food.

"As your blood is also tainted," Voldemort went on, "I fear there is no saving your bloodline from being further corrupted. While I permit you to marry the Evans woman, she may never bear your children. Your lineage will end with you."

Snape blinked rapidly at this information. He looked somewhat confused. "I...understand, my Lord," he said slowly.

"Very good," said Voldemort. "However, just to be certain…"

It happened in a flash. Voldemort flicked his wand, and Snape gave a groan of anguish. A thick blood stain was forming around his crotch; he let go of Lily and slumped to the floor, curling up in a ball and grasping at the damaged area, straining to contain his yelps of agony. Harry could not see exactly what had been done, but based on Voldemort's speech, he had a fair idea, and it wasn't pretty.

"Thank you all for coming," Voldemort said pleasantly to the crowd, ignoring the man writhing on the floor beside him. "Enjoy your meal, congratulate one another, and have a pleasant evening. Magic is Might!"

"Magic is Might!" shouted the jubilant Death Eaters around the room, thrusting their wands into the air with glee.

Voldemort took his leave of the ballroom, and everyone began to converse casually again, not a care for the suffering half-blood on stage. Dahlia sprang to her feet at once, rounding the table and heading up to the stage. James reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded of his daughter.

"Professor Snape will die if he isn't treated soon," said Dahlia. "I have to help him."

"Not you," James growled. "Leave that bastard to rot."

"He's the only person keeping Mum alive," Dahlia retorted. "Unless you'd like her to treat Snape herself?"

James seemed repulsed by that thought, clearly unsure which was worse. But he eventually released Dahlia's arm, allowing her to rush up to the stage.

Harry stood to help his father struggle to his feet, swaying slightly, looking like he was torn between starting a fight or collapsing to the ground. "I need to get some air," James muttered; before Harry could stop him, he made a beeline for the exit, barely able to walk straight in his grief and anger. Harry rushed after him, afraid that his father would do something foolish, but a voice called after him.

"Harry, wait up!"

He turned; Daphne was approaching him. "Hey, Daph," he greeted her. "I need to make sure my dad's okay. We can talk back at Hogwarts—"

But Daphne grabbed his arm and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. "We are married," she hissed. "People will talk if we are not seen leaving together."

Right. He'd forgotten in all the chaos that he now had a wife. Harry glanced around the room; people were milling about and socializing, but there were definitely eyes on the pair, curious bystanders eager to gossip about any sign of discord between the newlyweds.

"Okay," he said, accepting her arm. "Can you Apparate us somewhere safe?"

He steered them from the ballroom and past the ward boundary. Daphne Apparated them to a quiet country lane, where Harry could see a small cottage nestled between the trees.

"Wait here," said Daphne. "You won't be able to see the place yet – I'll have to key you into the family wards."

"I can see it already," said Harry, guiding them forward. "Your family magic must already accept me as one of your own."

"Oh...right," Daphne muttered. She fell eerily silent at the reminder of the bond they now shared against their will. It was perhaps settling in for her now what all of this meant. The irony was not lost on Harry: Daphne had once sought a marriage contract with Harry out of obligation and convenience, but now that she had what she was after, her heart belonged to another.

They strode up the lane to the cottage and entered; it was a quaint little space, with a simple common area and a number of bedrooms branching off down the hall.

"This used to be our summer home," Daphne explained. "It became our safe house after the war started. Only a Greengrass can enter."

"Smart," Harry nodded. "Are your mother and sister staying here as well?"

"No, they're back at our London townhouse," said Daphne. She turned to face Harry, looking nervous. "So...should we…?"

She was beckoning towards one of the bedrooms. "Oh...Merlin, no," Harry blanched. "Listen, Daphne...we need to have a long conversation about what all of this means. But not right now. Get some rest, and I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"

Daphne blinked in surprise, but Harry did not miss the way her shoulders relaxed at his decision. "Very well," she said. "I shall wait here for your return. Good night." And she gave him a short curtsy before disappearing into one of the bedrooms. He knew she'd been hiding beneath her practiced veneer of propriety all evening to mask her emotions, and wanted to give her time to process things in private.

Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place in search of James. He did not find him there, so he went to Godric's Hollow next. His old family home was empty, but the kitchen light was on and James' liquor stash was ajar. The back door was also wide open, telling Harry that he could not have gone far. He set off into the night in search of his father.

He found James in the cemetery, sprawled in front of his parents' graves while nursing a bottle of Firewhiskey. He was muttering quietly under his breath, as if having a conversation with his belated parents. James looked up and saw Harry approaching.

"Oh, look, it's my eldest son," James slurred, eyes shifting in and out of focus. "Or should I say, my bastard son? Considering I have to start my bloodline over with a more 'pure' bride."

"Hey, Dad," Harry said miserably, sliding down to sit beside his father. "Doing alright?"

"Oh, just wonderful," James muttered, taking another long drink, causing steam to billow from his ears. "The love of my life is saddled to a greaseball...your sister betrothed to a cowardly pervert...and I'm stuck doing the bidding of the most evil man alive…"

"I'm not happy about it either, Dad," Harry muttered. "No use complaining about it now. We just have to make do until we figure out a plan."

"No plan, no plan," James said in a singsong voice, laughing hollowly to himself. "My family's in ruins, my legacy in the dust. We've lost, Harry. All we can do now is dance around like puppets for the Dark Lord's amusement, saying what he wants us to say, shagging who he wants us to shag—"

Harry got to his knees and stared his father directly in the face. He reared back and smacked James across the face. Hard. James was stunned into silence for a moment, then glared at Harry and swiped at him with the Firewhiskey; Harry grabbed it and chucked it across the graveyard, the bottle shattering against a headstone.

"You listen to me now," he growled in his father's face. "I'm not going to be the only one keeping this family alive, d'you understand? Mum and Dahlia's lives are at stake here, and many other people as well. So pull yourself together and keep fighting like the rest of us have been! Too much is depending on you playing your part until we can make our next move."

James continued glaring at him, but his expression gradually softened at his son's words. Harry hardly recognized the man before him: once the strongest, most confident man he knew, James Potter was now a shell of himself, receding into despair and self-pity. It was as though Voldemort had sapped the life out of him, the will to fight on. It filled Harry with tremendous sadness.

"What would they think of me now?" James lamented, turning back to his parents' headstones. "Their only son, enabling the downfall of this great nation?"

Harry paused. He knew there was a way to find out what the late Potters thought of their son. He reached into his robes and withdrew the silver ring Sirius had once gifted him. He had made one modification to the ring recently: it was now inset with a black stone, one that he'd taken to carrying with him at all times, its cold touch somehow soothing to him. He handed the ring to James, who stared down at it in confusion.

"Say their names out loud," Harry instructed his father. "And turn it over three times."

James' brow furrowed in suspicion. He'd read The Tales of Beedle the Bard and knew what Harry was implying. But he nonetheless obeyed, fingers fumbling with the ring as he turned it over thrice and whispered, "Fleamont and Euphemia Potter."

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, James gave a shuddering gasp as two ethereal figures appeared over their respective grave sites. Fleamont was tall and wiry like his son and grandson, a mop of messy dark hair framing a mirthful smile. Euphemia stood proud and stern beside him, bearing the high cheekbones and aristocratic features of her Black ancestors.

"You've been so very brave, my son," Fleamont addressed James. "We could not be prouder of all you've accomplished."

James looked like a scared little kid, tears streaming down his face as he drank in the sight of his fallen parents. "I've failed you," he choked. "I've let my family and my country fall apart."

"You've done all you can to keep everyone alive," Euphemia corrected him. "All is not yet lost. Your son has picked up the torch and carried on the fight in your stead."

James' head whipped to Harry, looking at him with wonder. "You're still fighting?" he asked.

"Yes, Dad," said Harry softly. "I've got a plan to win this war. The prophecy is not yet complete. Just keep going a little longer, and we'll have another chance to fight back. I swear it."

"He's right, Jamie," said Fleamont. "Don't give up hope. Things can someday return to the way they once were, if you just keep going."

"We love you dearly, my son," Euphemia added. "You could never fail us. We couldn't be prouder of the man you have grown to be."

James' features relaxed, and a look of peace came over his features. Harry gently took the Resurrection Stone from his fingers, causing Fleamont and Euphemia to disappear. He then drew the Elder Wand, knowing that he could not allow the memory of this conversation to reach Lockhart's ears. He pointed the wand in his father's face, whispering, "Obliviate."

James' eyes glossed over as Harry removed the memory of their conversation from his mind. When he finished, James' eyes drooped closed and he fell into a drunken slumber. Harry knew his father wouldn't remember their talk, but he hoped that the lingering emotions of relief and tranquility would remain, and give him the strength to fight another day. He then levitated his father back down the lane and into their home, tucking him in bed to rest and recover.

Harry stumbled down the hall to his childhood bedroom and crawled beneath the Snitch-covered quilt. He buried his face in the pillow and screamed. Screamed with anger at the Dark Lord and his malicious schemes. Screamed with frustration at himself for not being strong enough to protect the ones he loved. Screamed with hopelessness at the situation he now found himself in, the treacherous path he was forced to walk. He screamed until he lost his voice, then continued to scream silently until he could scream no more.

The Elder Wand continued to whisper murderous thoughts in his mind as he replayed the night's events over. And for once, he fed the emotion, allowing the anger and hatred to fester in his gut. He remembered every Death Eater's face that had gone up on stage and claimed an unwilling bride for himself. He committed them to memory, their gleeful features, the hungry look in their eyes as they preyed upon the innocent young women with no other choice.

They're all going to die, Harry decided. There will be no tribunals once this war is done. Every one of Voldemort's followers will meet a bloody end, begging for mercy. I'll make sure of it.