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Emerald Hollow - Nevarah - Harry
At twenty-one, Harry considered himself a reasonably intelligent person.
He was a rune master. A prince. A Servant of Death. A man who had survived Terra, Nevarah, court politics, three royal families trying to manage his public image, Death’s personal sense of humor, and Master Aster’s idea of “a simple diagnostic exercise.”
He should have known when Maurice walked into his room with an outfit bag over one arm and an expression of perfect calm that something was wrong.
Not dangerous wrong.
Worse.
Social wrong.
Harry looked up from the book he had been reading on his bed. “No.”
Maurice paused in the doorway. “I have not said anything yet.”
“You have the face.”
“I have many faces.”
“You have the ‘Harry is about to attend something formal and I have decided not to warn him until the last possible moment’ face.”
“That is oddly specific.”
“And yet?”
Maurice stepped fully into the room and laid the outfit bag across the back of the chair. “You need to get ready.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “For what?”
“A bonding ceremony.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, thank you.”
“We are required to attend.”
Harry sat up slowly. “Required by whom?”
“Mariana.”
Harry stared at him.
Maurice began removing pieces from the outfit bag with maddening calm.
Harry pointed at him. “That is cheating. You cannot invoke Mariana for social events.”
“I can when the bonding ceremony is for one of her friends.”
“I don’t know Mariana’s friends.”
“You know some of them.”
“That was not comforting.”
Maurice held up the first layer of the outfit.
Harry stopped arguing.
Not because he was pleased.
Because he was horrified.
The fabric was off-white. Not stark white, not cream exactly, but something between pearl, moonlight, and the pale inner surface of a seashell. It shimmered faintly when Maurice turned it, soft and expensive and arranged in layers that Harry already knew would not cover nearly as much as he wanted it to.
Parts of it were sheer.
Deliberately sheer.
Elegant, yes. Beautiful, certainly. But sheer in places that made Harry immediately suspicious of everyone involved in its creation.
Harry stared. “Absolutely not.”
Maurice did not even blink. “Absolutely yes.”
“Where is the rest of it?”
“This is the rest of it.”
“That is a crime.”
“It is traditional bonding ceremony wear.”
Harry looked at him sharply.
Something about that phrasing scraped across his mind.
Traditional bonding ceremony wear.
Not guest attire.
Not formal court attire.
Bonding ceremony wear.
Maurice’s emotions were carefully controlled, but not perfectly. Harry caught it then. A smooth thread of satisfaction. Anticipation. Fondness. And beneath it, smugness.
Definite smugness.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Maurice.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you smug?”
“I am not smug.”
“You are incredibly smug.”
“I am helping you dress.”
“Those two things are not mutually exclusive.”
Maurice held the garment out. “Get up.”
Harry considered refusing.
Then remembered Mariana.
He got up.
“You know,” Harry said as Maurice began laying out the rest of the outfit, “on Earth, only the bride wears white to a wedding.”
Maurice’s hands paused for half a second.
Only half a second.
Harry noticed.
“This is not Earth,” Maurice said.
“And I am not a bride.”
“No.”
Again, too calm.
Harry stared at the partially sheer off-white layers and the fitted trousers beneath them. “This is excessive for someone else’s bonding ceremony.”
“It is an important ceremony.”
“For people I do not know.”
“You may know them better than you think.”
Harry turned slowly.
Maurice looked serene.
Harry pointed at him. “That was suspicious.”
“Dress, Harry.”
“This entire thing is suspicious.”
“Dress.”
Harry grumbled, but he dressed.
The outfit fit perfectly, of course. It settled over him like water and light, clinging in some places and flowing in others. The sheer panels were arranged in a way that made the whole thing more elegant than indecent, but Harry still felt dangerously displayed. The fabric showed hints of scales along his ribs and upper arms. The cut left enough of his throat and collarbones visible that every piece of jewelry he wore suddenly seemed deliberate.
Maurice adjusted the shoulders, then cast a quiet spell so the fabric would shift properly if Harry’s wings emerged.
The room smelled faintly of cedar, clean linen, and the herbal oil Maurice had used in Harry’s hair since he was younger. Outside the windows, Emerald Hollow’s gardens whispered in the evening breeze, the wards humming softly in the walls like they were amused.
Harry looked down at himself. “I look like someone’s idea of a sacrifice.”
“You look beautiful.”
Harry froze.
Maurice said it simply, without teasing.
That made it worse.
Harry looked away. “That is not the point.”
“It is one of them.”
“Still suspicious.”
Maurice said nothing.
He guided Harry to the chair in front of the mirror and began working on his hair.
That was another warning sign.
Maurice usually helped with Harry’s hair for formal events, but this was different. He worked slowly, carefully, separating sections, weaving them into intricate braids Harry had never worn before. Some pulled back from his temples. Others crossed over and beneath, forming a pattern along the crown of his head that looked almost ceremonial.
Harry watched in the mirror, suspicion growing into something restless under his skin.
“What are you doing?”
“Braiding your hair.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because this is not normal braiding.”
“No.”
Harry waited.
Maurice did not elaborate.
Harry groaned. “You are impossible.”
“I learned from you.”
Then Maurice reached into a velvet-lined box.
Harry went still.
The crown Killigan had gifted him gleamed inside.
Not the heaviest one. Not the most aggressive royal statement. This was the smaller circlet, though “smaller” did not mean modest. It was silver-blue with delicate branching curves like coral and wave foam, set with pale aquaveth stones that shifted from blue to green with every breath of light.
Maurice placed it carefully into Harry’s braided hair.
The circlet settled as if it belonged there.
Harry stared at himself.
For a moment, he did not recognize the man in the mirror.
He was twenty-one now, but sometimes that still surprised him. He looked older than he felt on some days and younger than he wanted on others. Tonight, he looked neither.
He looked beautiful.
The thought made his face heat.
The off-white fabric made his skin and scales glow faintly. The braids framed his face in a way that softened him without making him look fragile. The crown caught the light above his dark hair, and his green eyes looked brighter than usual.
His claws flexed once in his lap.
“Oh,” Harry said softly.
Maurice stood behind him in the mirror, his expression warm.
“Yes.”
Harry swallowed. “This is too much.”
“No,” Maurice said. “It is exactly enough.”
Harry turned in the chair to stare at him.
Maurice’s smugness had not faded.
If anything, it had deepened.
“Maurice.”
“We are late.”
“We are not done discussing this.”
“Yes, we are.”
Before Harry could protest, Maurice held out one hand.
Harry stared at it.
Then at him.
“You are very suspicious today.”
Maurice smiled. “Only today?”
Harry took his hand. “I hate you.”
“No, you do not.”
“No,” Harry muttered. “I do not.”
Maurice’s shadows rose around them.
The room vanished.
The Old Grove - Earth Sector - Nevarah - Harry
They emerged beneath trees.
Harry forgot how to complain.
The venue was breathtaking.
They stood at the edge of a wide clearing ringed by ancient trees, their trunks dark and enormous, their branches stretching overhead like the ribs of a cathedral. Draping flowers hung from the boughs in long curtains of white, blue, and pale gold, swaying gently in a breeze that smelled of blossoms, moss, candle smoke, and warm evening air.
Floating lights hovered overhead like captured stars.
Not lanterns exactly. Little glowing orbs in glass bowls, drifting between the branches and casting soft light over the guests gathered beneath the canopy. The path ahead was covered in petals, not scattered carelessly but arranged in flowing patterns like waves and vines.
Rows of seats curved around the central aisle.
At the front, beneath an archway of flowers and silver branches, stood a small raised platform.
Harry’s breath caught.
He had imagined something like this once.
Not seriously.
Not in a way he had admitted to anyone.
Just small conversations over the years with Maurice. What a beautiful bonding ceremony might look like. What Harry would want if he ever had one. Not a palace. Not a court hall. Not a room full of stiff nobles watching him like a prize.
Trees.
Flowers.
Lights overhead.
A clearing that felt private even with guests.
Something soft and alive.
Something exactly like this.
Harry looked at Maurice.
Maurice’s face was calm.
Too calm.
“Maurice.”
“We should move.”
Before Harry could demand answers, the music changed.
It had been soft before, a low melody drifting through the clearing. Now it rose, clear and lovely, strings and chimes and something deeper beneath them, like the sound of water moving over stone.
The guests stood.
All of them.
Harry froze.
Every head turned toward him.
His heart lurched into his throat.
“Why is everyone looking at us?” he whispered.
Maurice tucked Harry’s hand firmly around his arm. “Because we are walking in, and because you look beautiful.”
“Why?”
“We have a place up front.”
“Maurice.”
“We are a few minutes late,” Maurice said softly. “You will simply have to bear walking down with everyone watching.”
Harry stared at him in disbelief.
Then Maurice started forward.
Harry had no choice but to move with him.
Every step down the aisle made his skin feel too tight. The off-white fabric shifted around him, the crown gleamed in his hair, and the flower petals beneath his feet seemed to glow faintly as he passed.
Everyone watched.
Harry should have hated it.
He almost did.
But then he felt them.
The emotions of the guests.
Happiness.
Excitement.
Affection.
Anticipation so bright it almost rang.
No malice. No judgment. No calculation. No courtly hunger.
Joy.
It pressed around him from every side, warm and overwhelming.
He began to recognize faces as Maurice led him down the petal-lined path.
Sirius stood in the front row, already blinking too quickly and pretending badly that he was not crying. Remus stood beside him, hand over his mouth, eyes soft and wet. Tonks was there too, one hand resting over the swell of her stomach, her hair a shimmering rose-gold that matched the flowers overhead. Andromeda and Ted stood near her, both dressed beautifully, both watching Harry with expressions that made his throat tighten.
There were the Evanson relatives, gathered together in formal robes worked with old family colors and quiet pride. Briar, Jun and Rian stood out prominently. Some Harry knew well. Others he only recognized from family dinners, letters, or awkward holiday conversations that had slowly become less awkward over the years. They all watched him like he belonged there. Like he was theirs. Like this was not a political spectacle, but a family moment.
The Peverells were there too.
Lewis stood near Cora, beaming with the sort of open pride that made Harry’s eyes sting. Cora had one hand pressed over her heart. Henry and Vincent stood just behind them, dressed in formal Peverell silver and deep violet, whispering to one another with wide smiles. A few older Peverell relations Harry had only met twice inclined their heads as he passed, their emotions bright with approval and something like awe.
Harry’s confusion sharpened into something else.
Something almost frightened.
His family was here.
All of them.
Not just the people Maurice would bring to someone else’s ceremony.
Harry leaned closer to Maurice. “Where are we going?”
“Up front.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“You will understand in a moment.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It is not meant to be.”
Harry’s pulse pounded.
They reached the front of the clearing.
Maurice stopped.
Not at seats.
At the center of the aisle.
Directly before the archway.
Harry looked up.
Master Aster stood beneath the flowers.
She wore deep blue robes edged in silver, her hair pinned back with tiny rune-carved combs. A small book floated beside her, open to a page written in glowing script. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were soft in a way Harry had rarely seen from her outside moments of genuine pride.
Harry stared at her.
“Master Aster?”
She inclined her head. “Harrison.”
A flash of shadow energy split the air.
Harry spun.
Hadrian appeared first.
Of course he did.
He stepped from darkness like the answer to a question Harry had spent years being afraid to ask. He wore formal black, edged in silver, his daggers at his sides, his expression solemn and fierce. His eyes found Harry immediately.
Then Wikhn appeared beside him, smiling like he knew exactly how close Harry was to bolting.
Another shimmer.
Ethan.
Quiet, steady Ethan, dressed in deep green and gold, his calm presence reaching Harry like an open hand.
Then Taren, warm-eyed and nervous in a way that made Harry’s chest tighten.
Alec appeared in a ripple of illusion dropping away, dressed beautifully and looking far too smug, though his eyes softened when Harry stared at him.
Ariki arrived with a flash of air magic and a grin that was trembling at the edges.
More came.
Names and faces Harry knew. Loved. Had danced around, feared, wanted, trusted, argued with, protected, and been protected by.
Twelve in total.
Twelve.
Standing with him beneath the flowers.
Harry’s mouth went dry.
He turned slowly toward Maurice.
Maurice had already stepped back.
Harry caught his sleeve. “What did you do?”
Master Aster’s voice carried softly through the clearing. “Are we ready to begin?”
Harry stared at Maurice.
Maurice leaned in just enough that only Harry could hear.
“You’re welcome.”
Then he slipped free and walked to the front row.
He sat between Sirius and Mariana.
Sirius was crying already and pretending he was not. Remus sat beside him with one hand over his mouth. Mariana looked insufferably pleased. Jascha sat at her side, amused and proud. Briar and Jun were there. Andromeda, Ted, and Tonks. Hermione, dabbing at her eyes while Aiden watched with open satisfaction. Fred and George were both grinning like this was the best prank they had ever witnessed.
King Alcandor and Queen Killigan sat in the front row.
Beside them, Lewis and Cora had been given places of honor with the Peverell family. The Evanson family sat nearby, several of them openly emotional, their pride and affection joining the great bright tide of feeling filling the clearing.
Killigan waved delicately.
Harry stared at them.
Killigan smiled like a shark in jewels.
Alec leaned close from Harry’s left. “You are making a wonderful face.”
Harry turned slowly to him. “You knew.”
“Of course.”
“You all knew.”
“Yes.”
Harry looked around at the twelve gathered around him.
Hadrian’s expression was steady, but Harry could feel him. Fierce. Devoted. Terrified in his own way.
Ethan gave Harry a small, quiet smile that said he would wait even now if Harry needed it.
Taren looked like he wanted to take Harry’s hand but would not unless Harry reached first.
Ariki was practically vibrating with happiness.
Wikhn winked.
Alec looked smug enough to deserve violence.
Harry’s thoughts scattered.
This was not a bonding ceremony for Mariana’s friend.
This was his.
His family had set him up.
His family had dressed him in traditional bonding white, braided his hair, placed his crown, led him down an aisle, and gathered the men he had loved in pieces and silences and almosts for years.
Quiet, dependable Ethan.
Strong, fierce Hadrian.
Alec with his snarky comments and hidden care.
Taren and his warm patience.
Ariki and his wild laughter.
Wikhn and his sharp loyalty.
All of them.
Twelve in total.
Harry’s breath caught.
He should have been angry.
He was angry.
A little.
Mostly later.
Possibly with shouting.
But beneath the shock, beneath the embarrassment, beneath the sudden urge to hide under the nearest floral arrangement, there was something else.
Joy.
So much joy it hurt.
He could feel his family behind him.
Maurice’s love, steady and proud.
Sirius’s fierce happiness, tangled with tears.
Remus’s relief.
Tonks’s mischief and tenderness.
Hermione’s bright, aching joy.
The Peverells’ pride.
The Evansons’ welcome.
Killigan’s triumph.
Alcandor’s solemn approval.
Mariana’s satisfaction, sharp as a blade and warm as a hearth.
Harry turned back to Master Aster.
She looked at him over the floating book. “Harrison?”
Harry looked once more at Maurice.
Maurice smiled at him from the front row, soft and proud and unbearably smug.
Harry was absolutely going to yell at him later.
Maybe.
Probably.
Then Hadrian’s hand brushed his.
Not taking.
Asking.
Harry looked down.
Then he took it.
On his other side, Ethan’s fingers touched his sleeve, light as a question. Harry reached for him too. Around him, the circle shifted closer, not trapping him, never trapping him, only gathering.
Harry looked at Master Aster.
His voice shook, but it did not break.
“We’re ready.”
The clearing seemed to exhale.
The floating lights brightened.
The music swelled beneath the trees.
And Harry, who had spent so many years afraid that belonging would mean being swallowed whole, stood beneath the flowers surrounded by the people he loved and realized that this was not a trap.
It was a home opening around him.
Master Aster smiled.
“Then let us begin.”
The Old Grove - Earth Sector - Nevarah - Harry
The reception was held in another clearing a short walk from the ceremony space.
Of course it was.
Because apparently, if Harry’s family was going to ambush him with a bonding ceremony, they were also going to make sure the reception was beautiful enough that he could not properly stay angry.
The second clearing sat beneath the same ancient trees, but it was wider and more open to the evening sky. The branches overhead formed a natural dome, leaving a gap in the center where the first stars had begun to show. Draped flowers hung in curtains from the branches, pale blue, white, and gold, their petals glowing faintly whenever the breeze moved them.
Floating lights hovered overhead like stars caught in glass, bobbing above tables covered in cream cloth and silver-green runners. Crystal lanterns hung from low branches. Round tables curved around a central dance space, and the ground beneath them had been softened with moss, petals, and subtle earth magic so no one’s feet sank or stumbled.
The air smelled of champagne, honeyed fruit, night-blooming flowers, warm bread, and some kind of spiced roast Harry had not yet been calm enough to investigate.
Music drifted through the clearing, soft and warm, threaded with laughter from guests who had no idea how close Harry was to committing several acts of family violence.
Or maybe they did know.
That might explain why everyone kept smiling at him.
Harry stood near the edge of the clearing with a glass of champagne in one hand, staring down at his own wrists.
The marks were still new.
Not painful.
Not exactly.
They felt warm under his skin, like lines of sunlight and shadow and current and flame had been braided into him. Bonding marks curved along both wrists and up his forearms in delicate, interlocking patterns. Each one was distinct, but none of them fought the others. That was the part he kept staring at.
Hadrian’s mark was dark and silver, sharp-edged and reaper-clean, curling around the inside of Harry’s left wrist like a shadowed blade.
Ethan’s was steady green-gold, quiet and grounding, a fine lattice that rested beneath the others like roots beneath soil.
Alec’s shimmered when Harry moved, the mark almost impossible to pin down, silver-blue one second and smoke-gray the next.
Taren’s mark traced a warm line along the outer edge of Harry’s forearm, structured and steady, like metal cooled perfectly after the forge.
Ariki’s mark lifted in pale air-bright curves, almost winglike.
Wikhn’s was black-violet, edged with wicked little points that looked like daggers if Harry tilted his arm the right way.
And the others, all twelve of them.
Twelve marks.
Twelve bonds.
Harry took another sip of champagne.
He was bonded.
He was actually bonded.
After years of therapy, panicking, pining, avoiding conversations, overthinking every gift, and insisting he would figure it out “eventually,” eventually had apparently arrived wearing off-white ceremonial clothing and Maurice’s smug face.
The bonds hummed through him softly.
Not demanding.
Not overwhelming.
Alive.
He could feel Hadrian nearby, steady as shadow and steel. Ethan’s calm came from somewhere near the food tables. Taren’s warmth glowed like banked forge heat. Ariki’s joy kept spiking every time someone mentioned dancing. Alec’s amusement flickered in and out of Harry’s awareness like a candle behind colored glass. Wikhn’s sharp satisfaction prowled around the edges like a knife pretending to be decoration.
Harry took another drink.
It did not help.
Across the clearing, Maurice was standing with Sirius, Remus, and Tonks near one of the flower-wrapped tables.
All four of them looked far too pleased.
Harry set his glass down on the nearest table with careful precision.
Then he started walking.
People moved out of his way.
That was probably wise.
On his way across the clearing, he passed Lewis and Cora. Lewis smiled at him with such obvious pride that Harry’s anger briefly faltered. Cora reached out and squeezed his hand, her eyes bright.
“You look radiant,” she said softly.
Harry flushed. “I look ambushed.”
“That too.”
Henry and Vincent were standing nearby with several younger Peverells, all whispering and grinning. One of the older Peverell relatives lifted a glass in salute. Harry felt their approval following him as he moved on, silver-violet and warm around the edges.
The Evanson family had gathered closer to the music. Briar standing with his hand in Jun’s with Rian talking quietly with Ivy on of their pareya. Their emotions were different from the Peverells’, less old-line pride, more soft family wonder. A few of them looked at him like they still could not quite believe he was there, living and grown and loved. It made his chest ache in a way he could not name.
Then Sirius saw him.
His grin widened. “There he is. Our newly bonded…”
Harry pointed at him. “No.”
Sirius closed his mouth.
Tonks, who was glowing in a soft pink dress that complemented both her hair and the visible curve of her pregnancy, made a small choking noise that was very clearly a laugh.
Harry turned the finger toward her. “You too.”
Tonks pressed one hand to her chest. “Me? I am innocent.”
“You are standing with the guilty.”
Remus cleared his throat. “That seems circumstantial.”
Harry turned on him. “Professor Lupin.” His voice has an edge to it that some recognized as slight anger.
Remus immediately looked alarmed. “Oh, that is unfair.”
“You were part of this.”
Remus opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked at Maurice.
Maurice sipped his wine.
Harry slowly turned toward him.
“Maurice.”
Maurice looked at him with perfect calm. “Harrison.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Do not Harrison me.”
“I have called you Harrison many times.”
“You lured me here.”
“I escorted you.”
“You lied.”
“I omitted.”
“You told me this was a bonding ceremony for one of Mariana’s friends.”
“It was a bonding ceremony.”
“For me.”
“You are one of Mariana’s friends.”
Sirius made an extremely unwise sound.
Harry’s head snapped toward him.
Sirius looked away very quickly.
Tonks began laughing silently into her hand.
Harry dragged in a breath through his nose. “You all knew.”
“Yes,” Maurice said.
The honesty stopped Harry for half a second.
He had expected evasion. More smugness. Another careful answer.
Maurice simply stood there, calm and warm and not remotely sorry.
Harry crossed his arms, which made the new bonding marks shift faintly under the lanternlight. “How long?”
Maurice’s expression did not change.
That was answer enough.
Harry’s jaw dropped. “How long?”
Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “Define long.”
Harry stared at him. “Sirius.”
“A while.”
“A while?”
Remus sighed. “Several months.”
Harry looked betrayed. “Several months?”
Tonks lifted one finger. “In our defense, you were being insufferable.”
Harry turned slowly toward her.
She smiled brightly. “Lovably insufferable.”
“That does not make it better.”
“It makes it accurate.”
Harry pointed toward the ceremony clearing. “You all arranged an entire bonding ceremony without telling me.”
“Yes,” Maurice said.
“I was told to get dressed for some stranger’s ceremony.”
“You would have argued otherwise.”
“I am going to argue now.”
“Yes,” Maurice said. “But now you are bonded.”
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
That was not a fair argument.
It was not even an argument.
It was a fact, and the worst part was that Harry was happy.
Angry, yes.
Embarrassed, absolutely.
Still slightly in shock, definitely.
But beneath all of it, the bonds hummed inside him like home.
That made yelling much harder.
He tried anyway.
“You cannot just organize my life because I’m stubborn.”
Sirius made a face. “We absolutely can.”
Harry glared.
Sirius lifted both hands. “Shouldn’t. I meant shouldn’t.”
Remus murmured, “Coward.”
“I enjoy living.”
Harry rounded back on Maurice. “You braided my hair in a bonding pattern.”
“Yes.”
“You put Killigan’s crown on me.”
“Yes.”
“You let me walk down an aisle in front of everyone thinking I was late to someone else’s ceremony.”
“You were late to your own, technically.”
Harry stared.
Maurice’s mouth twitched.
“You are enjoying this.”
“I am.”
Harry made an offended sound. “You are supposed to deny that.”
“I raised you better than to believe obvious lies.”
Tonks laughed aloud then.
Harry turned on her again. “You helped.”
“I offered emotional support.”
“To whom?”
“Sirius. He cried during planning.”
Sirius pointed at her. “Unnecessary.”
“You did.”
“Once.”
“Four times.”
Remus nodded solemnly. “At least four.”
Harry blinked.
Sirius flushed. “It was moving.”
Harry’s anger wobbled.
Damn it.
He did not want it to wobble.
“You cried during planning?” Harry asked, quieter.
Sirius looked away. “Maybe.”
Tonks softened too, reaching over to squeeze Sirius’s arm. “He was happy for you.”
Harry looked down at his marked wrists again.
The bond marks shimmered faintly beneath the lights.
His throat tightened.
Then a voice behind him said, “In fairness, little Caelivar, it was mostly my idea.”
Harry closed his eyes.
“No.”
Killigan swept into the conversation with the devastating elegance of a royal who had never once in their life been sorry for meddling.
They wore sea-green silk, layered with pearls and aquaveth stones, the deadly necklace Harry had made resting beautifully at their throat. The left side still held the innocent little dangling stones that could become daggers, poison, and death if needed.
Alec trailed behind them, grinning.
Of course he did.
Harry turned slowly. “You.”
Killigan smiled. “Me.”
“You arranged this.”
“I assisted.”
Alec leaned in. “They arranged this.”
Killigan did not even glance at him. “I improved several parts.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Which parts?”
“The outfit.”
Harry looked horrified. “That was you?”
“You looked exquisite.”
“I looked ambushed.”
“You can be both.”
Alec lifted a glass in agreement. “You were both.”
Harry pointed at him. “You are one of the bonded. You are not allowed to comment.”
Alec’s grin widened. “That sounds like a rule you invented just now.”
“It is.”
“Very poor legal foundation.”
“I will improve it later.”
Killigan laughed and touched Harry’s cheek lightly. “You were being stubborn.”
“I was being thoughtful.”
“You were pining in twelve directions and making everyone miserable.”
Harry went very still.
Sirius coughed.
Remus looked at the ground.
Tonks suddenly found the flowers fascinating.
Maurice remained irritatingly calm.
Harry’s face heated. “I was not.”
Alec murmured, “You were.”
Harry turned to him. “Traitor.”
“I am bonded to you now. I am required to tell you unpleasant truths.”
“That is not how bonding works.”
“It is how mine works.”
Killigan smiled wider. “You loved them. They loved you. Everyone knew. Everyone except you, apparently.”
Harry’s blush deepened. “That is not…”
“Quiet Ethan waited because he would never push you,” Killigan said, ticking names off on their fingers. “Hadrian muted his bond because he was terrified of taking too much before you were ready. Taren went on business dates with you because you kept missing the point. Ariki flirted so loudly even the wind noticed. Alec was insufferable, which is his love language.”
Alec placed a hand over his heart. “Seen.”
“Wikhn kept threatening to simply throw you over Hadrian’s shoulder and see what happened.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “He what?”
Sirius muttered, “I voted no on that plan.”
Harry turned. “There was a vote?”
Remus quietly said, “An informal one.”
Harry looked between all of them.
The betrayal was enormous.
The affection was worse.
Killigan continued, entirely unbothered. “A small group of those who loved you took matters in hand.”
“Against my will?”
Maurice’s voice softened. “No.”
Harry looked at him.
That one word landed harder than all the teasing.
Maurice stepped closer. “Never against your will. Every person standing with you today knew that if you said no, the ceremony would stop. Master Aster knew. I knew. They knew.”
Harry’s anger thinned further.
Maurice’s expression was gentle now. “We surprised you. We did not trap you.”
Harry swallowed.
That was true.
He thought back to the moment under the arch. Master Aster asking if they were ready. Hadrian’s hand brushing his, not taking. Ethan touching his sleeve like a question. Taren waiting. Ariki nearly shaking with hope but not moving forward until Harry did. Alec’s smugness hiding nerves. Wikhn watching him with rare stillness.
He had chosen.
Startled, yes.
Furious, perhaps.
But he had chosen.
Harry looked down at his wrists again.
Twelve marks.
Twelve yeses.
His yes among them.
“You still should have told me,” he muttered.
Sirius nodded immediately. “Probably.”
Remus said, “Almost certainly.”
Tonks added, “But then you would have spent six months making charts of everyone’s feelings.”
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Alec said, “She is correct.”
Harry glared at him.
Alec smiled into his champagne.
Killigan leaned closer. “And you would have tried to make it smaller.”
“I like smaller.”
“You deserve beautiful.”
Harry froze.
Killigan’s voice gentled. “You deserve to be seen by people who love you and are happy you are loved.”
For a moment, the reception blurred around him.
The music, the lights, the flowers, the guests laughing beneath the trees. His newly bonded scattered through the clearing, watching him with varying degrees of amusement and affection. His family in front of him. Maurice calm and sorry and not sorry. Sirius damp-eyed. Remus smiling softly. Tonks glowing with mischief and pregnancy. Killigan dangerous and beautiful and entirely too pleased with their own meddling.
Behind them, the Evanson and Peverell families mingled beneath the lanterns, laughing softly, raising glasses, wiping eyes. The sight pulled at him. These were not just witnesses. They were proof that his life had grown roots in more than one family, more than one name.
Harry swallowed.
“I am still mad,” he said.
Maurice nodded. “I know.”
“At all of you.”
Sirius lifted his glass. “Fair.”
“Especially you,” Harry told Maurice.
“I expected that.”
“And you,” he told Killigan.
Killigan smiled. “Of course.”
“And Alec.”
Alec blinked. “Why especially me?”
“You know why.”
“I do, but I wanted to hear you say it.”
Harry pointed at him again. “This is why.”
Alec laughed.
Then Hadrian appeared at Harry’s side, quiet as shadow.
Harry felt him before he saw him. The bond between them, no longer muted, moved like a deep current under Harry’s skin. Strong. Steady. Fierce enough to make Harry’s breath catch.
Hadrian looked from Harry to the gathered family. “Are you yelling?”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“Good.”
Harry blinked. “Good?”
“They deserve it.”
Sirius made an offended noise. “You were in on it.”
Hadrian’s expression did not change. “Yes.”
Harry turned to him slowly.
Hadrian looked down at him. “I also deserve it.”
That was so honest, so perfectly Hadrian, that Harry’s anger finally cracked.
He laughed.
Once he started, he could not stop.
It came out shaky and bright, half disbelief and half joy. Tonks joined first, then Sirius, then Alec, then even Maurice smiled fully, warm and relieved.
Harry leaned into Hadrian’s side because he could now, because the bond said he could, because no one would call it too much or too soon or anything other than what it was.
His circle.
His ridiculous, meddling, impossible circle.
After a moment, Harry looked back at Maurice.
“You are still in trouble.”
Maurice inclined his head. “I accept that.”
“For a long time.”
“Yes.”
“I may send you very pointed letters.”
“I look forward to them.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “You are impossible.”
Maurice’s eyes softened. “And you are bonded.”
Harry looked down at the marks again.
Then across the clearing, where Ethan raised his glass to him with a quiet smile, Taren watched with warm patience, Ariki grinned like he was barely resisting the urge to drag Harry into a dance, Wikhn looked amused enough to be dangerous, and Alec somehow managed to stand both beside Killigan and emotionally inside Harry’s nerves at the same time.
His gaze drifted farther, to the Peverells smiling proudly near the flowered tables, to the Evansons gathered beneath the trees, to Hermione laughing with Fred and George, to Lewis wiping his eyes and pretending Cora had not noticed.
Harry’s chest filled too full.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I am.”
Killigan touched the edge of his crown. “And beautifully so.”
Harry sighed, but he did not pull away.
The reception continued around them beneath flowers and floating lights, full of laughter, music, champagne, and the family who had loved him loudly enough to outmaneuver his fear.
Harry was still going to yell later.
Probably.
But for now, he picked up his glass again, looked at the bonding marks curling over his skin, and let himself be happy.
Harry managed almost three peaceful sips of champagne before his eyes drifted across the clearing again.
Then he paused.
There were three men standing near the back beneath one of the flower-draped trees.
Harry knew most of the people here. That was the problem. His family had apparently packed the clearing with every person who had ever loved him, bullied him, taught him, protected him, or threatened to throw someone off a balcony on his behalf.
But those three?
Harry had no idea who they were.
They were not servants. They were dressed too well for that. Not royal guards either, though one of them had the stillness of someone who knew exactly how to kill a man with a drinking glass. The second was laughing softly at something Wikhn had said, and the third was watching Harry with calm, assessing interest that made Harry’s bonding marks prickle faintly under his skin.
Harry lowered his glass.
“Maurice.”
Maurice, who had been taking a perfectly innocent sip of wine, paused.
Harry pointed with his champagne glass. “Who are the three extra men in the back?”
Sirius immediately looked away.
Remus closed his eyes.
Tonks made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh or a prayer.
Alec, the traitor, started smiling.
Maurice looked toward the back of the clearing, then back at Harry with the calm of a man who had already survived the worst of the evening and had decided to simply walk into the next explosion with dignity.
“Ah,” Maurice said.
Harry stared at him. “Ah?”
“Mmm.”
“No. Not mmm. Names, Maurice.”
Maurice set his wine down. “Mariana said they would work well in your circle.”
Harry went utterly still.
Then very slowly turned to look at Mariana, who was seated nearby with a glass in hand and the expression of a woman who had never once regretted anything in her life.
Mariana lifted her glass in a small toast.
Harry looked back at Maurice.
“You let Mariana add surprise men to my bonding ceremony?”
Maurice’s mouth twitched. “Technically, they have not been added.”
“Technically?”
“They were invited for consideration.”
Harry’s voice rose. “Consideration?”
Hadrian’s hand settled at the small of his back, warm and steady. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing. I am breathing furiously.”
Wikhn appeared beside the unknown three, looked over at Harry, and grinned like he was enjoying himself far too much.
Harry pointed at him next. “You knew too!”
Wikhn called back, “I know many things.”
“That is not an answer!”
Killigan sighed happily. “This reception is marvelous.”
Harry closed his eyes.
His circle. His family. His beautiful bonding marks. His ambush ceremony. His three apparently Mariana-approved mystery additions waiting in the back like this was a recruitment fair.
Harry took one more sip of champagne.
Then said, very calmly, “I am going to need a larger glass.”
Maurice handed him his own without hesitation.
Harry took it.
“You are all still in trouble,” he said.
Mariana smiled that predatory smile that told most people they were the ones in actual trouble. “Of course, darling.”
Harry groaned, leaned back into Hadrian’s steady warmth, and decided that happiness was apparently going to be complicated for the rest of his life.
Which, considering his family, made an unfortunate amount of sense.