So, it was getting APPALLINGLY long so I decided to break the epilogue up into two parts. The second part should hopefully be up within the next few days

Unbeta'd and something of a mess, so please forgive me.

Voldemort slowly spiraled thought the air above Frostmouth, looking for a secluded place to land. The town had changed a great deal since the last time he had flown over. Frostmouth used to be a quiet town. A handful of buildings clustered together, between the mountains and the river. Now there were several larger building close to town square, all of them with lights still lit despite the hour.

He noted the change with irritation and had to resist the impulse to light fire to those building which had extended beyond the boundary of the river. Voldemort had intended to land at the river's edge to avoid detection. That would not be possible now.

He would not have hesitated to do even a year ago. Strange, how things could alter so irrevocably in so short a time.

The blame lay entirely at the feet of the small speck of warmth he'd grown so used to feeling upon his hide.

There. A large copse of trees on the outskirts of town. That would do nicely. Voldemort swooped down towards the ground, landing with ease. He folded his wings and swiveled his head around to face his little pest.

Harry sat upon Voldemort's dark scales, his cheeks flushed a becoming pink. There was a wide smile across his face and a sparkle in his lovely green eyes, finer and clearer than an emerald Voldemort had ever encountered. The first courting gift concealed all the others, but Voldemort knew they were there. Knowing Harry was saturated with Voldemort's magic, wearing gift's of Voldemort's making was a heady feeling.

Harry would have made a fantastic addition to his hoard. Draped in jewels, clothed in only the finest silks from far away lands. Voldemort had been planning exactly how to adorn his newest prize long before he truly came to know exactly what sort of treasure it was he guarded.

Still, as tempting as the idea had been, the vision before him now was far sweeter, the sight of his own emblem glinting beneath Harry's chin enough to provoke a low rumble of satisfaction. Voldemort reached forward and gently grasped the hood of the cloak, designed for this sort of treatment, between his teeth before carefully lifting Harry from his back. He placed his pest softly on the ground. Once he was certain Harry had his footing, Voldemort pressed his snout forward until he could feel the warmth of Harry's skin against his scales. Voldemort inhaled deeply, taking a moment to relish the scent of his intended before the nuances of it were lost to him.

Voldemort pulled away, and let his eyes slip closed, bringing all his magic inward in a sharp rush, focusing on the form that had become so familiar since Harry had freed them both. Light flared brightly as he forced his magic to fit within the smaller shape. His limps shortened, the joints of his rear legs inverting themselves as his scales disappeared and his magic compressed him into the new shape he had demanded of it. The entire thing took less than a second, and when the light had faded, Voldemort had clad himself in human skin.

Harry's face took on the shade of pink that Voldemort so adored, green eyes glued once again to the bare skin of Voldemort's human form. Voldemort could hear his heart's frantic fluttering from here. Voldemort allowed himself a smug smile, stalking closer to his intended. In all his decades upon the world, he had found nothing as satisfying, as heady as the desire pouring from the man he would make his mate.

Before he could properly refresh his claim on his pest, to ensure he was once again covered in Voldemort's scent, in his magic, to make it clear exactly who the fledgling magician belonged to, Harry had adverted his gaze and shoved Voldemort's clothes at his bare chest.

Harry had repaired them already, and had done so perfectly. Voldemort shook his head in disbelief as he covered himself. Mending clothes was simple magic - as simple as the clothes were. Voldemort had crafted these clothes himself, imbuing every weave and stitch with his own magic. They should have been impossible for anyone to repair save himself and perhaps the Mage Merlin.

Harry truly had no idea exactly how extraordinary he was.

Voldemort used his magic to help clothe himself as quickly as possible before he turned around, determined to do something to rectify the issue.

"You are a marvel, Harry," Voldemort said, reached out and cupping the precious face between both his hands.

He leaned down and claimed his intended's mouth in a firm kiss, doing his best to pour his magic into the ghost of a bond between them, determined that his feelings - the awe, the admiration, the smug satisfaction at having such a marvel belong to him - should reach his most precious treasure.

Voldemort had no idea if he had been successful, but when Harry finally pulled away, hair mussed and lips a swollen ruby red, he couldn't bring himself to mind either way.

Still, that others would set eyes on Harry now, as delectable as he was, had every part of Voldemort screaming that he should scoop Harry up once again and carry his pest to his hoard, where no one but Voldemort himself would be able to gaze upon him.

It was not to be. Harry was not a dragon, despite his impressive magic and fiery rage, equal to that of any dragon Voldemort had ever met. Normally at this point in the mating process, both dragons would be driven to seclusion, possessiveness roused enough that nothing else would be tolerable. The dragon being courted might at time venture from the cave, purposely seek out other potential mates to determine how strong their courter was, to see how much they were truly desired. A dragon being courted would not settle for anything short of pure devotion.

Traveling had been a trial. Voldemort had had to fight his instincts every step of the way. Harry was not a dragon, and his behavior was not meant to provoke a reaction. Harry was a human. A compassionate, loyal, brave, intelligent, creative, beautiful, powerful human. Voldemort loved him exactly as he was.

The courtship was meant to show how much his intended was desired in all ways. He needed to respect Harry's humanity as well.

There would be no seclusion. Not until the mating itself, when Voldemort's instincts would demand it. So Voldemort was forced to endure, battling with his nature every step of the way. Only for Harry would he put himself through this.

Still, as difficult as it had been, Voldemort had adapted to life on the road with Harry. Hours every day, just the two of them. It had been all the best parts of the tower, the discussions, the closeness, the sense that the entire world consisted only of the two of them. But all of it with the fresh air on their faces, the knowledge that they could leave and go anywhere whenever they chose.

Even the interactions with others had become...tolerable. Every step closer to the sorcerer who had bound him, who had imprisoned Harry was a step closer to vengeance.

Still, it was one thing to encounter strangers on the road. Buildings were an entirely different matter. Too close. Too many people, too close to his Harry. The feeling of being trapped, within four walls. It would be the matter of a moment to to tear the building to shreds, to destroy any who dared to threaten him or his. But still, to have others that close to his Harry. To do be forced to do nothing while they encroached on his territory...the mere thought of it made him snarl.

He reached out and tugged Harry close, burying his face in Harry's neck, breathing deeply, taking in Harry's scent even as he did his best to ensure Harry carried his own. Only once he was certain his intended was properly marked did he pull away.

"Only for your would I put myself through this," Voldemort informed him.

Harry gave him a smile in response. His eyes, brighter than any emerald, sparkled with warmth and happiness. It was a familiar smile. One that Voldemort had come to covet in their time together. Of all the treasures Voldemort had managed to hoard during their time in captivity, it was Harry's smile that he had coveted most zealously. Revealing more and more of the hidden magics, of dragons, of himself in an effort to coax it forth once again.

It had been worth every surrendered secret to watch those emerald eyes, so often dark and filled with despair, brighten. The light of happiness made them even more beautiful, something Voldemort had not believed possible the first time he saw them.

The light in those eyes had Voldemort ruthlessly crushing what reluctance there was left. He doubted there was anything he wouldn't do for that smile, wouldn't do to ensure it never left Harry's face.

Only the feeling of his most precious treasure wrapped tightly in his arms kept him from lashing out. He would keep Harry safe. No matter the cost, Voldemort would not allow his chosen to be take from him.

Harry cast a look up at him, his brow furrowed in worry, and Voldemort could feel the moment when his magic reached out to the small tether between it, surrounding Voldemort's very core with his magic, doing a great deal to calm his raging instincts.

Voldemort gave Harry a smile. He was certain his mate thought it was in thanks, but it was so much more than that. Harry's magic was like nothing Voldemort had felt before. Even Merlin's magic paled next to Harry's. The man, ignorant of his magic for so long, seemed equally ignorant of the laws most humans believed governed it.

Humans saw magic as something foreign, something wild to be controlled and bent to their will. There were limits and words and ways to shape it to do their bidding.

Harry didn't use magic like a human. Harry used magic like a dragon.

So remarkable. So precious, his little pest.

Voldemort would keep him safe. Would keep him by his side. For all of time, if he had any say in the matter.

A spark of something familiar caught his attention, and he tugged Harry closer to his side as he rounded on it. Magic, he realized as he concentrated.

Familiar magic. Magic he had tasted before.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Your family," Voldemort said simply.

For that was where the traces were from. Those first weeks, Harry's own magic had held subtle hints of others. The way all magic mingled, between those who practiced together. Those who cared for one another. The kind of entwining he had sensed upon Harry was that of family. Protective enchantments powered by strong love, the magical tangling of those who had lived and casted together for months, if not years.

A day, perhaps two. That was all the time it had taken for the enchantment to erode it away, leaving only Harry's magic in it's place. But Voldemort remembered.

Voldemort remembered everything.

"Where?" Harry asked, twisting his head about, looking for a glimpse of the creatures who had taken him in as one of their own.

Voldemort tugged Harry even more tightly against his side before they began to walk, following the trail.

"Why were you so insistent we call upon your family?" Voldemort asked. As a human, he'd been unable to inquire about the impulse, as it seemed to be a natural one amongst the species. To ask would have given away his identity in ways that could have proved dangerous to the bond that was forming between them.

"Two reasons," Harry said. "The first is that I needed to let someone in the family know I was alright before I went looking for you," Harry said, leaning against Voldemort for a moment before he began walking once again. "I'd been missing. I didn't want them to worry when they didn't have to."

Voldemort fought the urge to sigh. That was entirely in character for his little pest. Motivated by the needs of others, often to the detriment of his own.

Still, it would not be allowed to become an issue. Voldemort was more than selfish enough for the both of them. To protect his mate was to protect himself.

"The second?" Voldemort asked, not wishing Harry to dwell on the tim they had spent in captivity. Not if Harry expected him to behave and keep control of his temper.

"Charlie," Harry said simply.

"Charlie," Voldemort repeated, rage swelling in him. Who was this Charlie? A rival? Voldemort would tear him to shreds. He would prove that he was the stronger, the fitter. The only one Harry could count on to protect him and provide for him.

Harry's magic rolled through the bond once again, and Voldemort turned to look at his pest with narrowed eyes.

Harry started back up at him, his eyes dancing mischievously and a small smile on his face.

Clearly his mate-to-be was learning to use their bond far more quickly than Voldemort had expected. After all his time with Harry, one would have thought that the human would stop surprising him.

It wasn't as if the dragon were going to complain. The more Harry understood their bond, the more he used it, the more he fed it with his magic, the more quickly it would grow.

It was behavior Voldemort could only encourage. He leaned down and claimed Harry's mouth once again.

He had thought that the human expression of affection would be strange, unsatisfying. He had been wrong. He didn't think he'd ever tire of kissing Harry.

Only once he was satisfied did he allow Harry to push him away again, staring down at his intended, savoring the flush to his cheeks, the drugged desire he could smell and taste, the way Harry's magic was still nestled against his own.

Harry gave him a half-hearted glare, and Voldemort allowed himself a smile that was mostly teeth. Harry had no secrets from him. Voldemort would discover them all and hoard them close, guarding them as the precious treasures they were.

He had seen Harry's heart. And he would do whatever it took to ensure it was his.

"He's like a brother to me, you possessive idiot," Harry groused at him.

Voldemort reached out and cupped Harry's face in one of his hands.

"Family, brother, it matters not," Voldemort told him seriously. "I will be second to none in your eyes."

Harry rolled his eyes, but Voldemort watch the way his face softened, one hand coming to clutch at his broach and didn't bother hiding how pleased he was. Good. Harry should rely on him always. That his intended took comfort from the gifts Voldemort had give him was only right.

"You're everything," Harry said simply. "You have been for...for longer than I know. I couldn't do any of this without you, Tom."

"You will never need to," Voldemort growled.

Harry would not be allowed to leave him. Ever. Voldemort would do whatever it took to keep him at his side.

Voldemort followed the trail to the center of town, where it lead to a large, impressive shopfront.

"So they did it then," Harry said. "The twins were always talking the shop. I gave them enough money to get off the ground."

Harry smiled.

"I never thought I'd see it," he said, matter-of-fact, and Voldemort once again fought the urge to snarl.

It unsettled him deeply, to know that there was still a threat. Not just to him, but to his mat. That much was obvious, as galling as it had been at first. He had not been defeated and captured for his ferociousness alone, but to use that skill set to play nursemaid to someone the sorcerer who had captured him thought worth guarding.

To have gone so far in the first place meant that they were still a threat to Harry. If they discovered that he had escaped, Voldemort had no doubt they would attempt to steal him away again.

The insult to him would have been more than enough to ensure the man was torn limb from limb as soon as possible. The threat to his mate? They would sing songs of Voldemort's vengeance for years to come.

He regarded the building before him with new eyes. Harry owned at least a piece of it. Which meant that it was a piece of Harry's hoard. Which meant that, as the suitor, he would have to demonstrate that he could properly protect it.

It would need new wards and protective charms, he thought, looking it over with a critical eye. More ornamentation as well. It was far too plain now. And stronger defenses.

Still, he couldn't very well criticize the place in front of Harry. It was the height of poor taste to insult someone else's hoard, and the fastest way to invoke a dragon's anger and provoke a fight. There was no need to risk an altercation with Harry. Not with the connection between them so new, still tenuous.

"It's a very nice shop," Voldemort offered.

Harry shot him a look through narrowed eyes, and the dragon did his best to project his sincerity. His mate may have been human, but Harry had a tongue as sharp as any dragon's teeth.

Harry held his gaze for a moment before turning back to the building.

"It really is, isn't it?" he said. "They've done some amazing work. Knew they had it in them."

He stared at it a moment longer, something wistful in his gaze, and Voldemort was helpless to do anything but stand there in silence support, unsure of the turn of his intended's thoughts. After long enough that Voldemort began to feel anxious about their position and concerned for his mate's distraction, Harry turned to him.

"Come on," Harry said, taking Voldemort's human hand in his own. "Let's go around back. There are some people I want you to meet."

George started into the fire blazing in the hearth, trying to keep his anticipation under control. For the past two days, for all that he knew it was much too soon, he'd been unable to do anything but linger near the door, waiting for visitors. He'd been waiting for this day for more than a year. Waiting so long it was still hard to believe it was actually happening.

Harry was coming home.

The message Harry had sent had been sparse in details, but it had contained the most important information. Harry was alive. Harry was alive, and he was on his way to them.

Harry was traveling on foot, which meant the earliest he could possibly be expected was tomorrow evening. That hadn't stopped George from spending the last forty-eight hours camped in front of the fire, waiting for any sign of company.

There was a knock on the door, and George jerked upright. A knock on the door at this time of night could only mean one thing. He sprinted over to the door and yanked it open.

Harry Potter stood on the other side.

George darted forward and wrapped his arms around him. Harry was real under his hands, flesh and blood wrapped in George's embrace. Harry was here. Harry was alive. George wrapped his arms more tightly around him. He was afraid that if he loosened his arms at all, Harry would disappear.

"You're here," he said, pulling back, needing to see Harry, needing to be sure it was real. "You're really here."

Familiar green eyes gazed up at him, wet and shining. Harry beamed up at him, black hair as messy as always.

"I'm here," Harry said.

George hugged him again, helpless to do anything else.

The door banged behind him and a moment later George was shoved to the side and he watched as Fred threw himself at Harry. George smiled, contentedness welling up in his chest. This was how it should be.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and George looked away from the family reunion only to find himself staring at a stranger. He gave a small jerk of surprise, even as he chastised himself. Harry had mentioned in his letter that he was brining company.

He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Incredibly handsome, even irritated as he clearly was. His high-quality clothes and jeweled accessories worn so casually spoke to an obscene amount of wealth. He struck George as arrogant, and he couldn't help but wonder where on earth Harry had managed to find the man, let alone what could have persuaded Harry to travel with him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Fred demanded as he pulled back. "And what the hell are you wearing?"

Fred's comment prompted George to examine Harry, and his mouth fell open when he truly took in what his friend had on. It was even more ostentatious than what the stranger was wearing. His broach, belt tags, and livery collar were all adorned with precious stones, each bigger than the nail of George's thumb. Rubies and Emeralds set in silver, carefully worked into intricate designs. George reached out and ran his fingers over Harry's cloak. His eyebrows rose as he felt the soft, silky texture of the fabric. Expensive. Everything was incredibly expensive.

"They were gifts," Harry muttered, reaching out and pulling his cloak away from George, wrapping it tightly around himself as he blushed.

George shot Fred a look, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head just slightly towards Harry. Was his twin seeing what he was seeing? Fred gave a minute nod, a smile spreading across his face.

"Gifts from somebody special, judging by that blush," Fred teased.

"Someone very special," George said with a grin. "What, you don't have time for family, but you have time to fall in love? I'm hurt, Harry."

"When do we get to meet the lucky lady? Or is it a lucky lord?" Fred asked.

Harry's blush darkened, but his shoulders squared. He took a step back, away from Fred and towards the man he was traveling with. Harry looked up, and his smile went from something tense and embarrassed to something warm and genuine. The kind of smile George had seen on the faces of his mother and his father, on Ron's face when he looked at Hermoine. On Bill's face when he looked at Fleur. It was the smile of a man in love.

The man closed the space between them, wrapping his arm around Harry, tugging him closer in an obviously proprietary move. George narrowed his eyes. Harry deserved more than to be just a trophy.

"This is Tom Riddle," Harry said, both blush and smile still lingering on his face.

Tom dipped his head in acknowledgment, but for all that his expression was pleasantly blank there was something in his eyes that made the hair on the back of George's neck stand on end.

"A pleasure," Riddle said.

"I can tell," Fred said wryly. "How did you two meet? How long has this been going on?"

"I'll explain in a minute," Harry told them. "But I only want to do it once. Is Charlie home? I'd rather get you all in one go, and I've got some things I need to ask him."

"He's here, yeah. There's a wing of dragons up in that mountain he's been studying for awhile now," George told Harry. "Charlie hasn't gone up since we got your letter, though. He was too afraid he might miss you. Been working on consolidating his notes instead."

More like staring at the wall, just waiting for Harry to arrive. Not that George could blame him. He hadn't gone to the shop since the message had arrived. He'd been too distracted by the news for it to be safe to invent new products or craft anything. Hell, George hadn't even been able to man the counter - Lee had told him to go home after he'd made the third mistake in an hour. George had sat at home instead, reading the message over and over, staring at the fire and wonder what the hell to expect when Harry finally arrived, fielding letters from the rest of the family letting them know that there wasn't any other news since the first letter and that'd he'd be certain to write every one of them the moment Harry arrived.

Fred had taken the opposite approach - throwing himself totally and completely into his work to distract himself. He'd been experimenting with more and more temperamental spells. He'd been snapping at the staff, viciously mocking and humiliating them for the smallest mistakes. When he'd nearly blown up the workshop and managed to send three people home in tears, Lee had sent George a note, desperate for some sort of help. George had marched the shop and dragged Fred out by the ear.

Poor Lee. George would have to be sure to remember to give him a bonus for putting up with them once all this was over.

George suddenly realized that they'd kept Harry standing on the doorstep all this time and promptly felt like the biggest arse in the world.

"You come in and get settled," George said, gesturing Harry and riddle to the pair of seats closest to the fireplace.

He gave Harry a smile as he passed, and Riddle a suspicious look. There was something about the man that was deeply unsettling. George didn't trust him at all. Riddle returned his look with a sinister smile, his eyes flashing a vicious red. George took a sharp step back, staring at him wide eyed. Brown eyes stared back at him, Riddle smirking as he passed.

A trick of the light. It had to be.

Forcing his breathing back to normal, George turned his attention back to Harry, now settled at the table, the fire at his back. Riddle settled into the seat beside him, flaring his cape behind him with an elaborate flourish. He reached and and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry seemed to melt into him, his head resting on Riddle's shoulder and a soppy smile on his face.

George felt a little ill looking at it. Some was not right here. He shot Fred a look and was grateful to see his twin eyeing Riddle with great distrust.

The sooner he got Charlie down here, the sooner they could start getting to the bottom of whatever the hell this was.

"I'll go get Charlie, then" George said. He made to leave the room, but before he'd gone more than a few steps he spun around and darted forward, wrapping Harry in a firm embrace.

"Missed you," George whispered fiercely, happiness and relief swirling together in a mix that left him giddy. Harry was here. He was here, and he was safe, real beneath George's arms. "So glad you're back. Never do that again."

Before Harry could respond, George was off. He sprinted up the stairs, the giddiness still flowing through him. The grin that stretched across his face was so wide that it hurt his cheeks, but George couldn't stop. Harry was really back. Here, under their roof, alive and well. After being missing for so long, with no one able to find him, it was nothing short of a miracle.

George threw open Charlie's door, not bothering to knock. His older brother was exactly where George had imagined he'd be - sitting at his desk, staring at the wall.

Charlie had started violently when the door had burst open, but he took one look at George's face and shoved his chair back so sharply it toppled over as he stood. Neither of them paid it any mind. There were more important things to focus on at the moment.

"Is it..." Charlie trailed off, the expression on his face making it obvious which words it was that he couldn't bring himself to voice.

George just nodded, still grinning helplessly, unable to stop long enough to speak.

Charlie pushed past him, barreling down the short hallway toward the stairs, throwing questions over his shoulder as he did so.

"He wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow," Charlie said. "How did he get here so early? And where the hell has he been?"

Charlie didn't wait around for the answers, almost at the stairs by the time George had caught up with him.

"He's not staying long," George said, keeping pace easily. "But he wanted to let us know he was alright. And he needed to ask you some questions, apparently. And he's involved with someone. Rich ponce by the looks of things. Name's Riddle. No idea how he and Harry met, not yet at any rate, but something about him sets my teeth on edge."

Charlie froze, a foot hovering just above the top step of the stairs. George watched as the as foot was slowly brought up to rest once again on the landing. Charlie turned around to face George, his eyes frantic in a way that had George straightening immediately.

"What did you say?" Charlie asked, his voice completely free of inflection.

"Riddle," George repeated, studying his brother with growing alarm. He'd thought there was something...off about the man Harry had brought with him, but Charlie's reaction made it seem the situation as much much worse than he had feared. "Do you know him?"

"Circe, I really hope not," Charlie muttered before he sprinted down the stairs.

Charlie burst into the kitchen, half-terrified that this was all some sort of dream. He knew it wasn't a prank. The twins might have been mischievous, but they were never cruel. Never this cruel, at any rate.

Sitting at the table, hair as much of a disaster as usual and bright green eyes shining with unshed tears, sat Harry Potter. Charlie had already taken several strides towards Harry to embrace him before other details became apparent. Such as how Harry was dressed.

Charlie found himself staring dumbly at the brooch on Harry's chest, the familiar device freezing him in place. While he didn't recognized the specific emblem, the position of the dragon on the brooch could mean only one thing, to those who knew how to read the signs.

"Circe, Harry, what have you gone and gotten yourself into now?" Charlie asked, voice hoarse.

"Oi!" Fred said, reaching out and smacking Charlie over the back of the head. "What the hell kind of greeting is that? Who are you, Ron?"

Harry let out a wet sounding laugh. "No, he's right. My luck hasn't changed a bit."

"Harry…" Charlie said, searching desperately for the right words and finding none. "That brooch…"

"Is part of what I'm here to talk to you about, yeah," Harry replied.

"You have a remarkable eye, Mr. Weasley," an unfamiliar voice spoke.

Charlie jerked in surprise, turning his attention to the occupant of the room he hadn't noticed before, so caught up in the sight of his wayward brother. When he did he felt every hair stand on end. He could only hope his suspicions were wrong.

"Charlie, this is Tom Riddle," Harry said, gesturing lazily to the man beside him.

Charlie felt his knees giving out, and he staggered forward a few steps to fall gracelessly into a chair at the table.

Riddle. The last name taken by all courting dragons while in human disguise. An oblique nod to the requirements that needed to be met to allow the process to advance.

Charlie allowed the reality of the situation to crash over him, finally acknowledging what he'd wanted so desperately to ignore moments before. Harry was being courted by a dragon. The dragon currently sitting beside him.

They would all have to tread very, very carefully.

"Riddle?" he couldn't help asking, a small part of him clinging desperately to the hope that he might be mistaken.

"Riddle," the man answered.

"Ha!" Harry crowed from beside him. "I told you he'd figure it out. You didn't believe me, but I told you."

Riddle rolled his eyes, but Charlie saw that there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You know...Harry you know who this man is?" Charlie asked picking his words with care.

"Yeah. I've known for days," Harry said with a shrug, leaning further into the dragons' embrace. "He's not particularly subtle."

"Subtlety would not have suited my purposes under the circumstances," the Dragon said, a smug smirk on his face as he ran his hands casually through Harry's hair. "You made my life difficult enough as it was."

"How far along are you?" Charlie asked, looking not at Harry but the dragon beside him.

Harry had accepted the courtship. Not only that but he had passed the most tricky bit of the courtship. Harry had figured out that the "envoy" and the dragon were one in the same, proving how well he knew his future partner.

"Not particularly far," Voldemort answered

"Seriously?" Harry asked, turing to look at him. "What's still left?"

The dragon dropped the glamor over his eyes, allowing them to glow a bright, malevolent red. The twins let out sharp gasps, at Charlie gave a small jerk at the reminder of their presence. Still, it was the timeline that threw him the most.

"I need to demonstrate that I can provide for you," the Dragon told him, long, pale fingers running through Harry's disastrous hair. "To be a worthy mate, I must be able to provide you with food, shelter, and protection."

Harry's brow arched. "The tower doesn't count?"

The dragon's eyes darkened in a way that had Charlie casting glances the twin's way, wanting to make sure they were ready to defend themselves at a moment's notice. Dragon's were temperamental at the best of times, and they only became more volatile while mating, all their instincts heightened, making them even more dangerous than usual.

"No," the dragon growled. "The tower does not count."

"Because we had no choice," Harry said, his face soft, as he reached up to press his hand against the dragon's face.

The dragon reached out and covered Harry's hand with his own, his eyes closed. When they opened again, they glowed with an entirely different sort of heat. Something soft and warm, rather then filled with rage.

"Yes," the dragon answered in a low rumble. "Because we did not have a choice."

"Right," Fred said, arms crossed over his chest. "Does anyone want to fill George and I in on what the hell it is that everyone seems to know but us?"

A sheepish look came over Harry's face, and he leaned away with a sigh, only to have the dragon snatch his hand before tugging Harry into his lap, wrapping his cloak around them both and glaring at all the Weasleys.

Charlie held a hand out, silencing Fred and George's protests before they had a chance to voice them. Charlie only knew a few species of dragons who could have red eyes and they were all incredibly aggressive under even the best of circumstances.

Harry cast the dragon an exasperated look over his shoulder, but he didn't fight Riddle's hold. If anything, he became more relaxed as he settled into protective embrace.

"Right," Harry said, placing his hand over the dragons where it had wrapped around his waist. "What do you want to know?"

"Where the hell have you been for the past year?" Fred asked, jumping straight to the point.

Harry took a deep breath, gripping the dragon's arm even tighter.

"I was on my way to your parents' after I visited...after I'd visited mine."

Charlie winced at the reminder. Harry had finally found out where his parents graves were and had wanted to visit them alone, despite the protests of, well, everyone. When Harry hadn't returned...in his more frantic moments, Charlie had feared Harry had done something drastic. He knew that his family likely had as well.

"I let someone share my fire, and they drugged my food," Harry said straightforwardly, earning a low growl from the dragon wrapped around him.

"Who?" Fred asked, an expression on his face Charlie recognized.

It was never good for the person involved when the twins decided to take something seriously. They were gifted at magic, though the uses they tended to put that to made people forget that fact.

"I don't remember," Harry told them, jaw clenched. "That entire night is a blur. I think they gave me something to make me forget, instead of just giving me something to knock me out."

"Where did you wake up?" George prompted gently, but not before Charlie caught him shooting his twin a dark look.

"The top room of a tower," Harry said, wryly. "A tower guarded by an ornery dragon."

Charlie gaped at him. Dragons never guarded anything but their hoard of their own volition. Meaning it had been a person who had forced the dragon there. A magician of some sort, since magic was the only way to accomplish such a feat.

Harry's words from earlier rang in Charlie's ears. He'd mentioned the tower, and both of them not having choices.

"Tom" was the dragon who had guarded Harry in the tower. Charlie was certain of it.

From what little Charlie had been able to figure out about "Tom" from their interactions so far, he was not the sort of dragon that would be easy to capture. It took a great deal of power to harness a dragon. The more powerful the dragon, the more difficult it became. To harness any of the dragon species that could have red eyes would be an almost impossible task. That someone had gone to all that trouble to keep Harry locked up meant only one of two things - someone wanted to keep him protected desperately, or needed him out of the way.

Probably the former. If they'd needed Harry out of the way that badly, they would have just killed him.

This only left more questions than it answered, as far as Charlie was concerned. Still, the Weasleys had lots of contacts in the magical community, and now they knew the right questions to ask. Those contacts had been useless when Harry had gone missing. The family simply hadn't know enough, and no one in the community had been able to help. But now? Now they could finally make some progress.

This could wait until later. As troubling at it was, there were more immediate issues Charlie was concerned about. Namely, the dragon sitting across the table, clutching the boy who was like a brother to Charlie close to him.

"What can you tell me about the dragon?" Charlie asked, not caring that he was being far from subtle.

"Absolutely enormous," Harry said. "Several stories tall enormous. Black scales, with red eyes and lots and lots of horns."

Hearing that the dragon had red eyes was enough to have both the twins eyeing the dragon across the table, no doubt one step closer to figuring out what Charlie himself had already discovered.

A Slytherin, Charlie realized with growing horror. The most vicious, dangerous breed of all. Knights and sorcerers had dedicated themselves to hunting them to extinction for that reason alone. And they had nearly succeeded. There was only one Slytherin left now. Had only been one Slytherin left now for eighty years.

Charlie prayed he was wrong. Maybe the dragon had been a dark blue or green rather than a true black. A blue or a green was still incredibly dangerous, but worlds better than a Slytherin.

"I escaped," Harry said, and the dragon beside him snorted at rolled his eyes. "I did!" Harry said.

"You didn't get past the border of the enchantment. It doesn't count," the dragon said, red eyes sparkling with what Charlie could have sworn was mischief

"It most certainly does," Harry replied indignantly, though the smile on his face gave him away as being anything but. "I got past you, I got out of the castle. I was only the failsafe that was clearly meant to keep you from escaping that stopped me. You're just a sore loser."

"I wouldn't know, as I have never lost," the dragon said. "Especially not to a little pest such as yourself."

"Impossible lizard," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

The dragon lowered his head and whispered something in Harry's ear before pressing a long, lingering kiss to his throat.

"A dragon," George said flatly. "You're dating a dragon."

"Not just any dragon," Fred corrected his twin. "The dragon who kept him imprisoned in the tower."

"That makes is so much better," George answered with heavy sarcasm. "Wait. Wait, hang on a minute. A dragon named Tom?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I only called him that to piss him off, and by the time I realized he was just as trapped as I was, the name had kind of stuck. Besides, he couldn't really communicate for the first month or so, so it wasn't as if he could correct me."

"So what is it then?" Fred goaded. "This dreadful name that so many dare not speak?"

"Voldemort," Harry said offhand.

Charlie choked. He couldn't help it. He turned to the stranger sitting beside Harry and stared, unable to help himself. Voldemort. Voldemort was sitting in his kitchen.

"Charlie?" George asked, starting at him in concern. "What's wrong?"

Riddle's gaze fell on Charlie, and the stare seemed to have an almost physical weight to it. Then he smiled. It was not a kind smile, for all that Riddle seemed to be pleased.

"So you've heard of him, then?" Riddle asked, eyes practically gleaming.

Charlie nodded mutely, unwilling to take his eyes from the dragon in front of him.

The last Slytherin. Here in, his brothers' kitchen. Courting Harry.

Voldemort, the most dangerous dragon alive.

"You never do anything by halves, do you Harry?" Charlie asked, voice strangled. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

Harry rolled his eyes in response before he continued telling his tale. The escape attempts, the realization that the dragon was trapped by the enchantment just as Harry was. Harry managing to do enough damage to the magical restraint keeping Tom trapped for them to communicate with words. The lessons Voldemort had given him, how close they'd grown during their time in captivity. Breaking the enchantment. Waking up alone in a room in the town inn.

Harry titled his head back to meet Voldemort's eyes.

"Where the hell were you, by the way? It's not like you to leave me alone if you have any choice in the matter."

Voldemort pulled Harry even closer, his chin resting on Harry's shoulder.

"I felt it the moment the enchantment broke that day," he said, one hand resting on the livery collar around Harry's throat, the other wrapped tightly around Harry's waist. "I dealt with the intruder with ease after all my magic had been returned to me."

Harry clenched his jaw, and Voldemort leaned forward to nuzzle against his neck in what Charlie recognized as a gesture of affection and comfort in dragons. It was reserved for Mates and family members only. That Voldemort was using it here and now did more to convince Charlie of the dragon's regard for Harry than hours of conversation could have.

"I had to tear apart the courtyard to get at you," Voldemort said, his red eyes glowing, voice a low, rumbling growl. "When I found you, I thought you were dead."

Harry tuned so that he was facing Voldemort, running his hands through the dark hair in a soothing motion.

Voldemort closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Harry's for a long moment. Gathering himself, Charlie realized.

Not that Charlie could blame him, really. There was no doubt in Charlie's mind that Voldemort had seen Harry as his as early as the first month in captivity. Dragons were known for adding humans to their hoards. And Harry was a handsome man, with incredible magical power. Of course a dragon would find him attractive, no matter the circumstances.

For a dragon to lose any item within their hoard was far from trivial. Villages had been raised over nothing more than stealing a small trinket. Living things were infinitely more precious. Dragons were known to mourn for a decade, if not more, after the death of a human in their hoard. The only thing more terrifying than a grieving dragon was a nesting one. Dragon grief involved fire and vengeance and blood.

A dragon who had a human taken from them? That was a terrifying thought, no matter the dragon. But a mourning Voldemort...he would have torn the world apart.

At last the dragon seemed to gather himself, and Charlie shoved his terror at the thought of what the beast might have done down deep. Now was not the time.

"When I discovered that you were alive," Voldemort continued, the barest tremble in his voice the only sign of how deeply the incident had affected him, "I had no choice but to take you to the town. You had exhausted yourself magically, and there was nothing I could do to help you recover. You needed to rest. So I donned human form and took you to the inn, and enchanted you so to sleep until you were recovered." The dragon frowned, turning a slight glare on Harry, "It should have taken days," Voldemort told him. "For any other magician, even one as powerful as you, it should have taken days."

Charlie's hands were clenched tightly under the table. Voldemort was right. It should have taken days.

"I set a number of wards to warn me when you awoke. Wards to be certain that no one save myself could enter your room. Clearly," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowed as they met Harry's own, "I should have set wards that would keep you in as well as others out. An oversight on my part."

Charlie had to fight the urge to snort. Anyone who had known Harry had felt the same at some point. He was far, far too good at getting himself into trouble despite everyone's intentions to keep him out of it.

"Believing you to be a safe as I could make you," Voldemort said, his attention back on Harry and ignoring the rest of them, "I went to check on my hoard."

That Charlie could understand. The protection of the hoard was a dragon's highest imperative instinctively. To have been separated from it for long periods of time had been enough to drive dragons mad in the past. Once he was free, Voldemort would have no choice but to ensure everything was just as he'd left it. That's he'd managed to wait a t all spoke a great deal about his regard for Harry.

"I added the few trinkets I gathered that seemed worth saving and began to craft. My disguise, yes, but more importantly, your gifts. Once I had donned my human disguise, I took steps to ensure you would be well provisioned in the time that it took you to discover my intentions."

Voldemort wrapped his arm more tightly around Harry's shoulder and exhaled.

"When I returned and found you gone, it was all I could do to keep from razing the town to the ground. Only the knowledge that one of them might had seen where you had gone or who had taken you stayed me."

"And then I found you back where we had parted ways, that damned collar in your hands..." Voldemort shook his head. "You know the rest."

Harry was staring at the dragon, looking as if he was torn between apologizing and smacking the beast upside the head. He settled for neither, turning his attention back to the group at large.

"So there you have it, the whole story."

Except it wasn't. Oh, Harry might have thought it was, but there were things that Charlie desperately needed to know. Harry was being courted by a dragon. Not just any dragon, but Voldemort, the last Slytherin. There was information Charlie needed not just for professional reasons, but to make sure Harry was safe. As safe as Harry ever was, at any rate.

Perhaps being bonded to a dragon was the best they could hope for, under the circumstances. There was someone out there who was willing to imprision Harry for reasons unknown. A devoted, dangerous dragon was the best defense Charlie could imagine.

If Harry knew that Tom was the dragon he had grown to know, then the most important step had already passed. Harry had accepted the courtship, and had done so willingly. He must have, or else the beginnings of the bond wouldn't have formed.

Without the bond to help keep him stable, Charlie didn't think there was any way a breed as aggressive as a Slytherin could be in close quarters with an unclaimed mate and have things end well. He would have burned them and the town to the ground by now if he hadn't had a tangible claim to Harry keeping him calm. Charlie had spent enough time around dragons to know that without a doubt.

It was a good sign, as reluctant as Charlie was to admit it. For Voldemort to have agreed to visit Harry's family meant that he was in control of his instincts, at least to some degree. In control enough to recognize that what Harry needed and what Voldemort's instincts were telling him to do were contradictory, and to yield to Harry's needs rather than succumb to the drive to seclude them both. A drive that was no doubt all the more pressing after Voldemort had spent so long away from his own hoard.

That he was here, with Harry, made it clear that Harry was worth more to him than all the treasure it had taken him decades to accumulate.

Exactly as it should be, as far as Charlie was concerned. That a dragon felt the same, however, spoke to the depth of his devotion.

The timeline of the courtship made his head spin, still. Dragon courtship was notorious for it's length, dragons incredibly picky when it came to who they would deign to spend the rest of their lives with. The dragon who initiated the courting was eager to complete it as soon as possible, but it wasn't uncommon for the dragon they were courting to drag the process out for two or three years.

Dragons courting humans took nearly as long. While their humans didn't have the same instincts to push and test a prospective mate the way dragons did, the circumstances held them back more than instincts ever could. As rare a phenominon as it was, th timeline was hard to pin down. But at minimum, Charlie guessed it would take most weeks, if not months to be comfortable accepting courtship from a dragon. Even once they had, it still took most upwards of six months, if not longer, to solve the "riddle". To realize that the human emassary and the dragon were one in the same.

Harry had managed to cover that much ground in a week.

"What's next for you?" Charlie asked, making his question as broad as possible.

Charlie honeslty had no idea. His usual timeline was shot to hell, and there were too many agrivating factors in play for him to make a guess of any sort.

"I'm not sure," Harry said with a frown, shifting so that he could face Voldemort more easily. "I mean, I know long term we need to do something about whoever it was who locked us up. We had a next step planned in terms of finding that information, but..." Harry shrugged. "Things have changed a bit since the last time we discussed it."

Harry turned and faced Voldemort, looking at the beast with concern.

"What do you need?" Harry asked him, his voice low enough that Charlie had to strain to hear. "We've spent the last week running around doing what I want. I know it wasn't comfortable for you. What do you need?"

"You," Voldemort rumbled, burying his face in Harry's hair. "I need you, and that will always be true."

"You have me," Harry said simply. "What else?"

The only answer he got was a long, drawn out kiss that had all the Weasleys exchanging glances, eyebrows arched. If Charlie didn't know better, he would have thought Voldemort was trying to eat Harry. Fred and George both watched with wide eyes and mischievous expressions, but Charlie stared at the ceiling. There were lots of things he didn't need to know about the boy he considered a baby brother, and this was most certainly one of them. Even his interest in dragons and the idea of a human-dragon courtship taking place in front of him wasn't enough to overcome it. Not with the human and dragon in question.

At last the two parted, and Charlie turned his attention once again to the unusual pair.

"What do you need?" Harry asked again, face beet red and hair mussed, refusing to so much as glance towards the other side of the table.

"It's not safe," Voldemort said. "None of it was touched, but it's still not safe."

His eyes were ruby red, and his words were practically snarls. Charlie's knuckles were white as he grasped the table. If Voldemort lost control inside, the house, the shop, and all the surrounding buildings would be destroyed. As if they were made of straw. At that was only the beginning of the destruction he could cause.

"What isn't safe?" Harry asked, his voice steady. "Tell me, Tom. What isn't safe?"

"Everything," Voldemort answered. "None of it is safe."

His den, Charlie suddenly realized. Whoever it was who had enchanted the dragon had violated the sanctity of his den. If Charlie had to guess, the sorcerer had battled him and captured him there. There was no way Voldemort would ever feel safe there again.

Harry's confused expression made it clear he still had no idea what the issue was, but there was a familiar, stubborn set to his shoulders.

"What do we have to do?" Harry asked, reaching up to cup Tom's face in one of his hands. "What do we have to do to make it safe?"

Voldemort turned his head, hand snaking out faster than Charlie's eyes could track, wrapping around Harry's wrist before he turned and pressed his nose against it, breathing deeply.

"We have to make a new home," Voldemort said. "Together."

Harry smiled at him, and Charlie found himself struck by it. Harry loved Voldemort. Truly, he did. And Voldemort cared about him in turn.

"Together," Harry said. "I think I like the sound of that."