Speak a Different Tongue

Chapter 6

“Don’t be absurd,” Voldemort said at once as he pulled open the microwave door. He placed the steaming plate of curry in front of Harry and got the other plate heating up. “The ritual we used is one of many rituals one can use for a marriage, but it doesn’t count as a marriage until the bond is registered with the Ministry.” Voldemort gave Harry a pointed look. “Do you see us travelling to the Ministry anytime soon to do so, Harry?”

Snorting, Harry shook his head, feeling at least somewhat appeased. The peaceful cloud that had engulfed his entire head up until that point seemed to retreat a little, making it easier to think. “So we’re just temporarily bonded?”

“Exactly as I told you we would be before we conducted the ritual,” Voldemort said with a bit of a tired sigh. His own plate was ready and he sat down opposite Harry while they both tucked into their curry.

Harry felt…different. Strange, even. The ritual had definitely done something to his perception of Voldemort, that much was obvious. But at the same time Harry found he couldn’t actually care about that, which was probably the ritual’s doing as well. Now that they were bonded, Harry was perfectly fine with that idea, which he knew should upset him much more than it actually did.

The curry was great, rich and spicy without being overpowering, and Harry enjoyed it much more than he’d been able to do the previous night, when his stomach had still been in knots. Had he really been so worried about having sex with Voldemort? How silly of him. The sex had been fantastic and Harry genuinely looked forwards to doing it again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wondered if the ritual made him think like this as well, but for the most part he really didn’t care.

He was bonded to Voldemort and they were going to fuck much more often and Harry was completely fine with that.

“We’ll prepare the blood wands,” Voldemort said after they had emptied their plates. Harry couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed even though he understood the urgency of finishing their temporary wands. Voldemort brought along a small knife and a first-aid kit and then sauntered towards the conservatory, Harry on his heels.

“Make a small cut on your arm,” Voldemort said as they were both seated side by side, rudimentary wands in their laps. “Like so.” Voldemort sliced the knife across his left forearm, creating a small cut that immediately started bleeding. “Now run the wand through the blood from top to bottom.” And Voldemort did exactly that. He dragged the rough piece of wood through the cut, coating it on all sides.

Harry picked up the knife and copied Voldemort’s actions. His cut was a little bigger, but Harry figured that was better than being too small. He dragged his own wand through his blood, wincing a bit at the stinging pain this caused. Soon enough the wood was coated in blotchy smears of blood and Harry glanced at Voldemort again.

With a small frown of concentration, Voldemort was taping a piece of folded gauze over his cut. Once he was done he gestured at Harry to hold out his bleeding arm and did the same for him, quickly dressing the wound.

“Thanks,” Harry whispered, and then turned the blood-soaked wand over in his hands. “Now what do we do?”

“Now we wait,” Voldemort said as he stared through the large windows at the bright sky outside. “I suspect it will take between two and three weeks for the wands to have soaked up enough power to be able to get us out of here.”