Chapter Text
The Burrow had never felt so peaceful. Snow drifted lazily past the windows, settling thick and white along the crooked roof and the bare orchard beyond. Inside, warmth wrapped around everything—golden firelight, floating candles, the steady clatter of pots and pans as Mrs. Weasley cooked far more food than was strictly necessary. The air smelled of cinnamon, roasted vegetables, and sugar. Harry sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, half-listening to the conversation around him. Ginny was home for Yule at last, relaxed and laughing in a way that still felt new after the war. Hermione sat nearby with a book she insisted was light reading, while Ron sprawled opposite Harry, boots too close to the fire and confidence fully restored now that life had slowed down. “So,” Ron said, smirking, “you gonna tell us which pro team’s trying to steal you, or are you enjoying keeping us in suspense?” Harry smiled faintly. “I didn’t say I was going to take any offers.” Ginny leaned over the arm of the chair. “But you were scouted. Multiple teams. Mum nearly cried.” Mrs. Weasley, knitting by the fire, sniffed proudly. “Well, of course they did.” Harry nodded, but his hand drifted—unconsciously—to the pocket of his jumper. The letter was still there. Heavy parchment. Ministry seal. He’d felt it the moment it arrived that morning, sharp and cold against his fingers. He hadn’t opened it. The war was over, Voldemort was gone, and yet anything stamped by the Ministry still made his stomach tighten. Draco noticed. He always did. Draco sat slightly apart, elegant even in the Burrow’s mismatched furniture, pretending to look bored while watching Harry far too closely. His eyes flicked to Harry’s pocket, then back to his face, pale brows drawing together. Later, Mrs. Weasley herded Hermione and Ginny toward the kitchen with brisk instructions about pudding and no arguments. The door closed behind them, leaving the sitting room quieter. Just Harry. Ron. Draco. “Well?” Ron said. “Quidditch or not?” Harry swallowed. “Actually… it’s not about that.” He pulled the letter from his pocket. The seal broke with a soft snap that sounded far too loud. Harry read it once. Then again. The words didn’t change. Ron leaned forward. “Harry?” Harry lowered the parchment slowly. “I’m engaged.” Ron froze. “You’re what?” Draco was already on his feet. “That’s not funny.” “I’m not joking.” Ron laughed weakly. “Okay, to who? Because unless you’ve secretly been courting—” Harry inhaled, then said the name. “Severus Snape.” The room went dead silent. Ron stared. “Professor Snape?” Draco swore under his breath. “He’s alive,” Harry added quickly, voice strained. “He survived the war. He’s been in recovery—warded, protected. The Ministry kept it quiet.” Draco snatched the letter from Harry’s hands and scanned it rapidly. His expression darkened with every line. “Magical marriage contract,” he said sharply. “Ancient statute. Emergency post-war binding.” Ron’s face drained of color. “They can’t just—he’s—he’s Snape.” Harry laughed, brittle. “Apparently they can. And he agreed.” That was the part that hurt the most. Draco looked up slowly. “Agreed?” Harry nodded. “Signed. Consent recorded. Binding effective immediately.” Ron ran a hand through his hair. “But—you don’t even—he hated you.” Harry’s gaze dropped to the fire. “I don’t know what he feels now.” Draco folded the letter carefully, anger simmering beneath his composure. “This wasn’t about feelings. It was about control. About stabilizing power after the war.” Harry’s jaw tightened. “I thought I was finally free.” “You were,” Draco said softly. “Until the Ministry decided otherwise.” Ron paced. “So what happens now?” Harry pictured sharp black eyes, a voice like silk and knives, a man who had died for the war and somehow lived. “I’m summoned after Yule,” Harry said. “Formal meeting. Binding review.” “With Snape,” Ron muttered. Harry nodded. “With my fiancé.” The word felt unreal. Outside, snow continued to fall—quiet, relentless—while inside the Burrow, warmth could no longer quite reach Harry’s bones.