Chapter Text
Harry was five when he saw Lord Slytherin for the first time.
He had just learned about fairytales with their princes and he was easily convinced that Lord Slytherin had to be one. He was young and handsome, just like the pictures in the book his mother had shown him. He even looked the regal part as he left the study of Harry’s grandfather in the imposing formal robes of the Wizengamot.
Of course, Harry knew all about magic - he was a wizard! But with the sparkling eyes and the dishevelled hair that didn’t fit the rest of his appearance, Lord Slytherin looked like he swam in magic. Harry would swear up and down he could feel it curling protectively around him even though Lord Slytherin shouldn’t be able to see him behind the see-through mirror that Harry liked to use as a hiding place so his mother couldn’t force him to bed. Harry basked in the heavy magic as he wondered what it would be like if he could feel it every day.
Harry was fifteen when he saw Lord Slytherin again and had to think back on the fairytales of his childhood.
While he didn’t seem to have aged a single day over the years, Lord Slytherin didn’t remind him of the dashing prince anymore but a fierce dragon. His appearance was immaculate, his face cold and expressionless like a reptile - a quick wink to Harry’s father aside. But the magic felt as warm and heavy as he remembered it. He enjoyed as it, yet again, coiled protectively around him and Harry couldn’t imagine that any other magic would ever be worth experiencing.
Harry was also fifteen when he lay in bed and touched himself for the first time while his mind was filled with a man instead of girls.
Harry had just turned seventeen, as he went giddy to sleep and eventually dreamed of the hints that would lead him to his soulmate. And as vague as the soulmate dreams were supposed to be - Harry knew. He dreamed of a dragon who was also a prince, he felt warm and protected. Harry wouldn’t need to search for his soulmate, he already had found him years ago.
Harry was eighteen when he eventually claimed his soulmate.
The only definite way to discover if your intended was also your soulmate was through sex. Most people tried their best to not defile themselves by sleeping with someone who wasn’t their soulmate but with how old Lord Slytherin was, it was an open secret that he had had various ‘encounters’ throughout his life.
Even if he wanted to, Harry couldn’t fault him for it. He was just waiting for a year and his patience had already run thin to the point where he was ready to sneak into a party and seduce his soulmate no matter the rumour of him picking his partners solely above the age of twenty-five. It might have been because of the rumour that Harry decided to act prematurely, but honestly: waiting for seven more years? No, thank you.
They officially met at the annually held Malfoy Masquerade Ball. Harry had unashamedly blackmailed an invitation from Draco who courted their muggleborn friend Hermione without the knowledge of his conservative pureblooded family.
As the evening ran its course, and Harry did his best to be seen without looking like it was what he tried to do, his soulmate finally addressed him. They talked, while Lord Slytherin’s flute ran never out of champagne, just like Harry’s friend Dobby had promised him. They danced for hours before they withdrew from the party and danced for some more hours after they had been certain that they had found their soulmate in each other.
Harry was twenty-one when he fulfilled his dream.
Clad in traditional robes he stood with his soulmate before an officiant and spoke the ancient vows of the traditional soulmate bonding to join the halves of their soul, make it whole. Like on the day his soulmate had noticed him for the first time, they kissed and they danced. They celebrated with friends and family and a lot more people than Harry thought necessary but he had to put up with due to his soulmate’s standing in the Wizarding World.
Harry was twenty-one when his godfather stood up and let his glass clink to gain the attention of the wedding party. Sirius obviously was drunk already and while Remus tried to tug him down, it was to no avail.
“I want a toast on my lovely godson - so up with your fancy flutes, fellas!”
A wave of amusement ran through the assembled guests as all raised their champagne flutes to humour the drunk Black.
“To Harry! The most decent lad who ever lived and the most rebellious of us all!”
Sirius threw back his glass as the chorus of ‘To Harry’ sounded.
“I’m Sirius , James, one could think we did the dusty blood adopting with how much Harry comes after his old godfather. Braking with family traditions? Way more my style than yours! Hah, who would have thought that our sweet, little Harry would be the one to break a hoar Potter Tradition?" He laughed like the madman he often pretended to be. "The first Potter to fool around with Riddle but end up marrying him in how many generations is he anyway?”
Harry was twenty-one when he discovered the history his family seemed to have with his husband, his soulmate. Harry had never liked history.