Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 5
~ Narcissa Malfoy ~
It was Narcissa again who, days later, whispered of Greyback. Not directly, of course. She was far too subtle for that. She just let the information drift into conversation, a casual mention of the werewolf's increasingly savage raids in Wiltshire, his pack tearing through innocent villages, leaving a trail of blood and terror. She saw the tightening of Harry's jaw, the flicker of righteous fury in his eyes.
Harry's rage had been simmering for weeks, fueled by betrayal, by the unbearable magic swelling inside him, by the countless losses. The idea of Greyback tearing into innocents was the final spark that tipped him over the edge.
He didn't think. He acted. The raw power surged through him, an almost painful itch under his skin, demanding release. He snatched up his cloak and wand, a furious, determined glint in his eyes that promised swift, brutal retribution.
"Where are you going?" Narcissa asked, stepping out of the shadows of the hallway, her voice calm, yet carrying an undercurrent of worry for the man who had given her a new life.
She knew exactly where he was going. And she knew he would succeed. He was her new Lord, after all.
Yet, the thought of him going up against Greyback, sent a shiver down her spine.
"To stop him," Harry bit out, his jaw clenched, magic crackling around him, making his hair stand on end. "Before he hurts anyone else. Before he turns anyone else into a monster."
"Alone?" she questioned, a hint of steel in her tone. "That sounds rather Gryffindor of you, Lord Potter. And utterly foolish. You may be powerful, yes, but Greyback leads a pack. And he is a monster, even by their standards. Don't be careless, my Lord. Even the greatest warrior needs to choose his battles wisely."
"I don't care," Harry snarled, stalking towards the door, his hand already on the knob. "Someone has to. And clearly, the Ministry isn't doing anything useful. I'm not waiting for them to send a strongly worded letter."
Narcissa watched him go, his body almost out of the door before her mind decided to do something that should have been her duty as the lady of the house. Racing towards him before he slammed the door close, Narcissa grabbed onto his back, turning him around, his emerald colored eyes alive with momentary surprise, before she reached up and laid her lips on him.
She felt her Lord stiffen in her arms, his body going as rigid as a wizard under a dementor attack. But it disappeared as soon as it came, before she found herself engulfed by his frame, his lips moving against hers.
~ Harry Potter ~
Her lips were soft, warm, and absolutely perfect, tasting like some forbidden, exotic confection that sent his head spinning. For a split second, he was a gawking idiot, entirely too stunned to react. But then she deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing his lower lip, and any remaining doubts simply melted away.
The instant her tongue brushed his, his body took over, no questions asked. He kissed her back, hard, his hands instinctively finding her waist, pulling her flush against him.
The temperature in the room — and between them — spiked. Narcissa's hands slid from his face to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his perpetually messy hair. Harry groaned into her mouth, a fire igniting through his entire body.
Insane? Maybe.
Utterly fantastic? Definitely.
His own hands moved with a will of their own, one hooked on her waist, the other burying itself in those silky blonde locks.
She made a soft sound against his lips - part sigh, part moan - and Harry felt something deep in his chest respond to it. His heartbeat was racing, thundering in his ears, but somehow, impossibly, he could feel another heartbeat matching it perfectly. Narcissa's heartbeat, he realized dimly, beating in perfect synchronization with his own.
Breaking away from her lips, felt like the biggest sin he could commit in his life, but alas, he had a wild wolf to neuter.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, his gaze bore down into her grey eyes, looking back at him with a lust and intensity he hadn't seen before. Not with Cho. And not with Ginny either. Her chest heaved up and down in her silver robe, testing his control, making him wish he could stay for another few moments to finish what his new companion had so delicioulsy started, but at the end of the day, his hero complex won over his hormonal teenager side.
Giving her another peck, close to her lips, he whispered, "We'll finish this when I get back."
Narcissa, still breathless after the intense liplock with her Lord, simply nodded, not trusting her voice in that moment.
And with those parting words, Harry bolted out of his manor, ready to hunt.
~ Harry Potter ~
When Harry arrived in the dense woodlands of Wiltshire, the night was thick with a chilling fog that clung to the ancient trees like a shroud. The air was heavy with the scent of pine, damp earth, and something else. A metallic, musky smell that raised the hairs on his arms. A smell that he had become distinctly familiar with over the years.
Blood.
And something feral.
Harry couldn't believe his luck. He was under the impression that Greyback and his companions would be discreet in their crimes, to keep their monstrous nature away from the eyes of the public. But under Voldemort's reign, it seemed like notorious criminals did not fear anything anymore.
He heard the growls, the snarls, the desperate whimpers of terror before he saw them. Greyback's pack had cornered two witches, their forms indistinct in the mist, huddled against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. One, with hair that resembled moonlight, shielded the other, another who radiated a fierce, protective magic even as she sagged with exhaustion. He knew the girl. He had competed with her in his fourth year, the Champion of Beauxbatons.
Fleur Delacour.
Greyback, a hulking, terrifying silhouette against the swirling mist, his eyes glinting red, lunged, his fangs bared, a guttural roar ripping through the night. The sound was pure savagery, promising pain and desecration.
Harry's magic exploded. It wasn't neat or controlled, not like the spells he'd practiced endlessly in Grimmauld's training room. This was raw and violent, surging through him as if the very air itself obeyed his fury, a primal scream of power that erupted from his very core. Spells ripped from his wand like angry bolts of lightning, not precise curses, but wide, arcing blasts of pure magical force, untamed and devastating.
Trees splintered, showering splinters of bark and leaves like shrapnel. The ground beneath his feet cracked and groaned. The pack scattered, some falling down with sliced necks, some with necks snapped at odd angles, while others yelped in surprise and pain as the raw magic slammed into them, sending them howling into the shadows, their forms dissolving into the swirling mist.
"Get out of here!" Harry roared at the witches, not looking at them, his eyes fixed on Greyback. He was a whirlwind of motion, a storm against the encroaching darkness. He felt his magic, a raging river, pour through him, exhilarating and terrifying all at once. This was what he was made for.
Greyback, however, was made of sterner stuff. He roared, a challenge, his eyes burning with feral hatred, and charged Harry head-on, a blur of muscle and claw, ignoring his pack, dead and wounded alike. Harry met him, not with elegant dueling, but with a visceral, brutal exchange of power. Curses, dark and dangerous, tore from his wand, slamming into Greyback's tough hide, burning and scarring, tearing chunks of flesh from his monstrous form.
"Sectumsempra!" he screamed, the spell carving deep gashes into the werewolf's shoulder, drawing black, viscous blood. Uncontrolled explosions of magical power, ripped into the werewolf's flesh, sending him staggering back, howling in pain and fury. Greyback swiped, his claws leaving deep furrows in the earth where Harry had stood a moment before, the wind of his attack tearing at Harry's hair. Harry dodged, spun, and unleashed a torrent of fire, roaring as it engulfed the werewolf for a terrifying moment, the smell of burning fur and flesh filling the air.
"Incendio Maxima!" Harry bellowed, his voice raw, his eyes glowing green in the inferno. Greyback shrieked, a sound of agony and rage, thrashing in the flames. But the monster was resilient. He burst through the fire, singed and enraged, a living, snarling weapon, lunging for Harry's throat. Harry barely managed to parry with a banishing charm, his wand deflecting a claw that would have ended him, the force of the blow jarring his arm to the bone. He felt the primal thrill of the fight, the edge of death, pushing him harder, making his magic surge with renewed ferocity. He was an unstoppable force, his adrenaline in overdrive, and he was loving it.
"Confringo!" A powerful blast ripped through the air, hitting Greyback squarely in the chest, sending him flying back into a tree, which splintered and collapsed under the impact. The werewolf stumbled, but kept coming, a relentless nightmare. Harry grit his teeth. He was running on fumes, his reserves dangerously low, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't. Not when he was so close to finishing this bastard.
As Greyback prepared to lunge again, Harry decided to embrace his Gryfindorrish tendencies once more. Keeping his arm steady in front of him, he planted his foot deep into the ground, waiting for the feral monster to get close to him. This was the only way he could finish him. And if he missed, Harry would be dead. But if he couldn't even beat Greyback, what hope did he have against the man who controlled him.
Fangs out, his hulking body ready to crush him, Greyback surged from where Harry had banished him to, ready to sink his teeth into him and mangle his master's greatest enemy. As the werewolf charged, Harry waited, biding his time.
When the werewolf was barely a few feet away Harry made his move. With Greyback only a feet away now, Harry bent at his waist, leaning back and letting the werewolf's momentum carry him across, missing Harry's body.
That's when Harry let loose the biggest magical spell he had ever casted. With every last ounce of magic left in his body, the young lord casted a final Incendio Maxima, burning the werewolf alive.
He won. Barely. Greyback's body, smoking and charred, finally fell to the ground with a sickening thud, twitching once before lying still, a broken, defeated husk. But Harry staggered, blood running freely from a deep, ragged wound across his side, a parting gift from Greyback's claws, a searing pain that threatened to consume him. His head swam, the world tilting precariously. His magic felt like a drained well, leaving him hollow and aching, every nerve screaming in protest. Worth it.
For moments, Harry simply laid there, watching the remains of the monster that had tormented so many souls and destroyed the lives of so many children all over Britain.
The last thing he remembered before collapsing was Fleur's voice, fierce and desperate, calling his name, urging him, begging him, to hold on, her silvery hair a beacon in the swirling mist, her face a mask of terror and profound gratitude. Even through the pain, he noted, she was still stunning.
~ Harry Potter ~
When he awoke, it was to the gentle hum of healing charms and the comforting scent of herbs, not the damp earth and pine of the forest. His side ached, a dull throb rather than a searing pain, but the wound was already closing, the magic of the charms soothing his injured form. He blinked, pushing past the lingering haze of pain and exhaustion, to find himself in a familiar room. The Lord's chamber at Grimmauld Place.
Moving his head to the side, he spotted the woman who he remembered saving, along with her companion. Fleur Delacour was here with her... sister maybe, sitting by his bedside, their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of profound relief and awe, and something else entirely.
Fleur, her impossibly silver hair spilling over her shoulders like a literal waterfall of moonlight, looked weary but relieved, her usually proud posture softened by worry, making her look angelic. Her delicate features, were etched with concern, but now a soft, almost worshipful expression was settling in, her lips slightly parted in a silent invitation. Her figure, even beneath the simple robes, was undeniably captivating, all elegant, generous curves and grace, practically screaming out her Veela heritage. Her companion also shared the same features, another Veela, with fuller curves and a certain maturity in her eyes.
Narcissa, to Harry's surprise, had welcomed them smoothly, seamlessly. She'd offered food and accommodation, her usual cool demeanor perfectly intact, yet with a subtle warmth that was entirely new, almost a quiet, possessive pride. She had always known Harry was powerful, her son recounting tales of his school year confirmed it, but seeing it in person was a different experience. The man in front of her had not only taken on an entire pack of savage werewolves and lived, he had dealt a massive blow to Voldemort's forces by destroying a key piece. Greyback's stench would no longer be an issue for wizardkind.
"Ah, well, Sleeping Beauty," Fleur purred, her voice a soft, melodious hum, thick wiz a French accent, leaning forward so her cleavage successfully captured Harry's eyes, her own sparkling wiz relief and a blatant, 'ungry admiration. "You certainly know 'ow to make an entrance. Or razer, an exit. You gave us quite a scare, mon sauveur. I 'ad always known you were powerful, but zis? You sure know 'ow to impress a lady, Monsieur Potter."
Harry managed a weak grin. "Not bad for a 'little boy' then? It's good to see you again, Fleur. Is everyone alright though?"
Her companion nodded, her gaze warm, approving, and deeply appreciative. "Zank you, Lord Potter. We are both well. You saved our lives, and for zat, we are eternally grateful. What you did out zere… it was truly magnifique. A display of raw power I 'ave rarely witnessed, even amongst ze most ancient bloodlines." She paused, her eyes lingering on 'is face, tracing ze lines of exhaustion and strength. "You are a true 'ero, 'Arry Potter. And a formidable wizard indeed. Ze Veela within me… it recognizes your strength, your prowess. It… responds."
Narcissa stepped forward, a small, knowing smile on her lips, a tray with a steaming bowl of broth in her hands. "Indeed, he is, Apolline. But even the most formidable wizard needs sustenance to regain his strength. You look utterly drained, my Lord." She placed the tray on his lap, her fingers brushing his, a familiar, possessive gesture, a clear message in her touch. She cast a subtle glance at Fleur, a silent warning, a claiming that said 'he is mine to care for, Veela.'
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Please, just Harry. And thanks, Narcissa." He took a sip of the broth, feeling its warmth spread through him. Not bad for a Malfoy, he mused. Looking at the woman beside Fleur, Harry raised a question, "I apologise, but I am unfamiliar with your name. But looking at the similarities between you and Fleur, I am guessing you are her older sister. Maybe a cousin, perhaps?"
Fleur giggled softly, a delicate, tinkling sound that was practically designed to entice. " Zat is my mother, 'Arry."
Before 'Arry could even process zat piece of information, she leaned closer. Her eyes — a striking blue — practically devoured 'im, full of admiration and a very clear, very feminine, very… 'ungry interest. "You 'ave a way of inspiring devotion, 'Arry. I 'ave never seen such courage, such raw power. You are not like other men, mon cher. My magic... it just aches for you. It wants to be close to such power, to such a man. You are definitely not a leetle boy anymore."
Now, within the walls of the Black residence, a strange new council had formed. After losing his lifelong allies, Harry Potter had convinced himself that staying and fighting alone was the only option he had. But then his life had been uprooted by one surprise after another. The arrival of Narcissa Malfoy had made things interesting and he was sure they would grow even more complicated after they discussed what had transpired between them before he left to hunt Greyback. Now with the arrival of Fleur and her surprisingly young-looking mother, Appoline, things were changing even more. Fleur, her desire for him was as bare as the sun, practically salivated at the thought of being close to him.
If he were still a teenage boy in Hogwarts, he would lose his mind knowing that.
Harry, still weak but regaining his strength, looked at them, truly looked at them. Narcissa, who had once been his enemy, now offered him strategic advice and a strange, almost maternal, yet deeply sensual, care, her loyalty now firmly, unequivocally, his. Fleur and Apolline, whom he had barely known, now owed him their lives and stood ready to fight by his side, their admiration a palpable force in the room, their Veela magic throbbing just for him. It was an odd, unexpected company.
And for the first time in months, perhaps years, since Sirius and Dumbledore's death, since the constant pressure of Voldemort's return, Harry felt the stirrings of something he hadn't dared to acknowledge. Not hope, not yet. But something close. Possibility. A sliver of it, shining through the gloom. He wasn't entirely alone. Not anymore. He was starting to believe in the fact that maybe they had a chance to survive. A confident, almost arrogant glint returned to his eyes. Let Voldemort come. He had a new set of allies, and a renewed purpose. And a distinct feeling that life was about to get a lot more interesting.
Very interesting indeed.
Author's Notes
Hope you guys like this one. Going to have smut in the next chapter. Stay tuned for that. Do let me know who do you think deserves a chance to be with our hero.
See ya.
You know where to find more: p@tre*n.com/LuciferFF