Chapter 38: TauntChapter TextThe Burrow was quiet, save for the usual creaks of old wood settling in the night. Fred Weasley sprawled across his bed, one leg dangling off the edge, staring at the ceiling where a few faded glow-in-the-dark stars still clung from their childhood. George sat cross-legged on his own bed, flipping through a stack of parchment—order forms, cost estimates, and a crumpled note from Harry about his offer. The clock downstairs chimed midnight, but sleep wasn't even a flicker on their radar.
"A thousand Galleons," Fred said, breaking the silence for what felt like the hundredth time that week. "Reckon we'd be mad to turn it down."
George glanced up, tossing the parchment aside. "Mad, maybe. But it's still a chunk of our shop. Harry's a mate, though—can't see him meddling too much."
"True," Fred agreed, propping himself up on his elbows. "He's got bigger fish to fry these days. Bloke's been on a hunt lately. Brutal, but effective."
George grinned, leaning back against the headboard. "Yeah, Dumbledore's lot might clutch their wands over it, but I say good on him. Someone's got to hit back."
They'd been over this a hundred times in the past few weeks. The joke shop was their dream, their ticket out of the humdrum, but dreams didn't come cheap. The winnings from that dodgy bet with Bagman at the Quidditch World Cup would've been a decent start—except Bagman had paid them in leprechaun gold, and they'd been too naive to check it before it vanished. Then there was the Triwizard Tournament, a thousand Galleons ripe for the taking—except it'd picked Harry instead. Typical.
"Pulling pranks on Malfoy's been a laugh," George said, smirking at the memory of Draco Malfoy waltzing in with neon green hair that wouldn't wash out. "And the pay's not bad. But it's pocket change compared to what we need."
Fred nodded, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. "Harry's got the cash, though. With that kind of money, we could open a proper shop in Diagon Alley. Shelves stocked, fireworks popping off every hour, the works."
Fred opened his mouth to say more when a faint thud echoed from downstairs. He froze, locking eyes with George. Another sound followed—a soft scrape, like a chair being nudged across the kitchen floor.
"Reckon that's Gin raiding the biscuit tin again?" George whispered, already sliding off the bed.
Fred smirked, grabbing his wand. "If it is, she's gotten stealthier. Let's check it out."
They crept out of their room, barefoot and silent, years of sneaking around giving them an edge. The stairs groaned under their weight, but they knew which ones to skip. Down in the kitchen, the back door stood ajar, a sliver of moonlight spilling across the tiles. And there was Ginny—red hair messy, a rucksack slung over one shoulder, fumbling with the latch like she was two seconds from bolting.
"Oi, Gin!" Fred called, loud enough to make her jump. She spun around, her eyes wide, caught red-handed.
"Bloody hell, keep your voice down!" she hissed, clutching the rucksack tighter. "You'll wake Mum!"
George stepped forward, his wand glowing faintly as he lit the room. "Too late for that if you keep banging around. Where you off to at this hour?"
Ginny's jaw tightened, and she shifted her weight, looking twitchier than a cornered Kneazle. Her face was pale, dark circles under her eyes, and her hands wouldn't stop moving—fidgeting with the strap, tugging at her sleeve. She'd been off for days, snapping at everyone, pacing the house like she couldn't stand still. Now, seeing her geared up to run, it clicked. She wasn't just restless—she was desperate.
"Don't play dumb," she said, her voice low and sharp. "I'm going to Harry. He needs help, and I'm done sitting here."
Fred let out a low whistle, leaning against the counter. "Bold move, little sis. What's the plan—sneak out, join his crew, and hex Death Eaters till breakfast?"
"Something like that," she muttered, edging toward the door. "Now get out of my way."
George blocked her path, his arms crossed. "Hang on. Let's talk this out. You're not exactly in top sneaking form tonight—reckon Mum'd hear you before you hit the garden."
Ginny glared, but she didn't push past him. Her shoulders were tense, her breathing quick, like she was coiled up and ready to snap. Fred frowned, taking her in. She'd always been fierce, but this was different. She looked wired, almost frantic, like she hadn't slept in days and was running on pure adrenaline.
"Look," Fred said, dropping the teasing tone. "We get it. Harry's out there doing what needs doing. We're not blind—those dark lot deserve what's coming. But running off like this? That's not the answer."
"Why not?" she shot back, her voice rising before she caught herself and lowered it. "I should be with him, Fred. Dumbledore's turned on him, the Order's useless, and I'm stuck here pretending it's fine. I can fight. I can help him."
George nodded slowly, scratching his neck. "No one's saying you can't. But think about what this'd do to us. To Mum. She's already losing her mind over Harry—reckons he's gone full dark wizard, dragging everyone down with him."
Fred snorted, but it wasn't funny. "Yeah, last night she was ranting about how he's 'corrupting her babies' and 'leading a death squad.' If you take off to join him, she'll have a breakdown. Proper howling-in-the-kitchen, locking-us-all-in-the-shed breakdown."
Ginny's hands balled into fists, and she looked away, her jaw working. "She doesn't get it. None of them do. Harry's not the bad guy—he's fighting back. Dad's staying out of it all, our entire country and the people are in danger, and I'm supposed to do what? Just be a good little girl, stay at home, go to Hogwarts when it's time and write essays?"
The twins went quiet for a second. She wasn't wrong—things were grim. Harry's split with Dumbledore had torn everything apart. The Order wanted peace talks and second chances; Harry wanted blood, and honestly, Fred and George couldn't blame him. But Ginny bolting in the middle of the night wasn't going to fix it.
"Gin," George said, his voice softer now, "we're not picking sides here. Harry's our mate. His offer's got us thinking about jumping in too, in our own way. But running off like this—it'd rip the family apart. Mum's barely holding it together as it is."
"She'd get over it," Ginny muttered, but she didn't sound sure. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to them, and Fred could see the fight draining out of her, just a little.
"Would she?" Fred pressed, stepping closer. "You're her little girl. She's already lost Percy. If you disappear, she'll think she's lost you too. And us—she'd blame us for not stopping you. We'd be stuck here with her sobbing and hexing everything in sight."
Ginny huffed, dropping the rucksack to the floor with a thud. "So what? I'm just supposed to sit here and do nothing? Harry needs me."
"Needs you alive," George pointed out. "Not caught by Death Eaters halfway to wherever he's holed up. You don't even know where he is, do you?"
Ginny didn't answer, but her eyes widened. Now that she thought about it, she really couldn't recall where he was.
Realization dawned on her in an instant. Harry was under the Fidelius, and she didn't know the secret.
Frustrated, she just kicked at the bag, her agitation spiking again. Fred watched her—hair tangled, hands shaking, that wild look in her eyes. She was a mess, and not just from lack of sleep. It was like she was burning up from the inside, ready to claw her way out of her own skin to get to Harry.
"Blimey, Gin," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "You look like you're high on Amortentia and we're keeping you from your true love. Should we owl Harry a lock of your hair, let him know you're pining?"
Ginny's head snapped up, and she shoved him hard in the chest. "Shut up, you prat! This isn't funny!"
Fred stumbled back, laughing despite the sting. "Ow! Alright, touchy subject. Merlin, you're wound tight."
George grinned, stepping between them. "Easy, you two. No need to start a brawl in the kitchen. Mum'd hear that for sure."
Ginny glared at them both, but the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her. She sank onto a chair, rubbing her face with her hands. "You're idiots. Both of you."
"Guilty," Fred said, still chuckling as he rubbed his chest. "But we're your idiots. And we're not wrong—you running off isn't the play here."
She didn't argue, just stared at the floor, her restlessness simmering down to something quieter. The twins swapped a look. They'd talked her off the ledge, at least for tonight. Didn't mean she wouldn't try again, though.
"Tell you what," George said, nudging her rucksack with his foot. "Stash this for now. We'll figure something out—maybe even talk to Harry ourselves. That Galleon deal might get us all in the game, yeah?"
Ginny looked up, skeptical but not fighting it. "You're serious?"
"As serious as a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Fred said with a wink. "Now get back to bed before Mum catches us all and we're scrubbing pots till dawn."
She rolled her eyes but grabbed the bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "Fine. But this isn't over."
"Never is with you," George called as she trudged upstairs. The twins waited till her door clicked shut before heading back to their room. Maybe it was time to stop dithering and pick a side.
XXXXX
Ginny stomped up the stairs, each step accompanied by a muttered curse. Her fingers clenched the rucksack strap so tightly her knuckles were white. Blood hammered in her ears, drowning out the creaking floorboards beneath her feet. She should have known the twins would catch her—they had an uncanny knack for appearing at the worst possible moments.
She shoved her bedroom door open, ready to fling her rucksack into the corner and collapse onto her bed. Instead, she froze in the doorway.
Hermione sat cross-legged on the bed, dressed in her nightwear, a small bluebell flame dancing in a jar on the nightstand. She looked up from the book in her lap, her expression a mixture of concern and determination.
"Going somewhere?" Hermione asked quietly, closing her book.
Ginny shut the door behind her with a soft click, dropping her rucksack to the floor. "What are you doing awake?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Hermione said, nodding toward the bulging rucksack. "Though I think your packed bag answers my question."
"It's none of your business," Ginny snapped, kicking the bag under her bed. "Go back to sleep."
Hermione sighed, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "I heard you packing earlier. The Extendable Ear you thought you nicked last week? I found it under my pillow."
Ginny's face flushed hot with anger. "So you've been spying on me? That's rich, coming from someone who claims to care about right and wrong."
"I care about you not getting yourself killed," Hermione countered, her voice still measured but her eyes flashing. "Running off to find Harry in the middle of the night? With everything that's going on? Do you even know where he is?"
"I would have figured it out," Ginny hissed, pacing the small space between their beds. "And don't pretend you care about Harry anymore. You abandoned him. We all know which side you're on."
Hermione stood up so quickly the book tumbled from her lap. "I did not turn my back on Harry!" she said, her voice rising before she caught herself and lowered it to an urgent whisper. "I love Harry. He's my best friend. But what he's doing now—"
"Is what needs to be done," Ginny cut in, her own whisper fierce. "Death Eaters aren't going to stop because we ask nicely. They're killing people, Hermione. Actual people. And Harry's the only one with the guts to fight back the way they deserve."
Hermione's face paled in the dim light. "There's a difference between fighting back and becoming what you're fighting against. Harry's crossing lines, Ginny. The curses he's using, the people he's hurting—some of them haven't even been proven guilty!"
"Oh, that's convenient," Ginny sneered. "Let's wait for proof while more families get murdered. Let's give everyone a fair trial while they tear our world apart!"
Hermione took a deep breath, visibly trying to keep her composure. "Listen to yourself. This isn't you talking—it's fear and anger. I understand, believe me. But quitting school, running off to join what's essentially becoming a vigilante squad? That's not the answer."
"Then what is?" Ginny demanded, her voice breaking. "Sit in class while everything falls apart? Write essays about goblin rebellions while people are dying?"
"Your father talked to me, you know," Hermione said softly, changing tactics. "Last week, when you were helping your mum with dinner. He's worried sick about you—about all of you. He told me how your mother cries herself to sleep at night, terrified that she'll wake up to another empty bed."
Ginny looked away, her jaw clenched. "My mother thinks Harry's turned into some kind of monster. She doesn't understand what's happening."
"She understands perfectly well," Hermione insisted. "She lived through the first war, Ginny. She knows what it does to people—how it changes them. She's seen good people cross lines they can never uncross, all in the name of doing what's necessary."
Ginny sank onto her bed, suddenly exhausted. "So I'm just supposed to do nothing? Let Harry fight this alone?"
"He's not alone," Hermione said, sitting back down on her own bed. "And he's not the only one fighting. But there are different ways to fight, Ginny. Abandoning your education isn't going to help anyone in the long run."
"That's easy for you to say," Ginny muttered. "Always the perfect student."
Hermione's eyes flashed with hurt. "You think this is easy for me? Do you have any idea how it feels to watch your best friend turn into someone you don't even recognize anymore? To see the person you've loved and stood by for years start using spells that—" She broke off, shaking her head. "The Harry I know wouldn't kill someone if he could help it, even a Death Eater."
"The Harry you knew didn't get betrayed by someone he looked up to," Ginny shot back. "He didn't get hit by the killing curse for the second time and lived once again. He wasn't being hunted every minute of every day."
A heavy silence fell between them. The bluebell flame flickered, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, an owl hooted softly.
"I'm not saying Harry doesn't have reasons," Hermione finally said, her voice quieter now. "I'm saying that vengeance isn't justice, and crossing certain lines changes you in ways you can't undo. And I'm afraid by the time this war is over, there won't be enough of the Harry we love left to save."
Ginny stared at the ceiling, tears pricking at her eyes. "You don't know that. You don't know what he's going through."
"No," Hermione agreed. "I don't. But I know running off to join him now won't help either of you. If you really want to help Harry, be smart about it. Finish school. Learn everything you can. Be ready when the time comes—the right time."
Ginny didn't answer. Part of her knew Hermione made sense, but another part—the part that ached for Harry, that burned with the need to do something, anything—couldn't accept it.
"Your mother loves you," Hermione added softly. "Everything she does, every rule she enforces—it's because she's terrified of losing you. Can you blame her?"
"I'm not a child," Ginny said, the fight draining from her voice. "I can make my own choices."
"Yes, you can," Hermione agreed. "But choices have consequences, Ginny. Not just for you, but for everyone who cares about you."
They lapsed into silence again, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Neither willing to concede, both convinced they were right.
Finally, Ginny pulled back her covers and slid under them, still fully dressed. "I'm going to sleep," she announced flatly.
Hermione nodded, extinguishing the bluebell flame with a wave of her wand. "Goodnight," she said, her voice small in the darkness.
"Night," Ginny muttered, turning her back to Hermione.
She lay awake for a long time, eyes open in the darkness, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. Behind her, she could hear Hermione's breathing, too measured and even to be genuine sleep. They were both awake, both wrestling with the same war, but from opposite sides of an invisible line that seemed to grow wider by the day.
Outside, the night stretched on, and somewhere out there, Harry was fighting his own battles. Right or not, Hermione couldn't say anymore. But one thing was certain—the world was changing, and no amount of well-meaning lectures could hold back the tide. Sooner or later, everyone would have to choose a side.
Even if it tore them all apart.
XXXXX
Harry and Narcissa sat in the dim parlor of Grimmauld Place, the fire crackling low, casting a warm glow over the worn furniture.
Narcissa's fingers toyed with the stem of her wine glass, her sharp blue eyes flicking to Harry, who sprawled on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, looking way too relaxed for what they were about to do.
"You sure about this, Harry?" Narcissa asked, her voice low, a little hesitant, like she was testing the waters again. She leaned forward, her blonde hair catching the firelight, and her lips twitched with a mix of nerves and excitement. "I mean, it's pretty fucked up, right? What we're planning?"
Harry snorted, his green eyes glinting with something dark and reckless. He took a swig of his beer, the bottle sweating in his hand, and shook his head. "Fucked up? Maybe. But if anyone in the whole damn world deserves to have their nose rubbed in it, it's that piece of shit Lucius. He's earned every second of this, Cissa. Every fucking second."
She bit her lip, a slow smile spreading across her face, washing away the last of her doubts. "Yeah," she said, her voice steadier now, a wicked edge creeping in. "He's gonna lose his fucking mind when he sees us. I want him to choke on it."
Harry grinned, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, the bottle dangling between his fingers. "Oh, he will. We're gonna make sure of it. You and me, right in front of him, giving him the show of his miserable life. He's gonna hate every second, and we're gonna love it."
Narcissa laughed and set her glass down with a clink. She slid closer to him on the couch, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch. "You're so fucking into this, aren't you?" she teased, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You want him to see how much better you are, don't you?"
"Damn right I do," Harry said, his voice rough, his hand covering hers, pressing it harder against his leg. "He's gonna watch you fall apart for me, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. You're mine now, Cissa, and he's gonna fucking know it."
Her eyes darkened, her pupils blown wide, and she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Then let's do it," she murmured, her breath hot against his skin. "I've waited long enough. And Harry, please act like an asshole down there."
"Only if you act like a bitch yourself," he smirked, pulling back.
"Easy enough," she smirked back, running a finger down his cheek. His tongue darted out just as she passed his mouth, and she giggled when he gave it a lick.
They didn't waste any more time. They were up and moving, Narcissa's heels clicking as they descended the creaky stairs to the dungeons, Harry's hand brushing her lower back as he walked behind her. She gave him a saucy smirk over her shoulder, putting an extra sway to her hips.
They stopped in front of a rusted grate, behind which Lucius Malfoy sat slumped, a grotesque husk of the man he'd once been. His pale eye snapped up, narrowing at the sight of them, a guttural snarl ripping from his throat.
"Well, look who's awake," Narcissa said, her voice dripping with venom, her hands on her hips as she stared him down. "Look at you, Lucius," she purred, her tone dripping with venomous delight. "Pathetic. Broken. Nothing." She leaned closer to the bars, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "I'm here to show you just how much I fucking despise you."
Lucius' mangled hands gripped the bars, his knuckles white, a guttural snarl ripping from his throat. His eye burned with impotent fury, darting between Narcissa and Harry, who stood close, his green eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and mockery.
"Pathetic," Harry said, his voice low and taunting. "You're nothing now, Malfoy. Just a sad, broken fuck who's lost everything."
His hand slid to Narcissa's waist, pulling her flush against him, and she let out a low and wicked laugh, her gaze never leaving Lucius.
"Ready to watch, you miserable fuck?" Harry said, his voice rough, taunting. "Ready to watch what real desire looks like? Because we're just getting started."
Lucius slammed a fist against the bars, the sound ringing out, but Narcissa only laughed louder. She turned to Harry, her hands sliding up his chest, and her fingers curling into his shirt.
"Let's give him something to scream about," she said, her voice thick with anticipation.
Their lips crashed together, hungry and fierce, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate kiss. Harry groaned into her mouth, his hands roaming her back, gripping her hips, pulling her tighter. Narcissa's fingers knotted in his hair, tugging hard, and she bit his lower lip, drawing a low growl from him. The wet sounds of their kiss filled the dungeon, amplified by the stone walls, a middle finger for the seething wreck of a man in the cell.
Lucius' ragged breathing grew louder, his scarred face twisting with rage. He pounded the bars again, a strangled roar escaping his throat, but Harry and Narcissa didn't even glance his way. They were lost in each other, their mouths moving frantically, their hands greedy. Narcissa's nails raked down Harry's neck, leaving faint red lines, and he hissed, breaking the kiss to nip at her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. She tilted her head back, moaning softly, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Fuck, Harry," she gasped, loud enough for Lucius to hear every syllable. "You're so much better than he ever was."
Harry grinned against her skin, his hands sliding under her blouse, fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach.
He yanked the fabric up, tearing a button loose in his haste, and tossed it aside, leaving her in a black lace bra that barely contained her. Narcissa's hands were just as eager, clawing at his shirt, ripping it open, buttons scattering across the floor. She ran her nails down his chest, leaving faint red lines over his scars, and Harry hissed, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the lace.
Lucius' mind was a fucking inferno—Filthy traitor! Whore! I'll tear you both apart!—but his tongueless screams were just noise, drowned out by Narcissa's low moan as Harry unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the ground.
Her skin gleamed in the torchlight, and Harry's eyes darkened as he took her in. Her breasts were perfect, pale and full, and Harry didn't waste a second, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She arched into his touch, a sharp moan spilling from her lips as his mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. Narcissa's head fell back, her fingers digging into his shoulders, a sharp cry spilling from her lips.
"Harry, yes," she gasped, her voice echoing, her eyes flicking to Lucius, whose scarred face was purple with rage, his only remaining eye bulging like it might pop out. "You see this, you fucking loser? This is what you'll never have again."
Harry grinned against her skin, switching to her other breast, his teeth grazing lightly, making her squirm.
"Think he's enjoying the view?" he asked, his voice muffled, his hands sliding down her sides, fingers working the zipper of her skirt. The fabric hit the floor, leaving her in just a scrap of black lace panties, and Harry's fingers hooked into the waistband, tugging them down inch by inch, dragging it out to make Lucius suffer.
Narcissa stepped out of them, kicking them toward the cell, where they landed just out of reach.
Lucius' eyes bulged, his mangled face contorting further, a guttural scream tearing from his throat. His hands clawed at the bars, nails scraping metal, but the wards held firm, trapping him in his helpless fury.
Narcissa's laugh, high and mocking, cut through it as she grabbed Harry's face and kissed him again, her tongue plunging into his mouth, her body pressing against his.
Harry's hands were everywhere, sliding down her sides, gripping her ass, pulling her so close their hips ground together.
"Holy shit, you're fucking gorgeous," she said, her voice loud and taunting, her eyes flicking to Lucius for a split second, savoring his tortured expression. Harry smirked, catching her drift, and spun her around so her back was to the bars, her body on full display for the cell's occupant.
"Think he's enjoying the show?" Harry asked, his voice dripping with mockery as he kissed down her neck.
"I wanna see him fucking cry," Narcissa said, her voice husky, her hands already undoing Harry's belt. She shoved his jeans down, along with his boxers, and Harry kicked them aside, standing naked and hard. Narcissa's eyes raked over him, a hungry smile spreading across her face. She wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking slowly, her thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the bead of precum
Harry groaned, his head tipping back, hands gripping her hips to steady himself.
"Fuck, Cissa," he muttered, his voice rough, "you're gonna kill me."
"Not yet," she teased, dropping to her knees in front of him. She looked up, locking eyes with him, then flicked her gaze to Lucius, whose ragged breathing filled the dungeon. "Watch this, you piece of shit," she said, her voice cold and sharp, before taking Harry into her mouth, her lips stretching around him, her tongue swirling along the underside.
Harry's hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling in the blonde strands as she worked him, her tongue swirling, lips sliding along his length. He groaned, loud and unrestrained, his hips rocking slightly as she sucked him deeper, her throat tightening around him. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth echoed off the walls, and Narcissa played it up, moaning around him, her hands gripping his thighs. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, but he forced them open, glancing at Lucius, whose face was a mask of pure, unfiltered rage. The man's scarred fists pounded the bars, his mutilated body trembling with fury.
"Damn Cissa, you're so fucking good at this," Harry panted, his voice breaking as Narcissa took him deeper, her throat tightening around him. His hands tightened in her hair as she bobbed faster, her tongue flicking over the tip every time she pulled back. She hummed around him, the vibration making him curse, his hips jerking as she pushed him closer to the edge.
She pulled back with a wet pop, her lips glistening, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock, and she grinned up at him wickedly.
"Better than anything he could ever dream of," she said, loud enough for Lucius to hear, her eyes flicking to him, whose mutilated face was wet with tears of rage.
She smirked before diving back in, her movements faster, more desperate, and her hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach.
Harry's groans grew louder, his hands tightening in her hair, and he muttered a string of curses, his hips jerking as she pushed him closer to the edge.
Lucius' mind was a cauldron of poison—Disgusting! Traitorous slut! I'll fucking kill you!—but his tongueless screams were nothing but noise, drowned out by the sounds of Narcissa's mouth, the wet slap of her hand, and Harry's ragged moans. She pulled off with a wet pop, standing to kiss Harry again, her tongue plunging into his mouth, her hands roaming his body, and her nails scraping down his back.
Harry's hands slid between her legs, fingers finding her slick and ready, and she gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking against his hand as he slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right.
"Fuck, you're so wet," Harry said, his voice low and filthy, his fingers moving faster, curling inside her. Narcissa moaned, loud and shameless, her head falling back as she rode his hand, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
"All for you," she gasped, her voice trembling, her eyes flicking to Lucius, whose scarred face was purple with rage, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "Not for that fucking asshole in there."
Harry grinned, pulling his fingers free and licking them clean, his eyes locked on hers. "Let's make him really suffer, then," he said, grabbing her hips and lifting her. Narcissa wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck, and he pressed her against the cold stone wall beside the cell, the bars just inches away. Lucius' screams grew louder, more frantic, as Harry positioned himself, the tip of his cock brushing against her entrance, teasing her.
"Do it," Narcissa whispered, her voice trembling with need, her nails digging into his back. "I've waited long enough! Fuck me, Harry! Right in front of him!"
Harry didn't need to be told twice. He thrust into her, hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt, and Narcissa cried out, her head slamming back against the wall, her body arching into him. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the dungeon, raw and unrestrained, and Harry set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against hers, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. Narcissa's moans were loud and fully exaggerated, each one a dagger aimed at Lucius' heart. She clung to Harry, her legs tightening around him, her nails leaving red trails down his back.
"Oh, yes," she gasped, her voice breaking as Harry fucked her harder, his hands gripping her thighs, holding her in place. "You're so fucking good, Harry. So much better than him."
Her hips rocked to meet every thrust, her body trembling as he fucked her senseless.
Harry growled, his lips crashing against hers, their kiss sloppy and desperate as he pounded into her. "You feel fucking incredible," he said against her mouth, his voice rough, his hands sliding up to grip her ass, pulling her closer. "Let him see how much you fucking love this."
Narcissa let out a wild and breathless laugh, her eyes flicking to Lucius, whose scarred hands were clawing at the bars, his mutilated face a mask of agony and rage. "Look at him," she panted, her voice dripping with mockery. "He's fucking dying in there, and I fucking love it."
Lucius' mind was a screaming void stuck in the same place—I'll kill you! I'll rip you apart! You're nothing without me!—but his tongueless roars were pathetic, drowned out by the wet slap of Harry's hips against Narcissa's, her sharp cries, and his low groans.
Harry shifted, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wider, and Narcissa screamed, her body shaking as he hit deeper, his cock dragging against her g-spot with every thrust.
"Fuck, right there," she gasped, her voice raw, her hips rocking against him wildly, meeting every thrust. "Don't stop, Harry, don't fucking stop."
"Not stopping," Harry grunted, his pace relentless, his hands bruising her hips as he drove into her. The dungeon was an obscene symphony of their pleasure, the wet slap of skin, their ragged moans, Narcissa's sharp cries as she climbed higher. Lucius' muffled screams were background noise, a pathetic counterpoint to their ecstasy.
Narcissa's hands slid down Harry's chest, nails scraping over his nipples, and he hissed, his thrusts growing erratic, his control slipping as she clenched around him, her body tightening like a vice.
"You're gonna make me come," she panted, her voice trembling, her body tightening around him as she climbed higher, her clit grinding against his pelvis with every thrust. "Fuck, Harry, make me come in front of him."
Harry's hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast and rough, and Narcissa's moans turned to screams, her body shaking as she neared the edge. "Come for me, Cissa," he growled, his voice low and commanding, his cock slamming into her, his fingers relentless. "Show him what he'll never fucking have."
That was all it took. Narcissa's orgasm hit like a tidal wave, her body convulsing, her scream echoing off the stone walls as she came, hard and unrelenting, her walls pulsing around him, and her nails drawing blood from Harry's shoulders. Harry groaned, his own release crashing through him, his thrusts stuttering as he spilled inside her, his cock twitching with every pulse, his hands gripping her tight, holding her through the aftershocks.
They stayed like that for a moment, panting, sweat-slick and trembling, their bodies pressed together, and the dungeon silent except for Lucius' ragged, broken sobs. Narcissa's eyes fluttered open, and she looked at the cell, where Lucius sat slumped, his scarred face wet with tears of rage, his hands limp against the bars and his eye full of defeat.
"Fucking pathetic," she said, her voice soft but venomous, as she slid down from Harry's arms, her legs shaky but her smile triumphant. Harry pulled her close, kissing her deeply, their tongues tangling, and their bodies still buzzing with the high of their release.
"Think he learned his lesson?" Harry asked, his voice rough, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced at the broken man in the cell.
Narcissa let out a cold and cruel laugh, her hand sliding down Harry's chest, her fingers brushing his cock slick with their combined juices. "Not yet," she said, her eyes glinting with malice. "But we've got all the time in the world to keep teaching him."
They dressed slowly, their hands lingering on each other, their laughter echoing in the dungeon as Lucius' tortured sobs faded into the dark. The torches flickered, casting long shadows, and the wards hummed, sealing the cell tight.
Lucius' mind churned with impotent rage, but his body was spent, broken, a prisoner to his own helplessness. Harry and Narcissa left the dungeon hand in hand, their steps light, their voices low and intimate, leaving the wreck of a man behind to rot in his misery.
Chapter 39: DenialChapter TextThe morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of 12 Grimmauld Place, casting long shadows across the room where Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector lay unconscious on the beds. Harry sat in the armchair nearby, nursing his second cup of coffee as he watched over them. Nat had been checking on them periodically throughout the night, and each time she'd assured him they were stable.
The house was quieter than usual this morning. Fleur and Nym had left early to coordinate with some of their possible allies, and Amelia was at the Ministry, continuing their careful manipulation of Fudge's policies.
"Any change?" Daphne asked softly as she entered the room, carrying a tray with breakfast.
"Not yet," Harry replied, accepting the plate she offered. "But Nat said they should wake up soon."
Daphne settled into the chair beside him, her own plate balanced on her lap. "You've been here all night."
"Someone should be here when they wake up, and Nat's exhausted after the all-nighters she's pulled," Harry said. "They'll be disoriented, probably scared."
"You can't save everyone, Harry," Daphne said gently.
"I can try," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Besides, after what they went through..."
As if summoned by their conversation, Aurora's eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times, disoriented, before her gaze focused on the unfamiliar ceiling above her.
"Where..." she began weakly, her voice hoarse and scratchy.
"You're safe," Harry said immediately, setting down his plate and moving closer. "Do you remember what happened?"
Aurora's eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. Her breathing quickened and she tried to sit up abruptly, only to wince and fall back against the pillows with a pained gasp.
"Easy," Daphne said soothingly, moving to Aurora's other side. "You're still recovering."
"Greyback," Aurora whispered, her face going pale as paper. "The attack... oh Merlin, Septima!" Her head turned frantically toward the other bed, relief flooding her features when she saw her friend's chest rising and falling steadily.
"She's right here," Harry assured her. "She's alive. You both are."
At the sound of voices, Septima began to stir as well. Her awakening was more gradual, a slow flutter of eyelashes and a soft groan before her eyes opened properly. When she saw Aurora awake and alert, relief flooded her features.
"Aurora," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank Merlin you're alive. I thought... when I..."
"I'm here," Aurora said, reaching across the space between their beds to grasp Septima's hand. "We're both here."
"How do you feel?" Daphne asked gently, approaching both beds with glasses of water. "You've been unconscious for almost two days."
"Like I've been hit by a Bludger," Aurora admitted, accepting the water gratefully. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted the glass to her lips. "And... wrong. Something feels wrong."
Septima nodded slowly, her analytical mind already trying to catalog the strange sensations in her body. "I feel it too. Like there's something crawling under my skin. And this... metallic taste in my mouth."
Harry exchanged a glance with Daphne. This was expected, according to Nat, but it didn't make it any easier to watch.
"That's normal," he said carefully. "You were both hit with a very dark curse. The physical effects have been healed, but there might be some lingering... sensations. They should fade over the next day or two."
"What kind of curse?" Septima asked, her academic curiosity overriding her discomfort. "I've never felt anything like this before."
Before Harry could answer, Bathsheda hurried into the room, her face lighting up when she saw her friends awake. She looked much better than she had two nights before – she'd slept in a proper bed, changed into clean robes, and the color had returned to her cheeks.
"Oh, thank goodness," she said, tears already forming in her eyes. "I was so worried. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?"
"Bath," Aurora said weakly, but with genuine affection. "Slow down. We're okay."
"You're not okay," Bathsheda said firmly, pulling up chairs for herself and settling between their beds. "You were dying. Both of you. The curse was spreading through your bodies like poison."
"Confused," Aurora admitted, looking between Bathsheda and Harry. "And grateful to be alive. Bath, what happened after we were hit? I remember the pain, and then... darkness."
"After you were both cursed?" Bathsheda took a shaky breath, the memories still fresh and traumatic. "The werewolves were closing in. I was trying to shield you both and heal you at the same time, but nothing I did was working. The curse kept spreading, and I thought... I really thought I was going to lose you both."
Septima squeezed Aurora's hand tighter. "But we're here. So what changed?"
"Mr. Potter and his friends arrived just in time," Bathsheda said, gesturing toward Harry. "They drove off the werewolves and... well, they saved your lives."
"Mr. Potter?" Aurora looked at Harry with new interest, really seeing him for the first time. "Harry Potter?"
"Just Harry," he said with a slight smile. "And I had help. Fleur and Daphne were brilliant in the fight. So was Amelia."
Aurora struggled to sit up again, this time more successfully with Daphne's help. "I remember the pain," she said quietly, her voice distant as she recalled the experience. "It felt like my blood was turning to poison. Like acid in my veins. How did you stop it?"
Harry hesitated. This was the difficult part. "I had to access some memories that aren't exactly pleasant. Voldemort's memories. I saw how the curse was cast and found the counter."
Both professors stared at him in shock, their faces going white.
"You can access You-Know-Who's memories?" Septima asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How is that possible?"
"It's complicated," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "But yes. I usually avoid it but when I'm under stress or when I really need the information… yeah."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Aurora and Septima exchanged worried glances, both clearly disturbed by this revelation.
"That's... terrifying," Aurora said finally. "For you, I mean. That must be horrible."
"It is," Harry admitted, his voice heavy. "His memories are full of torture, murder, cruelty. Every time I access them, I feel like I need a dozen showers and a memory charm. But it saved your lives, so it was worth it."
"The counter-curse," Septima said, her academic mind focusing on the mechanics. "Was it complex?"
"Very," Harry replied. "It required precise wand movements and the exact incantation, spoken with a specific intent. If I'd gotten any part of it wrong..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but they all understood.
At that moment, Nat entered the room carrying a tray of potions. Her presence immediately commanded attention – there was something otherworldly about her that both professors noticed immediately. Her silver hair seemed to shimmer with its own light, and her movements had a fluid grace that spoke of something beyond human.
"Good, you're both awake," she said warmly, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "How are you feeling?"
"Who are you?" Aurora asked politely, though her tone held curiosity about Nat's obvious non-human nature.
"This is Nat," Harry said, and something in his voice – a warmth, a fondness – made both professors take notice. "She's our healer. She's the one who completely removed the curse from your systems."
Nat approached Aurora's bed first, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. Her touch was cool and soothing. "Any nausea? Dizziness? Visual disturbances?"
"A little of both," Aurora admitted. "And this strange... crawling sensation. Like insects under my skin."
"That's expected," Nat explained, moving to check Septima as well. Her examination was thorough but gentle, her hands glowing with a soft silver light as she assessed their conditions. "Werewolf-inflicted wounds, even when healed, can leave lingering effects. The sensation should fade over the next day or two."
"Werewolf-inflicted?" Septima paled further. "Are we...? Please tell me we're not..."
"No," Nat said firmly, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "You weren't bitten. The lycanthropy curse requires direct transmission through saliva or blood contact with an open wound. The dark curse was the real danger, and that's been completely removed. You might feel weak for a few days, but you'll make full recoveries."
Both professors visibly relaxed at this news, tension leaving their shoulders.
"However," Nat continued, "I need you both to drink these." She handed them each a vial of purple potion that seemed to swirl with its own inner light. "It will help with the residual effects and speed your recovery. Fair warning – it tastes absolutely terrible."
As they drank the potions, making faces at the bitter, medicinal taste, Bathsheda cleared her throat.
"There's something else we need to discuss," she said carefully, glancing at Harry. "About where you are and who these people are."
Aurora and Septima looked around the room with new curiosity, taking in the elegant but clearly lived-in space. The furnishings were expensive but comfortable, and there were personal touches everywhere – books, photographs, small magical devices.
"This is more than just a safe house, isn't it?" Septima observed, her sharp mind already putting pieces together.
"Much more," Harry said, settling back in his chair. "This is the headquarters for our operations against Voldemort and his forces."
"Operations?" Aurora frowned, setting down her empty potion vial. "What kind of operations?"
Harry exchanged glances with Daphne and Nat before continuing. "We're actively fighting against Voldemort's forces. Not just defending – attacking. We've been hunting down Death Eaters, disrupting their operations, protecting people they target."
"That sounds incredibly dangerous," Septima said cautiously. "And possibly illegal."
"It is dangerous," Daphne agreed. "But it's necessary."
"We also have people working within the Ministry," Harry continued. "Minister Fudge is... let's say he's very receptive to our suggestions now."
Aurora's eyes widened in alarm. "You've compromised the Minister? How?"
"We've made him see reason," Harry said diplomatically. "He was being manipulated by Lucius Malfoy and other Death Eater sympathizers, led around by the nose while people suffered. Now he listens to better advisors."
"Such as?"
"Amelia Bones, for one," Daphne said. "She's been feeding him accurate information and sound policy recommendations. Policies that actually protect people instead of protecting political careers."
"And Dumbledore?" Septima asked. "Surely they are doing something useful?"
Harry's expression darkened. "Is doing nothing useful," he said, his tone hardening. "Dumbledore wants to play defense. Wait for Voldemort to make the first move, react instead of act. His pacifist approach is getting people killed."
"So you're opposing him too?" Aurora asked, clearly shocked by this revelation.
"We're opposing his methods," Daphne clarified. "He means well, I'm sure, but his refusal to take decisive action puts innocent people at risk. Like what happened to you yesterday."
Bathsheda leaned forward. "That's actually something I wanted to talk to you both about. What I've learned since being here."
"What do you mean?" Septima asked, though something in Bathsheda's tone made her wary.
Bathsheda took a deep breath, clearly gathering her courage. "This group isn't just some ragtag bunch of vigilantes. They're organized, well-funded, and incredibly effective. They've saved dozens of lives, eliminated multiple Death Eater cells, and they're actually winning this war."
"But?" Aurora prompted, sensing there was more to the story.
"But it's not just their methods that are... unconventional," Bathsheda said carefully. She glanced at Harry, who nodded for her to continue. "The structure of this group is... unique."
"Unique how?" Septima asked, though the way everyone was looking at each other made her increasingly nervous.
Bathsheda seemed to struggle with the words. "Mr. Potter here isn't just the leader," she said slowly. "He's... well, all the women here are his lovers."
The silence that followed was deafening. Aurora and Septima stared at Bathsheda, then at Harry, then back at Bathsheda, their expressions cycling through disbelief and shock.
"All of them?" Aurora asked faintly, her voice barely audible.
"All of them," Bathsheda confirmed. "Miss Greengrass, Miss Delacour from the tournament last year, even the older women like Amelia Bones, Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks, Evelyn Greengrass... and Nat."
Septima's jaw went slack. "That's... that's not possible. Some of those women are twice his age! Amelia Bones has a career, a reputation..."
"Everyone here is of age," Harry said quietly, his voice carefully controlled. "And yes, I know how it sounds. I know how it looks. But it's not what you think."
"Then what is it?" Aurora demanded, her voice sharp with shock. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've collected a harem of powerful witches."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, clearly struggling with how to explain something that he himself didn't fully understand. "There's something about me," he said finally. "Something that happens when I save someone, or when they help me significantly. A bond forms. It's not something I control, and it's not something I intended."
"A bond?" Septima's academic mind immediately focused on the magical implications, even as her emotions reeled. "What kind of bond? Magical bonds don't just happen without cause."
"Magical," Harry said simply. "It starts as gratitude, as loyalty, but it... grows. Into something deeper."
"That's impossible," Septima said flatly. "Bonds like that don't just happen naturally. They require specific conditions, usually trauma or life-debt situations, and even then they need—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as understanding dawned on her. "You performed a ritual."
Harry nodded slowly. "I did. It was meant to ensure I had unshakeable allies in this war. I didn't fully understand the consequences at the time."
"The consequences being that every woman you save falls in love with you?" Septima asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
"Not love," Daphne interjected, moving closer to Harry's chair. "Not at first. It starts as loyalty, as Bath said. But the bond... it creates the potential for something deeper. It doesn't force anyone to feel anything they don't want to feel."
"That's a distinction without a difference," Aurora said, struggling to sit up straighter despite her weakness. "You've magically influenced these women's emotions."
"That's not correct," Nat said firmly, speaking for the first time since the revelation. "And I'll thank you not to cheapen the experiences of actual victims who are magically influenced by comparing them to this."
"Then explain it to me," Aurora said, her voice challenging. "Explain how magical influence on emotions is different from coercion."
Nat moved to stand beside Harry's chair, her hand resting on his shoulder in a gesture that was clearly protective. "Because the bond doesn't create feelings that weren't already there. It just... reveals them. Amplifies what's natural."
"We know how it sounds," Harry said. "We know how wrong it looks from the outside. But everyone here chose to stay. Everyone here is happy."
"Happy?" Septima chuckled mirthlessly. "How can they be happy when their emotions have been manipulated? How can you call it choice when magic is involved?"
"Because we weren't manipulated," Nat said firmly. "The bond doesn't work like that. It doesn't change who you are or what you want. It just makes it impossible to ignore connections that were already there."
"That's what someone under magical influence would say," Aurora pointed out.
"Is it?" a new voice asked from the doorway. Andromeda Tonks had entered the room, followed by Narcissa Malfoy and Evelyn Greengrass. All three women looked serene and confident, showing no signs of magical coercion or unhappiness. "What's so weird about it?"
"This whole situation," Aurora said, gesturing broadly at the room and its occupants. "About all of you sharing one man like some sort of medieval arrangement."
Narcissa raised an eyebrow elegantly. "And why is that medieval? In many cultures, powerful men have multiple wives. In the magical world, bonds of loyalty and affection take many forms. The Blacks, for instance, have a long history of unconventional relationship structures."
"This is different," Septima protested. "This was caused by magic. By a ritual."
"So is the marriage bond," Evelyn pointed out mildly, settling into one of the chairs. "So are love potions, though we'd never use those. Magic influences emotion all the time. The question is whether it's consensual and whether it brings happiness."
"And does it?" Aurora asked challengingly, her eyes moving from woman to woman. "Are you all truly happy living like this? Sharing him?"
"Happier than I've ever been," Evelyn said without hesitation. "Harry saved me and my daughters, and gave me a purpose beyond just surviving this war. The bond that formed was just... a bonus."
"He saved all our lives in one way or another," Narcissa added, her usual haughty demeanor softened by genuine warmth. "And yes, we're happy. We're valued, we're cherished, and we're fighting for something worthwhile."
"But surely you must feel jealous," Septima pressed. "Possessive. That's human nature."
"Sometimes," Evelyn admitted honestly. "But we've learned to work through those feelings. And the bond... it helps. It makes it easier to share, to put the group's needs above individual desires."
Aurora and Septima looked unconvinced, clearly struggling with the revelations.
"Look," Harry said, standing up from his chair. "I know this is a lot to process. I know it sounds wrong, and maybe it is wrong. But it's the reality we're living with, and everyone here has chosen to stay."
"Chosen under magical influence," Septima pointed out again.
"The same magical influence you're both feeling right now," Bathsheda said quietly.
Both professors froze, their faces going white.
"What?" Aurora whispered, her voice barely audible.
"You've been saved by Harry," Bathsheda explained gently, though her voice was filled with sympathy. "Your lives were in his hands, and he chose to risk accessing Voldemort's memories to save you. The bond is already forming."
"No," Septima said firmly, her voice rising. "No, I won't accept that. I refuse."
"It's not something you can refuse," Nat said softly, her voice filled with understanding. "It's already begun. You can fight it, certainly, but it's there."
Aurora was staring at Harry with a mixture of horror and something else – something that might have been attraction, which made her even more horrified. "This is monstrous," she said, her voice shaking. "You're collecting women like trophies."
"That's not fair," Daphne said sharply, moving to Harry's other side. "Harry didn't ask for this any more than you did. He's dealing with the consequences of a ritual he performed when he was desperate and didn't fully understand."
"A ritual he chose to perform," Aurora shot back.
"To save lives," Harry said, his voice quiet but firm. "I was betrayed by someone I trusted above anyone else, and I was watching people die while the adults did nothing. I was desperate."
"And now we're supposed to just accept it?" Septima demanded, struggling to sit up despite her weakness. "Just give in to some magical compulsion?"
"You're supposed to make your own choice," Harry said quietly. "The bond doesn't force you to do anything. It creates... potential. But what you do with that potential is up to you."
"And if we choose to leave?" Aurora asked, her voice challenging.
"Then you leave," Harry said simply. "No one will stop you. No one will try to convince you to stay against your will."
"But the bond will remain," Nat added gently. "You'll always feel a connection to Harry. It will be... uncomfortable... to be separated from him for long periods."
"So we're trapped," Aurora said bitterly.
"You're connected," Andromeda corrected. "There's a difference."
"You knew this would happen, didn't you?" Septima asked Harry with a frown. "That this bond will form between us."
"Yes, I did," Harry said, seeing no reason to lie.
"And yet you did this."
"I couldn't just let you die," Harry replied, frowning. "And I won't apologize for doing the right thing, even if you don't like the results."
Aurora and Septima exchanged glances, both clearly shaken by these revelations. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as they processed what they'd learned.
"We need time to think," Aurora said finally, her voice exhausted.
"Of course," Harry said immediately. "Take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay here while you recover, and if you decide to leave, we'll make sure you have somewhere safe to go."
"What about our original plan?" Septima asked Bathsheda, her voice almost pleading. "We were going to leave Britain entirely. Get away from all this war and violence."
"You still can," Bathsheda said gently. "But... well, I've decided to stay."
Both professors stared at her in shock, their expressions betraying feelings of abandonment and betrayal.
"Bath, no," Aurora said, her voice filled with desperation. "You can't be serious."
"I am," Bathsheda said firmly, though her voice was gentle. "What I've seen here, what they're accomplishing... it matters. They're making a real difference. And yes, the bond is there for me too, but that's not why I'm staying."
"Then why?" Septima demanded, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"Because I'm tired of running," Bathsheda said simply, her voice growing stronger. "I'm tired of hiding while people suffer. I'm tired of feeling helpless. These people are doing something about it, and I want to be part of that."
"But what about us?" Aurora asked, her voice small. "What about our friendship?"
"It doesn't have to end," Bathsheda said, reaching out to take both their hands. "You could stay too. You could help."
"Under magical compulsion," Septima said bitterly.
"Under your own free will," Bathsheda corrected. "The bond doesn't make the choice for you. It just... makes certain choices more appealing."
The room fell silent again as Aurora and Septima processed this revelation. Finally, Aurora spoke, "We really need to rest and think," she said, lying back down on her bed. "This is... it's too much."
"Of course," Harry said, his voice understanding. "Nat will check on you periodically, and if you need anything, just ask. There's no pressure, no timeline. Take as long as you need."
As the group began to disperse, leaving the two professors to rest, Harry caught Nat's eye and nodded toward the door. She followed him out of the room, up the stairs, and to his bedroom.
"That went better than I expected," Nat said as Harry closed the door behind them, though her voice suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.
"Did it?" Harry asked, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "They looked horrified. Disgusted. And they have every right to be."
"They're processing," Nat said, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "It's a lot to take in. But they're intelligent women. They'll come to the right conclusion eventually."
"And if they don't?" Harry asked, sitting heavily beside her. "What if they choose to leave, to fight the bond?"
"Then they don't," Nat said simply, though her voice held sympathy for his distress. "You can't force this, Harry. You know that."
Harry nodded, but his expression remained troubled. "I hate that they're right, you know. About the ritual, about what I've done to all of you."
Nat turned to face him fully, her hand coming up to cup his cheek gently. "Harry, look at me."
He did, meeting her sharp, knowing eyes that seemed to hold decades of wisdom and understanding.
"Do you think I'm here against my will?" she asked softly.
"No, but—"
"Do you think the bond forced me to care for you?"
"Not forced, but influenced—"
"Harry." Her voice was firm now, brooking no argument. "I'm not some young witch who doesn't understand her own feelings. I've lived through a war, scene more than most would in their lives. I've encountered real magical coercion, real manipulation. This isn't that."
"Then what is it?" Harry asked, leaning into her touch despite his distress.
"It's connection," Nat said simply, her thumb stroking across his cheekbone. "The ritual didn't create something that wasn't already there. It just... revealed it. Made it stronger. But the foundation had to exist first."
"You really believe that?"
"I know it," Nat said firmly, her voice filled with absolute certainty. "Because I felt the attraction to you before I even realized it was you, before the bond had a chance to truly transfer. The magic just made it impossible to ignore."
Harry was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "The others feel the same way?"
"You've been with them all," Nat suggested. "You know they do. The bond doesn't create love, Harry. It just creates the opportunity for it."
Slowly, Harry reached up to cover her hand with his own. "Thank you," he said softly. "For staying. For helping. For everything."
"Thank you for giving me a reason to care again," Nat replied, leaning closer. "It'd been a long time since I felt like I belonged somewhere."
The space between them seemed to shrink as they looked at each other. Harry's free hand came up to tangle in her long, silver hair, and Nat's breath caught at the gentle touch.
"You're brilliant, you know that?" Harry asked, his voice husky with desire and emotion.
Nat silenced him by pressing her lips to his. The kiss was gentle at first but it quickly deepened. Their mouths moved together, tongues brushing in a slow, sensual dance. Nat's lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of the coffee they'd shared earlier. Harry's hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him, her body pressing against his chest.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. Nat's eyes were dark, the pupils wide, and Harry could feel her quick and uneven breaths against his lips.
"We've not done this for a while," Nat said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.
"We haven't," Harry said, his hands framing her face tenderly. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, and Nat responded eagerly, her hands fisting in his shirt as she pulled him closer. The stress and tension of the past few days seemed to melt away as they lost themselves in each other. Their kisses grew hungrier, lips and teeth clashing, hands roaming with desire. Nat's fingers tugged at his hair, and Harry groaned into her mouth, making her shiver.
"You seem eager," Harry said, his voice low and rough, as his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.
"Very eager," Nat breathed, her own hands working at his shirt quickly, popping buttons with a speed that made him chuckle. She yanked the fabric off his shoulders, tossing it aside, and ran her hands over his bare chest, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shiver. Harry's fingers fumbled with her blouse, finally getting it open, and he pushed it off her shoulders, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin and the black lace of her bra. He paused, just for a moment, to take her in, his eyes tracing the curve of her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured, and Nat's lips curved into a smile before she pulled him back into a kiss, her hands sliding down to his belt. She unbuckled it with a deftness that made his pulse race, and soon his jeans were on the floor, followed by her skirt. They stumbled toward the bed, half-laughing, half-kissing, their hands everywhere, exploring, teasing, claiming.
Harry's fingers traced the edge of her bra, then slipped beneath it, finding the soft weight of her breasts. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, already hard, and Nat gasped, her head tipping back. He took advantage, kissing along her jaw, down her neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point where her heartbeat thrummed. Nat's hands were busy too, slipping into his boxers, her fingers wrapping around his manhood. He was already hard, and her touch sent a jolt through him, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"Nat," he groaned, his voice tight, and she smirked, stroking him slowly, her grip firm but teasing. He retaliated by unhooking her bra, tossing it aside, and lowering his mouth to her breast. His tongue swirled around her nipple, and she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair. The sound shot straight to his core, making him ache with need.
They shed the rest of their undergarments quickly, urgency overtaking them. Nat pushed him onto the bed, straddling his hips, her thighs warm against his sides. She leaned down, kissing him deeply, her hair falling around them like a curtain. Harry's hands roamed her back, her hips, gripping her ass as she rocked against him.
The moment they pulled back from the kiss, Nat positioned herself above him, her eyes locked on his, and slowly, so slowly, she sank down, taking him in inch by inch. Harry's breath caught, his hands gripping her hips as she enveloped him, her pussy warm and tight and perfect. She paused when he was fully inside her, letting them both adjust, her hands braced on his chest. A meaningful look passed between them as she moved with a slow roll of her hips that made him see stars.
"Fuck, Nat," he gasped, and she grinned, leaning down to kiss him as she found a rhythm. Slow at first, calculated, each movement drawing out the pleasure. Harry met her thrusts, his hands guiding her hips, their bodies moving in sync. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with their gasps and moans, filling the room.
Nat's pace quickened, her breaths coming faster, and Harry could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling with the buildup. He slid a hand between them, finding her clit, and rubbed the hardened nub with slow, firm circles. Nat's head fell back, a low moan escaping her lips, and she rode him harder, chasing the edge. Harry watched her, captivated by the way her body moved, the flush spreading across her chest, and the way her lips parted as she gasped his name.
"Harry," she breathed, her voice breaking, and he felt her clench around him, her body shuddering as she came. The sight of her, the feel of her, pushed him over the edge too. He thrust up into her, his own release hitting hard, a wave of pleasure crashing that left him breathless. They rode their climaxes out together, their bodies locked, and their hands clutching until the intensity faded into warmth and satisfaction.
Nat collapsed onto his chest, her breath hot against his skin, and Harry wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They lay tangled together in his bed, Nat's head on his chest as he traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, casting golden light across their intertwined bodies. Their breathing slowed, their heartbeats syncing up, and the quiet of the house enhanced the intimacy.
"That was…" Nat began, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Amazing," Harry finished for her, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
"I was going to say worth waiting for," Nat said with a soft laugh that rumbled through Harry's chest. "But amazing works too."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, before Harry spoke again.
"What do you think will happen with Aurora and Septima?"
Nat was quiet for a moment, considering her words carefully. "The bond will strengthen," she said finally. "It's inevitable now. They'll feel the pull more strongly each day, especially being in the same house as you."
"And if they fight it?"
"Then they'll be miserable," Nat said matter-of-factly, though her voice held sympathy. "The bond isn't cruel, but fighting it is like fighting hunger or thirst. You can do it for a while, but eventually, it becomes unbearable."
"That sounds terrible," Harry said, his voice pained by the thought of causing such suffering.
"It doesn't have to be," Nat assured him, lifting her head to look at him directly. "If they accept it, if they let themselves feel what's natural, they'll find happiness here. Both of them are intelligent, strong women who could contribute a lot to what we're doing."
"I didn't want to dump all this on them so soon after them waking up…"
"I know, Harry," she said softly. "But it was the right thing to do. We don't want any rash actions."
Harry nodded, pulling her closer against him. "I love you," he said softly.
Nat's lips curved into a smile, and she lifted her head again to meet his eyes. "I love you too. And before you start overthinking once again, it's not just the bond. It's you. Your courage, your compassion, your determination to protect people even when it costs you. The bond just made it impossible to deny."
Harry gave her a small smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with warmth.
"For what this time?"
"For choosing to stay," Harry said, his arms tightening around her. "For choosing me."
"Always," Nat promised, settling back against his chest with a contented sigh. "Always."
As the afternoon sun slowly started to dip westwards, they stayed in the bed, holding each other close, both knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together with their lovers. And in the room below, Aurora and Septima wrestled with their own choices, the bonds already forming in their hearts whether they wanted them or not.