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 10
~ Narcissa Malfoy ~
The air in the guest chamber of Number 12, Grimmauld Place was thick with the cloying scent of blood-replenishing potions and the pungent, medicinal tang of Wiggenweld. It was a smell that Narcissa Malfoy had become intimately acquainted with over the last forty-eight hours, a scent that seemed to cling to the velvet drapes and the dark, oppressive wallpaper of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.
She needed to have a chat with the house elves about redecorating this decrepit manor and upscale it into something more worthy of their Lord.
Narcissa sat in a high-backed chair upholstered in emerald silk, her posture rigid, her hands folded demurely in her lap. To an outside observer, she would have appeared the very image of pureblood composure, a statue of ice and porcelain. But beneath the surface, beneath the Occlumency shields she so desperately erected to contain her emotions about the matter at hand, a storm raged.
Two days.
It had been two days since Harry Potter—her Lord, her saviour, her lover—had stepped through the wards of this house carrying the broken remnants of her past. Two days since the world had tilted on its axis yet again.
Down in the bowels of the house, in the damp, stone-walled dungeons that her Aunt Walburga had once used to discipline unruly house-elves or hold enemies of the family, Bellatrix Lestrange was chained. The thought sent a shiver of cold satisfaction mixed with a strong chill of sheer dread down Narcissa's spine. Her eldest sister, the Dark Lord's most terrifying weapon, was bound in heavy iron chains and suppressed by wards so potent they made the air hum.
Bellatrix was unconscious, kept in a magically induced slumber to prevent her from screaming the house down or biting her own tongue off in a fit of madness.
And here, in this room, lay the other piece of Narcissa's shattered heart.
Andromeda.
Narcissa's gaze drifted from the floating candles near the wall, to the bed where her elder sister lay. Andromeda looked so small. The years had been kind to her, generally speaking, she had aged with a softness that Bellatrix lacked and a warmth that Narcissa had often envied. But the violence of the attack had stripped that away.
Her face was pale, translucent as parchment. The angry red burns that had marred her neck and arms two days ago were now fading to a tender pink, thanks to the aggressive application of the healing pastes Apolline Delacour had brewed. The bruising that had mottled her side, where a bone-breaking curse had narrowly missed her spine, was now a sickly yellow-green.
Narcissa watched the shallow rise and fall of Andromeda's chest, each one a testament to the fact that she was alive and stable.
It was a miracle she was breathing at all. When Harry had brought her in, looking like a warlock of old, bathed in soot and blood, Narcissa had thought it was too late. She had seen the cold, spectral figure of death hovering over Andromeda's features. But Harry… Harry did not accept defeat. He had poured his magic, his resources, and his sheer will into keeping her tethered to this plane.
Narcissa shifted slightly, the silk of her robes whispering in the silence. Her mind wandered to Harry.
He had been restless since the rescue. The energy of the Horcrux he had absorbed, the raw power that now coursed through him, demanded release. He had spent hours pacing the house, checking the wards, and tasking the elves to go and stock the necessary potions needed for emergencies like this one. And even that was not enough for a wizard with an abundance of magic as much as him. That's when the Veela, Fleur Delacour had come in, to relax him, to give him more carnal release.
Narcissa felt no jealousy. That was a plebeian emotion, one suited for blood traitors and mudbloods. She understood the nature of power. She understood the appetites of a wizard like Harry. He was not a man to be owned solely; he was a force of nature to be aligned with. Besides, her position was secure. She was the Mistress of this house. She was the one he returned to. She was the one who managed his home while he fought the battles outside and kept them safe from the forces that threatened to destroy their world.
The door to the guest room creaked open.
Narcissa didn't flinch, though her heart rate picked up a fraction. She turned her head slowly, the movement elegant and practiced.
Harry Potter stood in the doorway.
He looked... ravaged. Not in the way a victim is ravaged, but in the way a conqueror is after a long, hard campaign. His black hair was a chaotic mess, sticking up in tufts that defied gravity. His robes were loose, hanging open slightly at the chest, revealing the toned expanse of skin beneath.
But it was the marks that caught Narcissa's eye first.
Even in the dim light of the waning candles, they were unmistakable. A bruise, dark and purple, bloomed on the side of his neck, right over the jugular. It was a bite mark, the shape of teeth clearly defined. Scratches, red and angry, trailed down his forearms, disappearing under his rolled-up sleeves. He smelled of his musky sweat, and the distinct, scent of sex.
He had been with Fleur. There was no doubt about it. The French Veela was not known for her subtlety, and it appeared she had staked her claim on his flesh with the ferocity of a wild animal.
Harry stepped into the room, the wards rippling to welcome him. He closed the door softly behind him, his green eyes immediately finding Narcissa's.
"How is she?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Narcissa's chest. He walked toward the bed, his movements fluid, predator-like.
Narcissa stood, smoothing her robes. She looked at her Lord, taking in the sight of him. A small, knowing smile curved her lips. She stepped closer to him, reaching out to graze her fingertips over the bite mark on his neck.
"She is stable," Narcissa replied, her voice cool and melodic. "The fever broke an hour ago. Apolline says the internal bleeding has completely stopped. It is only a matter of waiting for her consciousness to return."
She let her finger trace the curve of the bruise, applying the slightest pressure. Harry didn't flinch; he leaned into her touch, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"The French are a feisty people, it seems," Narcissa commented, her tone dripping with dry amusement. Her grey eyes sparkled with a mix of adoration and teasing. "I assume the eldest Delacour daughter provided... adequate stress relief?"
Harry chuckled, the sound rich and dark. He reached out, his hand wrapping around Narcissa's waist, pulling her flush against him. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating. "You could say that. I had a lot of... pent-up energy. The night had me on edge. Fleur was happy to volunteer."
"I can see that," Narcissa murmured, looking down at the scratches on his arms. "She marked you like a territorial cat."
"Does it bother you?" Harry asked, his eyes searching hers. There was a challenge in them, a test.
Narcissa raised her chin, looking him dead in the eye. "I am a pureblood wife, Lord Black. Or I was. I do not get 'bothered' by the appetites of my Lord. As long as you remember who runs this house, and who stands at your right hand."
Harry grinned, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. "There's no forgetting you, Cissy. You're the foundation of my new home."
He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was gentle yet possessive. It tasted of him—of power and magic and the lingering sweetness of the Firewhiskey he must have shared with Fleur. Narcissa melted into it, her hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. For a moment, the worry for her sister, the fear of the war, the complexities of their lives faded. There was only the anchor of his presence.
"It will be alright," Harry whispered against her lips as he pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. "I promised you I'd save them. I promised you I'd fix this."
"You did," Narcissa breathed. "You did the impossible."
A low groan from the bed shattered the moment.
Narcissa and Harry broke apart instantly, turning toward the sound.
On the bed, Andromeda was stirring. Her head tossed restlessly on the pillow; her brow furrowed in pain. Her hands, pale and thin, clutched at the sheets.
"Ted..." she mumbled, the name slurring. "Ted... behind you..."
Harry's expression shifted instantly from the lover to the commander. "She's waking up."
He raised his hand, snapping his fingers. "Dobby."
With a loud crack, the eccentric house-elf appeared at the foot of the bed. He was wearing his mismatched socks and a tea cozy on his head, his large tennis-ball eyes wide with alertness.
"Master Harry Potter calls Dobby?" the elf squeaked, bowing low.
"Get Apolline," Harry ordered, his voice calm but authoritative. "Tell her Andromeda is waking up. We might need another dose of the pain relief draught and perhaps a Calming Draught. Quickly."
"Dobby is going!" The elf saluted and vanished with another crack.
Narcissa moved to the bedside, her heart hammering against her ribs. She sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to take Andromeda's hand. It felt fever-hot, but dry.
"Andromeda?" Narcissa whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Andi? Can you hear me?"
Andromeda's eyelids fluttered. She let out a small whimper of pain as consciousness began to drag her back from the void. Her breathing hitched, then sped up.
"Make room," Harry said softly, stepping up to the other side of the bed. He conjured a glass of water, holding it ready.
Slowly, agonizingly, Andromeda Tonks opened her eyes.
At first, they were unfocused, glazed over with the haze of magical exhaustion and trauma. She stared up at the canopy of the bed, blinking rapidly. The unfamiliar surroundings seemed to confuse her. She tried to sit up, but her body betrayed her, a spasm of pain shooting through her side.
"Easy," Harry said, his voice gentle. "Don't move too fast."
Andromeda's head snapped toward the sound of the male voice. Her eyes locked onto Harry.
The room was dim, the shadows clinging to the corners. Harry stood there, his messy black hair casting a shadow over his forehead, his glasses reflecting the lamplight. He was not wearing his cloak, just the shirt and trousers, his posture relaxed but alert.
To a woman waking up from a nightmare, heavily medicated and traumatized, the years seemed to dissolve. The resemblance, always striking, became absolute in the low light.
Andromeda's eyes widened, filling with a heartbreaking mixture of disbelief and hope.
"James?" she rasped, her voice cracked and dry.
Narcissa froze. She looked at Harry, waiting for his reaction.
Andromeda tried to reach out, her hand trembling in the air toward him. "James... you came. You... you're supposed to be..."
Harry didn't recoil. He didn't correct her harshly. A look of profound sadness crossed his face, softening the hard lines of the warrior. He set the water glass down on the bedside table and took Andromeda's reaching hand in his own.
"I'm not James, Andromeda," he said softly. "It's Harry. James's son."
Andromeda blinked, the confusion warring with the visual input. "Harry?"
"Yes," he confirmed, squeezing her hand gently. "You're safe now. You're at Grimmauld Place."
"Grimmauld..." Andromeda repeated the word as if it were a foreign language. Her gaze darted around the room, finally registering the heavy velvet drapes, the silver serpent motifs on the sconces, the oppressive, aristocratic weight of the Black family home.
Then, clarity hit her like a physical blow.
The fog in her eyes cleared, replaced by sharp, horrifying recollection. The events of two nights ago rushed back in a torrent of sensory overload.
The smell of smoke. The sound of glass shattering. The screams. The green flashes of light.
"Ted," she gasped, trying to sit up again, ignoring the pain. "Where is Ted? They... they were everywhere. Snatchers. Death Eaters. Bellatrix..."
She choked on the name, her eyes darting around the room frantically. "Where is my husband? Where is Ted?"
Harry's face fell. He looked at Narcissa across the bed, a silent exchange passing between them.
'Do we tell her? Do we break her now?'
There was no other way. Lies would only fester. It was better to rip the band-aid off right now.
Harry tightened his grip on Andromeda's hand, anchoring her. "Andromeda, listen to me."
She stopped thrashing, sensing the tone in his voice. She looked at him, pleading silently for him to lie to her, to tell her that Ted was in the next room drinking tea.
"We got there as fast as we could," Harry said, his voice steady but laced with regret. "I fought them off. I brought you here. But Ted..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
Andromeda stared at him, her chest heaving. The realization crumbled her features. The hope died, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."
"I'm so sorry," Harry said. "He was gone before I arrived. It was quick. He didn't suffer."
Andromeda let out a sound that was filled with a sense of pure agony. It was the sound of a soul tearing in half. She curled in on herself, pulling her hand away from Harry to clutch at her own chest, as if trying to physically hold her heart together.
"Ted! Oh, Merlin, Ted!"
She began to sob, great, racking heaves that shook her entire frame. It was ugly, raw grief, stripped of all dignity. She cried for the man she had given up everything for, the man who had been her world for over a quarter of a century, the father of her daughter.
Narcissa felt tears prick her own eyes. She bit her lip, forcing herself to remain composed. She wanted to look away—it felt like a violation to witness such naked pain—but she couldn't. She had to bear witness.
Harry stood there, silent and stoic. He didn't try to shush her. He didn't offer platitudes. He simply stood guard over her grief, letting her purge the initial wave of horror.
Minutes passed. The sobs slowly transitioned into ragged, exhausted gasps. Apolline had arrived silently in the doorway, holding a tray of potions, but Harry signalled her to wait. Andromeda needed this release before she could be medicated.
Finally, Andromeda lay back against the pillows, her face wet and blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. She stared up at the ceiling, her breathing hitching every few seconds.
"Is Nymphadora safe?" she asked, her voice a whisper of broken glass.
"She is," Harry assured her instantly. "She's with Remus. They are in a safe house. They don't know you're here yet—we couldn't risk communication until you were stable—but they are safe."
Andromeda nodded weakly. "Good. That's... good."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wincing as the movement pulled at her burns. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to summon the remnants of her strength. She was a Black, after all. They did not break easily.
She turned her head to the side, looking away from Harry, perhaps seeking a glass of water or simply a shadow to hide in.
And that was when she saw the woman sitting on the other side of the bed.
Narcissa had been sitting perfectly still, almost blending into the shadows of the room. But as Andromeda turned, the light from the lamp illuminated Narcissa's pale blonde hair and her sharp, aristocratic features.
Andromeda froze. Her eyes went wide, the pupils dilating in sheer horror as recognition flashed in her eyes.
For a second, she didn't see a sister. She saw the enemy. She saw the wife of Lucius Malfoy. She saw the woman who had stood silently by while the Dark Lord rose.
"Cissy?" Andromeda breathed, but the word wasn't a greeting. It was a question laced with panic.
She scrambled backward on the bed, ignoring the pain, pressing herself against the headboard away from Narcissa. Her hand groped blindly for a wand that wasn't there.
"Is he here?" Andromeda hissed, her gaze darting to the door. "Is Lucius here? Did you bring him to finish it? Is that why I'm here?"
Narcissa's heart clenched. The fear in Andromeda's eyes cut deeper than any curse. To be looked at like a monster by her own sister... it was a bitter pill to swallow.
"Andromeda, no," Narcissa said, keeping her voice low and soothing, raising her hands to show they were empty. "Lucius is not here. You are safe."
"Liar!" Andromeda spat, the fear turning to defensive rage. "You're one of them! You've always been one of them! Why am I in this house? This is a trap!"
She looked wildly at Harry. "Why are you with her? Harry, she's a Death Eater! She'll kill us both!"
Harry stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Andromeda's shoulder. "Andromeda, look at me. Narcissa is on our side. She saved me."
Andromeda looked at Harry, then back at Narcissa. The cognitive dissonance was making her head spin. "Saved you? But... she's Lucius Malfoy's wife."
Narcissa took a deep breath. She stood up, her silhouette commanding in the dim light. She needed to take control of this narrative. She needed to bridge the gap of twenty years of silence and war.
"I am a Black first, Andromeda," Narcissa said, her voice gaining strength. "Before I was a Malfoy, before I was anything else, I was your sister."
She took a step closer to the bed, ignoring Andromeda's flinch.
"Lucius is a fool," Narcissa said, the venom in her voice genuine and surprising to Andromeda. "He bet our family's future on a madman who treats us like cattle. He allowed the Dark Lord to turn Malfoy Manor into a breeding ground for sadists and maniacs. He gave my son... he gave Draco to that monster."
Narcissa's mask slipped, revealing the fierce, protective mother beneath. "I could not let that stand. I would not watch my son be consumed."
Andromeda watched her, the fear slowly ebbing, replaced by wary curiosity. "So, you left him?"
"I left him," Narcissa confirmed. She moved closer, sitting gently on the edge of the bed again. This time, Andromeda didn't pull away as violently. "I took everything I could carry, which admittedly was not much. I went to the Gringotts goblins. I sought sanctuary. And through them... I found Harry, the current Lord Black."
Narcissa looked up at Harry, her expression softening into something reverent. "He was the only one powerful enough to challenge the Dark Lord. The only one with the will to do what needed to be done. I offered him my allegiance. My resources. My knowledge of the Death Eaters' inner workings."
Andromeda looked between them. She saw the look in Narcissa's eyes when she looked at Harry. It wasn't just gratitude. It was devotion. And she saw the way Harry looked at Narcissa—with possessiveness and respect.
"You're... with him?" Andromeda asked, the implication hanging heavy in the air.
"I am his Mistress," Narcissa said, raising her chin defiantly. She would not be ashamed. "And he is my Lord. He has given me protection, purpose, and a home. He reclaimed Grimmauld Place as the rightful home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."
Narcissa reached out and, very gently, took Andromeda's hand again. "When Harry sensed the attack on your home... when he felt Bellatrix's magic... he didn't hesitate. He went because he wished to save the people who were in danger. And he saved my sister."
Andromeda looked down at their joined hands. The pale, manicured hand of Narcissa Malfoy holding the scarred, work-worn hand of Andromeda Tonks. It was a tableau had seemed impossible up until a few days ago.
"Bellatrix..." Andromeda whispered, a shudder running through her. "She was there. She was laughing while she killed him."
"I know," Narcissa said, her voice turning to ice. "Harry brought her too."
Andromeda's head snapped up. "What?"
"She is in the dungeon," Harry interjected, his voice grim. "Chained. Bound. Silenced. She is Narcissa's prisoner now."
Andromeda stared at Harry, her mouth slightly open. The magnitude of what he was saying—the sheer impossibility of Bellatrix Lestrange being captured alive and held in this house—was overwhelming.
She looked back at Narcissa. "You have her?"
"We have her," Narcissa corrected. "She will never hurt anyone again. We will decide her fate together, you and I. When you are strong enough."
Andromeda slumped back against the pillows, the adrenaline fading, leaving her utterly drained. She looked at the ceiling, trying to process the new reality. Her husband was dead. Her home was gone. But she was alive. Her daughter was safe. And her estranged sister, the ice queen of pureblood society, had defected to the Boy-Who-Lived and was nursing her back to health.
It was madness. But it was a madness that offered a sliver of hope.
"It's... it's a lot to take in, Cissy," Andromeda whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes again.
"I know," Narcissa soothed, squeezing her hand. "Rest now. You don't have to understand it all tonight. Just know that you are safe. No one can touch you here. The wards are impenetrable, and Harry..." she glanced at him, "...Harry is very protective of what belongs to him. And you are family."
Andromeda looked at Narcissa, really looked at her, for the first time in years. She saw the lines of worry around her eyes, the exhaustion, but also a newfound strength. She saw a woman who had broken her own chains.
"I'm..." Andromeda swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm happy for you, Cissy. That you got out. That you found... him."
She glanced at Harry, who offered her a small, sad smile.
"Rest, Andromeda," Harry said. "Apolline here has potions to help you sleep without dreams. We'll be right here."
Apolline stepped forward then, uncorking a vial of purple liquid.
As Andromeda drank the potion and felt the heavy blanket of sleep pulling her under, she held onto Narcissa's hand. The world was dark, and she had lost so much, but as she drifted off, the last thing she felt was the warm, solid grip of her sister.
~ Harry Potter ~
Harry watched as Andromeda's breathing evened out into deep sleep. He let out a long breath, rolling his shoulders to release the tension as Apolline excused herself to give them some privacy.
"You did well," he said to Narcissa.
Narcissa didn't let go of Andromeda's hand. She stared at her sister's sleeping face, a complex expression of grief and relief on her own.
"She knows," Narcissa murmured. "She knows about Ted. That pain... it will not heal as quickly as her burns."
"No," Harry agreed, moving to stand behind Narcissa's chair. He placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there. "But she has you. And she has Nymphadora. She'll survive. The Black women are survivors, aren't they?"
Narcissa leaned her head back against his stomach, closing her eyes. She covered his hands with her own.
"We are," she whispered. "We have to be."
Harry bent down, kissing the top of her head. "I'm going to check the prisoner. I will join you in bed after."
Narcissa opened her eyes. "Don't kill her, my Lord. Not yet."
"I won't," Harry promised, his voice darkening. "She has a lot to answer for. And her judgment belongs to you and Andromeda."
He straightened up, giving her shoulder one last squeeze. "Stay with her. I'll have Kreacher bring you some tea."
"Thank you, Harry," Narcissa said softly. "For everything."
Harry paused at the door, looking back at the two sisters, each with enough trauma that would make a lesser man crumble.
"We take care of our own, Cissy," he said simply. "That's the deal."
He slipped out into the hallway, leaving Narcissa in the quiet vigil of the room.
Narcissa looked back at Andromeda. For the first time in over two decades, the silence between them wasn't filled with resentment. It was filled with the promise of a future. A dark, complicated future, perhaps, built on the ashes of their old lives, but a future nonetheless.
And down in the dark, beneath the floorboards, the third sister waited in chains.
A cold smile found its way to Narcissa's face.
The House of Black was gathering again. And this time, under Harry Potter's banner, they would not bow to any Dark Lord. They would rise.
Author's Notes
Thoughts? Is the pacing alright? Plot? Harem? Action?
Let me know down below.
Peace.