Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he settled his broomstick on the floor of the girls' dormitory room. Hermione's bed was perfectly made, of course.
But it smelled of her, and that made all the difference. He wrinkled his nose, trying to stop himself from crying.
He wasn't going to cry. But he wasn't going to be able to sleep with her tonight, to bury his face in her hair, to hold her tight and breath her in.
And that hurt.
He hurt, beyond the half-healed gouges in his chest, beyond the dozen healing potions he'd ingested in his night in the Hospital Wing.
The day prior, when he'd returned to Hogwarts, he'd shrugged off his girls, as they tried to make sure he was okay. He didn't even know the excuses they'd made for being there. He'd denied Dumbledore's request to speak to him, in his office. He'd lost Dora as she tried to tail him.
He wanted to be alone. And so he was, for a time, sitting in the Entrance Hall under his Invisibility Cloak, watching the bodies be floated in. Covered by white sheets, the teachers floated them through to a room next to the Hospital Wing.
A room for those that Madam Pomfrey need not care for. Harry was struck by how little the bodies were. Little boys and girls, caught up in a war that they could not understand.
He'd been that boy, once, not understanding the gravitas of the war, of what he'd done, as a baby, to end it. It had taken Tom's mind in his to understand war, and what it did. More than the bodies, it was the minds that were broken.
Hogwarts had started the day in a different world; a world of flirtatious looks, first dates, where the discussion was around the girl with the daringly short skirt, or who'd win the Quidditch Cup. It ended it in the new world; students wondering whether their parents would pull them from school, of frenzied letter writing to families, owls leaving by the dozen. And the new orchestra — crying girls and sniffling boys.
The world had changed.
Harry was not sad or crying.
Harry was angry.
When he left the Hospital Wing after barely sleeping, he came to lie in Hermione's bed, staring up at the red cloth of the four-poster bed. He leafed through her copy of Hogwarts: A History, reading her wry little annotations.
There was a line about how, if a Muggle saw Hogwarts, they instead saw an old ruin with a sign saying: "DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE". Hermione had scribbled in next to it: "Harry should see the same sign!"
His Mione.
He fisted up her bedsheets, feeling his heart beating fast, like he had Fiendfyre growing within him.
If only he'd bonded with her, perhaps he could have tracked her back to wherever Voldemort had taken her.
If she was still alive.
If she was still alive, she'd be alone right now, locked up and afraid in some dungeon, feeling like her last days were coming.
No.
He could not abide that. He swung his legs off her bed. What was he doing?
He had to get her back.
###
First, he had to check on his girls, he thought, feeling a little ashamed that it had taken him so long.
He crept through the crowded Hospital Wing under his cloak — Pomfrey had kicked out any well-wishers and was running around in a frantic frenzy, though she was only tending to those she could. The truly grievously wounded were at St Mungo's.
The Wing was packed with beds but it didn't take him long to find Hannah.
"Harry!" She squealed once he'd whipped his cloak off, after applied Silencing Charms to the curtains around the bed. "You're okay!"
"I am," He sat on the side of bed and cradled her cheek. "And you?"
"I'm fine." She nuzzled his hand. "Just magic exhaustion, Pomfrey says."
"I used your power, your magic." Harry said quietly.
"Good." Hannah beamed, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I was so worried about you. Where were you?" Her face shuttered for a moment. "I know about…Hermione. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He gave her a wan smile. "I just came to check in on you. Rest up, no reading your Dark Arts books."
"I…I should have done more." Her chin wobbled as tears threatened to come.
"No, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You stayed alive. You did well. That's all that matters."
"I'm sorry." She swallowed, looking up at him. "You're disappointed in me."
"I'm not." He insisted. He caressed her face. "I couldn't be more proud of you, sweetheart. You were courageous and you stayed alive. I'm only…disappointed in myself."
"I'll do better, I'll work harder, I'll read more—"
"Hannah," He grabbed her chin firmly. "Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. You did all you could."
"Okay," She breathed out, hand taking hold of his and squeezing like he was going to leave. "I love you. Stay with me tonight?"
"I can't, I'm sorry." Harry hesitated, searching for an excuse. Shouldn't he stay with her, if he was a good boyfriend?
"Oh, okay." Hannah said quietly, chin tilted down.
"I have to get Hermione back."
"Oh," She brightened up. "Of course. One of us." She chewed on her lip. "But don't go alone, please, Harry? Take one of the girls at least. Or the DA."
"Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll be back soon, okay? Rest up." He fluffed her pillow, kissed her and then left. He had much to do.
On the bed next to her, Susan lay. She took him in with just a single second, and the Invisibility Cloak in his hand that shimmered over his legs, making them invisible. "Harry." She said raspily.
"Susan," He said quietly. He couldn't even look at her — she was a living reminder of the trick Voldemort had played, of the fact that Hermione was kidnapped and alone, instead of her. "How are you feeling?"
She blinked at him. "Can't move, they've got my body under stasis charms."
"That's common treatment for Cruciatus sufferers, stops the body convulsing."
"They say I'm gonna be okay. Think I'm one of the lucky ones." Susan sniffed, her eyes wet.
"You'll be just fine, trust me."
"Y-you saved me." She gasped. "You came for me."
Harry gave her a tight smile. "I did."
"I…" She took a trembling breath. "Thank you, Harry. Just thank you. I was so afraid. So weak." Tears spilled from her eyes, and because she couldn't move her head, he wiped them for her.
Harry opened his mouth but the words never came. If he spoke, would he tell her that he'd trade her a thousand times over for Hermione? Would he tell her that he'd give her to Voldemort right now if he could get his Mione back?
The right sentence was right there. I'll always come for you.
But he couldn't voice it.
"Sure, yeah. Of course." He said calmly, clenching his fist. "I…get well soon, Susan. Get some rest."
He turned on his heel and walked away.
##
Harry sat in his armchair at Malfoy Manor, letting his girls fuss over him. They needed this more than he. He stewed in his frustration, locked in his head, trying to find a way to Hermione.
"My love, the Healers did a poor job, let me redo it so it doesn't scar." Cissy rubbed at his sore chest.
Helena was massaging his scalp. "I was so worried about you, Harry. I'm so glad you're okay." She whispered into his ear.
Marie was working at one of his many bruises, trying to heal skin which had blackened.
Apolline knelt at his feet, kneading his soles in her lap. "I heard about your duel, 'Arry. They said you dueled Voldemort himself, that you were magnificent." She beamed up at him.
Harry scowled, silent. He'd been weak. "I lost my friend." He said quietly.
Apolline's smile froze, stricken. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Her hand on his knee. "But at least you're okay—"
"I lost my best friend, Apolline. I'm not okay." Harry snapped.
She flinched, her mouth opening and closing but saying nothing. Her head dropped to his feet. "Yes, my Lord. Forgive me, please."
Narcissa said nothing. Helena worked on his shoulders, trembling. Marie bit her lip.
Harry sat in the silence for a long minute, cycling his breath, centering himself. The anger felt good — and that was what made him know he was wrong. Tom enjoyed the anger. That wasn't Harry's path.
He reached out to stroke Apolline's hair gently. "I'm sorry."
She gave him a hesitant smile. "You need never apologize to me, my love."
"But I do and I am."
Her hands rubbed up and down his legs. Wordlessly, Narcissa vanished his pants.
Apolline pressed a kiss to his cock in apology. "Let me relax you, mon amour."
Harry sighed as she took his member in her mouth, her tongue circling gently around his shaft as she slowly, rhythmically jerked him.
Narcissa and Helena worked at his shoulders while Marie healed his bruises. Harry let himself fall back into their warmth. "Where is she, Cissy?" Harry murmured, his eyes closed. It felt good to be pampered, to have his aches and stresses worked away.
"Harry?"
"Hermione. Where would they take her?"
Narcissa paused. "Here, sometimes. Never where the Dark Lord was staying, Lucius said he didn't like the taint of prisoners, the smell."
"One of their manors? Wherever the Lestrange's live?"
"An outhouse, maybe, not in the main building. Probably one of the more reputable Death Eaters."
"The Inner Circle?"
"Yes, though they wouldn't do anything themselves. They'll be making payments to someone who could be tasked with feeding the prisoners, cleaning up after them."
"Hmm."
Harry tilted his head back, and at Narcissa's encouragement, Helena peppered him with kisses until he was laughing and fighting her off.
"Does she feel good, Harry?" Helena stared at Apolline in fascination as the Veela throated him easily, bobbing her head slowly.
"She does."
Harry relaxed until Apolline finally drained him, milking him of his seed, swallowing every drop.
"Thank you, my Lord." She smiled like the cat that got the cream, licking her lips.
"I'm a dick, I know." Harry stroked her hair.
She shook her head, trailing his deflating cock across her face. "My love, you need never justify yourself or apologize to me. I belong to you, remember? And I love you without condition."
"Doesn't mean I should be nasty, though."
"You've had a long day. Besides, your worst tempers cannot compete with my Fleur's tantrums." She teased.
"I should check in on her, soon."
Marie giggled at his side. "She's going mad with desire, mon chéri."
"Good." Harry rose from the chair. "I need to go, girls. Thank you for coming when I needed you. You need to be more careful, from now on. Voldemort targeted Hermione because he thought she was one of my girls, so there's a target on all our backs."
Narcissa fretted over him, brushing something imaginary from his shoulder. "You should be careful too, Harry. Where will you go?"
"Back to Hogwarts." Harry grimaced. "There weren't many Slytherins in Hogsmeade. They knew something. And if they knew something then, they know something now."
###
Harry stalked through Hogwarts, map in hand. The classes had been cancelled. The ground floor was teeming with Aurors, politicians, press, but under his Invisibility Cloak, none saw him. He caught flashes of conversation as he passed.
"Dumbledore made a statement in the Great Hall, promised everyone Hogwarts was safe—"
"Parents are already pulling their kids out—"
"Do you really think they're safer at home than in here?"
"Maybe — did you hear what Dumbledore did to Cartwright?"
"I knew that guy was weird."
"He knew he was gonna lose, got desperate, I guess."
"Desperate enough to deal with the devil. Talk about putting a target on your back…"
Harry walked on past. He had his own problems to deal with.
And his own target. Up the stairs to the peace and quiet of the higher floors. The students were in the Great Hall or in their common rooms, finding comfort in being together, so the halls were empty. He took his cloak off and stuffed it in his bag.
Hogwarts was beautiful today, the light shining through simple arched windows, tall and narrow but many. The Beauxbaton students had found the castle cold, but Harry had never. There were so many windows and whether it was sunny or rainy, the castle always felt cosy.
And when it was quiet, it felt like it was his home, all to himself.
On the swiveling staircase, his peace was interrupted. His Gryffindor friends. Ron, Dean, Seamus, Neville. They'd picked up Ernie, along the way. All their faces were solemn, like they were cast in stone.
"You're going after Hermione, aren't you?" Ron crossed his arms.
"I'm not, I—"
Dean scowled. "And if you think there's any way we're not coming—"
"Think again, scarhead." Seamus adopted Draco's high pitchy voice.
Neville just nodded eagerly.
Harry felt a warmth in his chest, on his face. His boys…he'd forgotten how nice their friendship felt. For a moment, he felt guilty for abandoning it for chasing every girl he could.
"Guys, I don't know where she is."
"Yet." Ron countered.
"And yeah, if I knew, I would go."
"I knew it!" Neville exclaimed.
"But, to be honest, and I don't mean any disrespect." Harry sighed. "You aren't up to fighting Death Eaters."
"We can still watch your back!" Dean insisted.
"It doesn't matter how Dumbledore you act, you still need wands around you." Seamus added.
"And…and," Neville said nervously. "Some of us are ready to, y'know, kill."
"Yes, we are." Ernie muttered, sparks emitting from his wand.
Harry looked up at them from the bottom of the swiveling staircase. Neville looked like he couldn't kill a fly, in that moment. But he'd been courageous enough to help him against Voldemort, and that stood for a lot.
"Okay, lads." Harry held his hands up in defeat. "When I find her, we're going to get her back. Deal?"
"Deal." They chorused. Hands together, one over the other.
"On three?" Ron asked.
"Potter and bodyguards, on three." Dean grinned.
"The Gryffindor Killers, on three." Seamus tried.
"I'm here, too," complained Ernie.
"The Hoggy Six?" Neville wondered.
"Shut up, Nev." Dean groaned.
"Why have you always got to do that?" Seamus shoulder-bumped him.
Harry laughed, feeling his stresses drain away. "Alright, Potter and the sidekicks, on three."
"No, wait—"
"You get used to it." Ron countered. "Three, two, one!"
"Potter and the sidekicks!" They grumbled together.
"Go team." Harry gave them a thumbs up. "Once I have a location, I'll send you a message. Go raid Snape's Potion Storeroom, he'll be distracted with supplying Pomfrey with the potions she needs. Take anything you can find that looks helpful, but especially Pepper-Up."
"Yes, boss." Dean grinned.
Harry paused in thought. "And get some broomsticks ready."
They dispersed, but all of them seemed more cheerful than when Harry found them. Hope was a powerful thing. Even Harry felt lighter.
It would count for nothing if he couldn't locate Hermione, but at least he had a plan.
Finally, he found what he was looking for, on the third floor. Just inside the library, there she was. Daphne, piling books into the beleaguered arms of her young sister Astoria, dark-haired and fair-skinned. Defence books, he noted.
"Harry!" Astoria lit up. She dumped her books on the side table and wrapped her arms around his waist — she was quite petite.
He ruffled her hair. "Hi, Tori. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." She grumped. "You didn't let anything happen to me and still this one won't let me out of her sight."
Daphne gave a long suffering sigh. "On mother's orders, as you well know."
"I'm in Hogwarts, what's going to happen to me?" She crossed her arms and threw her hair back. Though the two girls had quite different hair colors, Harry could see the resemblance when they held their chins high, noses in the air. The pureblood princesses. "Besides, Harry would obliterate anyone who attacked me."
"I would." Harry smirked. "The Greengrasses are allies to House Potter."
"Forget all that," Tori grumped. "I thought you'd protect me because I'm cute and lovable." She strung her arms behind her back, stood on her tiptoes, fluttered her eyelashes.
"Sure, that too." He laughed. "Speaking of alliances, I need a word with Daphne."
"Ugh." Tori grabbed her books, rolling her eyes. "When I'm older and devastatingly gorgeous, and surrounded by Quidditch players with like, eight-packs, you'll miss these days!"
He snorted. "Thanks, Tori. Daphne, walk with me?"
She took a long breath as they exited into the Hogwarts corridors. From the floors below, they could hear the hubbub of the politicians and press, but these hallways were quiet enough.
"I didn't know, I swear." Daphne said quietly, watching her feet.
"I know." Harry assured her. He led her up the stairs of Hogwarts. Today, Hogwarts too was somber, her staircases not moving at all and none of her steps were tricks.
"I…" Daphne dusted the arms of her green and gold jacket and readjusted her tan book satchel. Slytherin colors were green and silver, but the house of snakes had their own ways of signifying status within the house. "Thank you. I saw what you did for Astoria." Her fingers stretched to tangle with his for just a second, even as she looked straight ahead. "I'm beyond grateful. I…I can't even contemplate losing her. It would destroy me…us."
"I promised to protect you all." Harry said softly. "That's the deal we made, in exchange for all the…liberties you let me take."
Daphne sniffed in amusement. "That's a kind word for it."
"I'm trying to be kinder." Harry laughed hollowly. "My Hermione…I was playing games with her, because I knew she loved me and I was…" He fell silent as they finally reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, on the seventh floor. And opposite, the Room of Requirement.
"You're not the first boy to enjoy the chase." Daphne offered a weak smile as he walked past the section of blank wall three times. "I'm surprised that you haven't broken more hearts, with the way that these girls look at you."
Harry couldn't meet her gaze as she walked through the door he held for her. "They see Harry Potter, but Hermione saw me, you know?"
"I get glimpses, from time to time." Daphne stilled a little when she saw the room that Harry envisioned. An emulation of Gryffindor's common room, the roaring fireplace warming a faded sofa with more pillows and less food and prank stains than the furniture of the real common room. Fred and George had left their mark on Hogwarts in more ways than one.
She took a deep breath and then laid herself on her front of the sofa, without a word. She reached behind her and hoisted her skirt around her waist, face in her pillow, her whole body trembling.
Blinking in surprise, Harry took in the sight of her — her thick peachy and perky asscheeks, alabaster pale, an ass that was designed and colored specifically to be reddened, spanked, ruined. And between those cheeks, those cheeks that she now nervously prised apart, her green emerald buttplug above her pristine pussy.
No panties — his naughty Slytherin princess.
"Uh, Daphne, I really just brought you here to talk."
Her voice was muffled as she pressed her red face into a pillow. "I have accepted our deal long ago, Potter. You may take your pleasures."
Harry sat on the edge of the sofa, next to her long legs. He brought his hand up to the smooth skin of her ass, marvelling at how thick and jiggly it was on such a slim girl. And then he reached for her skirt and pulled it back down. "I appreciate that, Daphne. But not now. I need my Hermione back."
She snapped her head around, her eyes narrowed. "Are you playing games?"
"No games, not today."
She swallowed, embarrassed. "I see." She slowly sat up.
Harry let her gather herself. "I need to know what you know. You saw the other Slytherins not going to Hogsmeade?"
"Some, yes." She admitted. "I thought they were going to do something stupid here in the castles. Like last month when they put Hurling Hexes on the Hufflepuff brooms."
"As if Hufflepuff could win with Summerby as their seeker anyway." He muttered.
"I didn't think—" Daphne swallowed. "I didn't think."
"Who didn't go?"
"Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy. Parkinson…maybe more."
Harry stared into the fireplace, watched the embers burn and spark. It felt like the fire was inside of him, like his veins carried burning flames instead of blood, heating him from head to toe. It felt good. He squeezed one hand with the other tightly. "I'll rip their skin from their bones." He said softly. He knew spells that could do it — more than one.
Daphne's hand settled on his arm. And when that didn't work, she turned his whole chin so he could meet her icy blue eyes. Today, they showed the roaring fireplace glowing inside them. She had the most beautiful eyes, but the reflection of the fire only made him think of Hermione, the morning before, sat in the common room armchair by the fire, confident and showing her body to him. The girl he always knew she could be.
"Harry, you're not thinking clearly. Those lot? They're morons, the lot of them. They aren't going to be trusted with where Voldemort keeps his prisoners. Malfoy doesn't even crow about his father telling him everything anymore."
"They knew there'd be an attack." Harry said slowly.
"They were told not to go to Hogsmeade, at most." She chided.
He sighed. She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. But he needed to find Hermione — he wasn't going to wait for Voldemort to use her as ransom or leverage. Or worse.
Daphne's thumb circled under his eyes.
"Didn't sleep." He said.
"I saw what you did to those Death Eaters. The lightning bolt from the sky," She shook her head slowly, her eyes unfocused. "Your duel with the Dark Lord."
"I lost." Harry said flatly.
"You dueled him like an equal, Harry. You drew blood."
"He wasn't taking me seriously and I had help from the twins, from Neville even."
"Harry." Daphne looked at him with wide eyes. "You made him hurt. Didn't you see his rage? Dumbledore makes him work, traps him in Transfigurations and spell-chain puzzles. But you made him bleed in front of everyone. Have you seen the papers today?"
"No," he said.
"It's about those we lost, yes. But it's also about how you fought him, hurt him. It's the kids that got away because you held him. You bought us time to get down the tunnel. Here, look." She fished inside her tan satchel and retrieved a copy of the Prophet.
The paper had two headlines, unusually, and two photos. One showed the aftermath, of the healers floating away the fallen students. Above that photo read HOGSMEADE ATTACKED, OUR CHILDREN SLAUGHTERED.
But below, after the fold, the other photo showed him, scarred forehead bleeding through wet matted hair, in a furious duel against Voldemort — and crucially, it showed Voldemort bleeding from his shoulder, his agonized cry of pain as Harry's Sectumsempra gouged his shoulder deeply.
Harry smiled. Tom would be fuming. The headline made it all the more humiliating. HARRY THE HERO GIVES THE DARK LORD HIS SCAR BACK.
The photograph was credited to Colin Creevey. The annoying little kid may have changed wizarding society, Harry thought.
Daphne gripped the paper tightly. "This changes everything, Harry. Before, you were the 'maybe baby', the boy who somehow defeated the Dark Lord, but who knew how it was done? You were a survivor." She trembled. "And now? You're a mighty wizard. Rita Skeeter has an editorial wondering if you have Merlin's bloodline. There are reader letters comparing you to Dumbledore."
"I lost." Harry repeated.
"So what?" Daphne exhaled a heavy breath. "You didn't die. You're young and you're still in school. Nobody's expecting you to beat him now. But you showed that you could fight him. You showed that it is no longer between Dumbledore or Voldemort." Her hands took his and squeezed them. "The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade and the teachers weren't there, the Aurors weren't here. But you were. You stood up and you fought and you lived. People will remember that." Daphne choked for a moment, a lump in her throat, her eyes glistening. "I'll remember that."
They sat there in silence for a long moment, the newspaper between them, showing the day he wanted to forget. She wasn't wrong, Harry realized.
Things had changed.
And though he wanted to hide, he knew that the politicians and the press and the students…they were looking for him. They wanted to see him standing, defiant, healthy. They wanted to know if they had a new icon, a reason to sleep safely at night.
"I understand." He squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Daphne. I needed that."
She blushed. "Well, House Greengrass is your ally, after all. I owe you."
"Enough to…?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
Daphne took a deep breath. "If I'm making forever decisions, I need more time, Harry. Not just for myself, but for my family too. You saved Tori, but I don't want to put an even greater target on her back. Especially since—" She cut herself off suddenly, with a gasp.
"Since he took Hermione." Harry finished.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
He grimaced. "It's okay. I'm getting her back. You'll see."
"I can do my end of the deal, if you need." Daphne offered hurriedly. Her hand dropped to his groin. "I'll—"
He pushed it away. "Not now, Daphne."
"But the deal is on, right?" She trembled and abruptly laid back on the sofa, pulling her skirt up. "You can play with me again, if you want."
Harry stopped himself from laughing. She was a mess of contradictions, of thinly veiled arousal and pureblood puritanism.
Even her pussy was priggish, her plump innie lips trying to hide her pink wetness.
"It's been a while since I made you wear that, huh?" Harry chuckled, looking at her emerald plug. It was impossibly sexy to see it inside her ass — it was like a little reminder of who she was to him, like an obscene engagement ring. "You must have been struggling, all these days. Let me take it out—"
"No!" Daphne grabbed his hand. "I mean, it's okay." She blushed, looking away. "Keep it. So you don't forget m—our deal, I mean."
"Right. Our deal."
"You understand why I can't…commit, right now, right?" She asked, trembling as his fingers trailed between her pussy lips.
"I understand." He lied.
He didn't understand, not at all. He didn't understand why she wouldn't give her all of herself, when her family could not commit to either Dumbledore or Voldemort. He couldn't understand, when he'd saved her and her sister and her family, why she wouldn't spread her legs for him.
But maybe that was Tom speaking.
She could deny him all she liked, Harry thought. But he couldn't abide someone denying him from saving Hermione. And if Daphne didn't know where she was, then maybe her father might. He dealt in the black markets, operated on the murky side of the law and Harry was sure he must have been keeping a close eye on the Death Eaters now they considered him a traitor.
He'd waited too long for Daphne's approval, but he needed Peter Greengrass to point him to Hermione and to manage the Malfoy affairs. And, he hoped, to manage the war itself.
"Oh, Harry." Daphne whimpered as he thumbed her pussy, listening to her juicy squelching flesh as he finally gave her relief after days of pent-up frustration.
This pussy — these pussies — they'd blinded him. He'd been a fool, wrapped up in girls both adoring and denying, eager to enjoy the soaking cunts of those that loved him and eager to drop the panties of those that denied him. Despite the fact that Tom's mind and memories seeped into his, he was still a teenage boy at heart.
The bond meant he had to continue to be one, partially, to rise in power. But if he was going to fuck his way through the war, he'd definitely need someone to manage it.
Whether or not Daphne was ready.
###
Greengrass Manor. A small waiting room for Floo visitors, little more than a broom closet. He hung his jacket and waited only a few seconds.
It was Peter, his brows up in surprise, a copy of the Prophet in hand.
"Peter," Harry greeted.
The man ignored his proffered handshake and instead embraced him tightly. "Lord Potter, thank you, thank you, for saving my daughters."
"Ah, think nothing of it."
Cynthia cried out from behind Peter. "Think everything of it!"
Harry choked out a laugh as she glomped him — the Greengrass matriach shared some qualities with Mrs. Weasley, his ribs crushed.
"It was nothing that you wouldn't do for me, I'm sure." Harry said. "The alliance holds strong."
"The alliance holds strong." Peter echoed. "Please, join us. Cynthia?"
"I'll get the elves to scrap up something." She rushed away.
"Are you hurt?" Peter asked as he led them to their dining room. It was warm with the afternoon's light, the sun gleaming off a crystal chandelier above the table, reflecting in odd patterns on the wall.
"Missing a bit of flesh and a lot of blood, but nothing that won't heal. I just saw your girls, they're doing okay."
Peter sighed in relief. "They're both strong, of course, but to go through something like that, at that age."
"Astoria has got some spirit. She must be a handful." Harry laughed.
Cynthia came back in the room, rubbing her eyes. "Harry, you don't know the half of it. Yet she's still somehow easier than Daphne."
"Call me Lord Potter, please."
Her eyes went large. "Oh, I'm—"
"I'm just teasing." Harry laughed, slapping his knee. "You know I hate pureblood formalities."
"Don't tease me! You're just like Peter." She bemoaned. Cynthia slipped into a seat beside her husband. "Do you have business with Peter?"
Harry took a deep breath. Sometimes, he told himself, you have to give away a lot to gain a lot. Perhaps that was what marriage was all about.
"I'd like to accept your proposal to wed both Daphne and Astoria, to join our houses together completely."
Cynthia squealed. Peter's eyes went wide.
"I will treat them honorably and love them well, as Merlin did Morgana—"
"Yes, yes!" Cynthia bound up from her chair and hugged him where he sat, her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. "Oh, I'm so happy."
Peter was vibrating in his seat, beaming. "That's wonderful, Harry. So they shall both be—"
"Lady Black, both of them. Astoria would be the sister-wife, as we discussed, when she's of age. I should look to wed Daphne in the next year or so."
"Oh!" Cynthia held onto the back of the dining seat, fingers strumming. "We'll need to start organizing. Something big, of course, befitting both our names. At our manor? Maybe even at Hogwarts, they'd probably do that for you."
"Settle down, Cynthia." Peter laughed. "Harry and I will both need a year to afford such a party, I imagine."
"Maybe ten." Harry joked. "But of course, I'm happy to pay for it. I'll need to make a show of it, for the politics, Peter."
"All the right voting bloc will be there." Peter promised.
"Oh, you two and your politics." Cynthia waved them away. "I'll need to find a catering company and a photographer. I suppose the papers will be there but I'm not trusting Rita and her boytoy. Peter, darling, we'll need to hire a seamstress and you'll need new robes—"
"You just bought me new robes." He protested.
"Yes, but those aren't suitable for a wedding, silly."
Peter shared an exasperated look with Harry. "Are you sure you want to get married?"
Cynthia slapped his shoulder. "Of course he's sure, don't be silly. Oh, Daphne, I need to talk to Daphne, where is she—"
"Oh, about that." Harry smiled, joining his hands on the table. "I need a favour. Daphne is enjoying my…innocent courtship, a little romancing that she pretends not to enjoy. You know how she is. So I thought, if you don't mind, let's not tell her I've accepted the proposal just yet."
"That's so romantic—" Cynthia began.
"But you will wed her, right?" Peter frowned.
"I give you my word as Lord Potter, in front of Merlin and Morgana's magic itself. I will marry Daphne and Astoria both."
Peter relaxed. "Of course, I understand. Cynthia rather enjoyed my pursuit of her too, though she wouldn't deign to admit it."
Cynthia sniffed. "Your pursuit was sending flowers by owl every week. I could get more romance from a magazine subscription."
"Greengrasses are tough to court, eh, Harry?" Peter grinned.
"Oh," Harry smiled. "They just need a little push in the right places."
"I must admit, I'm surprised." Peter said. "When you didn't come back to us after our proposal at dinner, I thought you had rejected it entirely."
"Not at all. It was brewing in my mind, and they are two lovely girls, but I needed time to get to know Daphne more. And, if you don't mind me saying, I also needed yesterday to happen to know that I needed your assistance, Peter."
Peter's face went solemn. "Our families are to be joined together, so I am your disposal."
"You two!" Cynthia sniffed. She pressed a kiss on her husband's cheek and then one on Harry's. "I'll let you two talk business then. I am going to look at my dresses and see if there's still that wonderful seamstress in Bruges. Do you remember, Peter?"
"I remember, honey."
"That's funny, because she lived in Paris." Cynthia grinned.
Peter groaned. "Like I said, Harry, are you sure want to get married?"
Harry chuckled. The two were adorable. "I do, indeed. Cynthia, our meeting might go late, do you—"
"Of course you can stay for dinner, Harry." Cynthia said from the doorway. "You're family now, aren't you?"
He bowed his head in appreciation. His heart felt warm. "And, to join our business meeting, if you don't mind, I might bring a guest?"
"A guest?" Cynthia's eyebrows rose. "Who?"
###
Narcissa dusted herself off as she exited the Floo. In the waiting room, she viewed herself critically in the mirror.
Her first appearance as Harry's mistress. An impression had to be made. She knew what the first reaction would be when they learned that she, Narcissa Malfoy, was Harry's mistress. It would be that she had trapped him and corrupted him with her feminine wiles, parting her legs to warp his mind.
It wouldn't be the first mistress to lead a Lord astray.
So she needed to show that she was owned. Apolline had done her makeup before she'd departed back to France. A dusty pink eyeliner, her mascara heavy to show her lidded eyes. A daring red lipstick.
She'd undone her braids, letting her hair flow free and long, over the black fabric choker around her neck — light, but weighed down by the red and gold emblem of House Potter at its center. A physical badge made of real gold. Something official. The sign of a woman owned by a House.
She'd chosen a daring dress, her heavy breasts almost spilling from the tight black dress that conformed to her every curve. An inch lower and her breasts would bounce free, but magic had taken care of any potential mishaps.
No pendants or necklaces — the choker was more than enough.
No underwear — the dress was too tight for it.
A slip on her hip, baring too much of her leg. It was too much for a pureblood wife, but it was to be expected for a mistress. Mistresses were a relationship that were sexual, but for women that were too noble to be concubines. Older women, women that had lost their husbands, pureblood witches who still had much to offer in teaching the ways of society and helping a young wife manage their wizard's house.
And black strappy heels. Not too high — she didn't want to stand above Harry.
She exhaled a nervous breath. Cynthia and her had been friends once, long ago.
The door opened.
"Cissy?" Cynthia gaped. The woman wore a demure black gown that showed little skin, and a shining diamond necklace, large enough that all could notice. The outfit of a wife. She looked classy.
"Lady Greengrass." Narcissa curtsied. "Thank you for letting me visit your home."
"When Harry said his mistress was coming for dinner, I didn't think…" She trailed off. "Forgive me, I'm being rude. Can I take your coat? You don't have a coat, what am I saying?"
"It's okay, my Lady." Narcissa gave her an assuring smile. "I am lucky that my Lord Potter chose me and I am entwined to such a wizard. I have a new chance in life."
"Call me Cynthia, please. Here, this way. My goodness, I can't believe it…"
In the dining room, Peter Greengrass rose. His eyebrow rose only a inch before his smile wiped his face clean. "Lady Malfoy, what an unexpected pleasure." He kissed her cheek.
"Lord Greengrass. Call me Narcissa, I beg of you, I don't want to be attached to the Malfoy name," She shuddered. "And while I am technically still Lady of my house, I much prefer to be known as Mistress of Harry's." She laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, who lounged in his seat.
He leaned his head back and she kissed him obediently.
"My Lord."
"Cissy." His voice was deep, sultry.
"I brought you the documents you asked for."
"Good. Join us, I'm talking business with Peter. I've just accepted his proposal to wed his daughters."
Narcissa's smile was wide, though she felt a sinking sensation in her gut. It would never be possible, and yet she'd hoped all the same…
"Congratulations, My Lord. A fine match to a fine House and to two beautiful daughters. I am sure they will make good wives to you." She said, bowing her head. "And to you too, Lady, Lord Greengrass. I look forward to joining our houses together and to assisting the Ladies of the house."
"Thank you, Cissy. Call us Cynthia and Peter please, we go way too far back for all that nonsense." Cynthia laughed.
"You two know each other?" Harry asked.
"As young girls with big dreams." Narcissa smiled. "Mine are only now coming true." She sat delicately next to Harry.
"Narcissa Malfoy, a mistress." Cynthia shook her head again.
"Cynthia!" Peter said firmly.
"It's quite alright, Peter." Harry laughed. "It was a surprise to me, too." He reached out to toy with her blonde locks, and Narcissa could only blush as he brushed her cheek. Her lips pressed a kiss to his fleeting fingers. "But Narcissa and I bonded over our despair of the Dark Lord, our shared loneliness. And when we found an opportunity to rid the world of her husband, I couldn't resist, to allow this shadowed flower to bloom after all these years."
Narcissa's eyes glistened. "My Lord. It is I who could not resist your love and your heart."
"Rest assured," Harry turned back to the Greengrasses while Narcissa nuzzled his hand. "She is as committed as I to fighting the Dark Lord. I asked her here to bring over the Malfoy accounts. I'm hoping there's something you can find in there that will give us a clue as to where they are keeping my friend."
"I'm so happy for you, Cissy." Cynthia brought her hands to her chin. "And I'm grateful that my Daphne will have someone to watch out for her, to help her manage House Black."
"As am I." Peter agreed. "You are most welcome here, Narcissa."
Narcissa smiled demurely. Her Lord would do the speaking.
"Now, Peter, we only have a little time before dinner." Harry pushed the documents across the table. "These are the Malfoy accounts, everything we could find in his desks, his office, everything Gringotts would give us. I'll have Cissy bring over the Potter accounts later. I desperately need the Malfoy businesses running smoothly. Cissy's done her best but she can't deal with the Knockturn Alley lot. Payments are slowing down, letters are speeding up."
"It shall be my top priority." Peter flicked through the papers, licking his lips.
"Take five percent off the top for your own coffers, of course." Harry said.
Peter blinked. "Most generous and not—"
"It's as much for me as for you." Harry said. "If you bring it back to how Lucius had it, we'll both be making plenty of money. Nothing too dark, you understand? I can look the other way but not on trafficking or—"
"Not to worry, I understand. We operate on the same rules." Peter nodded.
"The first port of call — that stack that Cissy's labeled orange, that's his holdings. It's substantial, as you can imagine. Retail shops, residential rents, stables for Abraxans, shares in Quidditch teams, sponsorship of duelers, patron payments to artists, I could go on."
Peter's eyes were wide. "Certainly a lot to go through. This will take me some time. And it's not even the things that Lucius might not write down…" His finger parsed down the parchment. "Look at this. Mediation payments. Consultancy payments. Political donations with no recipient." He snorted.
"Lucius was smart enough not to write down all his misdeeds, even in papers in his own home." Harry agreed.
Narcissa bit her lip as her Lord's hand found her knee, sliding up the bare skin in the slit of her dress.
"Still," Peter scratched his ear. "This is a damn sight more than you'll get in his official reports to Gringotts or the Ministry. I can really take hold of things with this, once I get the contacts together."
"Good, I hope so. We'll need to announce Lucius' death soon. Draco's asking too many questions. Merlin, everyone is asking too many questions."
"Give me a few days to reach out, to let them know there is someone with money, with experience, and then you can announce or leak it." Peter advised. "Most of them won't even care, as long as they know that they are selling or buying from someone that isn't Ministry or Dumbledore affiliated."
"Alright." Harry agreed. "But if you look at the holdings, more than the payments. There's gotta be something odd. Voldemort would trust Lucius with finding a place to hold his prisoners, I'm sure of it. And I'm hoping that he hasn't thought about moving them, not yet."
"There's a lot, Harry. I need time — well, that's weird." Peter mumbled.
"What?"
"Lucius' tax report to the Ministry five years ago. Obviously he's only listing the official by-the-book stuff. A carpet shop on the South Coast, near Torquay."
"Why is that weird?" Cynthia asked.
"Flying carpets were banned that year, remember? The Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects defined them as a Muggle Artefact, so it's against the law to charm or fly them."
"Oh yes, that Weasley father banned them. That funny merchant came to our party once and was complaining to all that would listen." Cynthia recalled. "Bashir, something."
Peter flicked through the documents, frowning. "So the shop disappears from the next year's report, but when I look at Lucius' own records…Yes, look! He still pays several thousand galleons. It just says 'rent in Torquay.'"
Cynthia shrugged. "Maybe he's just selling carpets under the table."
Peter shook his head. "No. You can't fly them anywhere without someone spotting you. When was the last time we saw a flying carpet? And they aren't cheap. Those twelve-seater Axminster's cost a lot. Nobody's buying carpets when you can't fly them outside the house." He looked straight at Harry. "You wanted something weird. That's something weird."
Harry's feet bounced, his chest feeling lighter already. "That could be it. That could be Hermione. Once I'm closer, I'll know. She's wearing a necklace that I gave her, with my own enchantments."
"Don't go alone, please, Harry." Cissy grabbed his arm. "I beg you." She leaned closer, murmuring. "Hannah is bedridden. Apolline has a press conference that her husband wants her there for. Helena is back in class at Durmstrang and Marie at Beauxbatons. I can come—"
"No, I need you here, helping Peter to take over the Malfoy accounts. And mine too, if needed." He patted her hand, giddy with Peter's discovery. It had to be her. He was going to get her back.
"The Aurors?"
"We can't risk them letting Voldemort know. Amelia still hasn't rooted out the rotten eggs in the Ministry. Did you see how long they took to come to Hogsmeade?"
"But—"
"Don't worry. This time, I'm going with my gang."
"Gang? What gang?"
"Potter and the sidekicks." He paused. "It's…it's a working name."