18

Chapter 18 – Levelling

To say Albus Dumbledore was concerned about Professor Henry Peverell, was an understatement.

To say he was confused, was, again, an understatement.

On one hand, it was comforting to have his background confirmed.

Vernon Dursleys hatred for the man, his cousin was most convincing. No one had heard of Rell before this, his records were there but he, as well as Naomi Lupin, had disappeared in the muggle world.

Now, Rell's ties to the magical world became clearer and clearer, and yet…

And yet.

Albus had of course noticed the similarities between Rell and James Potter, it was impossible not to.

But it wasn't until he saw Euphemia, Fleamont, James, and Rell in the same place at the same time that he realized the oddity of it.

By all rights, Rell, a Peverell related to the Potters should mean that he looked like Fleamont. But Rell had features that near mirrored James's and echoed those in Euphemia, Euphemia Ross.

Of course, all pureblood lines were closer than people wanted to admit to in Britain.

But where a pureblood lineage could be explained, Rell having the same eye colour as Ms. Lily Evans could not be as easily dismissed.

Perhaps he was a half-blood?

But with a name like Henry Black Peverell, that seemed unlikely.

And Black, could have been a muggle surname, a variation on Blacksmith, however if he was related to the pureblood line of Blacks, it seemed most odd that the Black family had not made a formal claim on him.

Well, aside from Narcissa Black pursuing him.

Was it possible that Rell was related to Doria Black? She had married a Potter and had been exiled from the family, Albus knew that at least.

What he didn't know was where the Peverell line had gone. It seemed especially odd that a direct line of male heirs would survive time when the names of the founders hadn't lasted that long.

And again, where did the Evans family tie in? More than that, where did Petunia Evans's intended, Vernon Dursley, tie in?

What would be the chances that Rell was related to all of these people?

Of course, Rell had stated that the Dursleys were his foster family, so there was quite possibly no blood relation there.

Albus rubbed his temples.

He did not have the impression that Rell was a bad person, despite what the Dursley boy had accused, but Henry Peverell was an enigma.

Albus ate a lemon drop.

Teddy was watching Uncle Lye and Cousin Remus closely.

They were very sad people.

Daddy could be sad too, but they were really sad.

"Aunt Hope, is Uncle Lye and Remus okay?"

Aunt Hope smiled at him kindly, Aunt Hope was an extra kind and good person. "They will be okay. They are just worried about James."

"Peter was a bad person," Teddy informed her as Cousin Remus walked in.

"Peter was my friend, Teddy."

Teddy shook his head, letting his hair turn dark red so they would know he was serious when he said, "No, he wasn't. I'm glad he's dead."

"Teddy!" Aunt Hope chided as Remus's mouth popped open.

"I'm telling the truth," Teddy informed them, "I'm not liar."

"I will be telling your father about your mean words," Aunt Hope told him, "He won't like you saying bad things."

"I'm not bad, Peter is bad. Daddy doesn't like him either. That's why I stay with Hagrid for your class."

Remus's face turned red, then he shouted, "Shut up! You don't know anything!"

"Remus Lyall Lupin!" Aunt Hope raised her voice.

Teddy held his ears and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

Their voices echoed in his head and it was loud, too loud.

It hurt so much he wanted to cry.

But Daddy wasn't around so he wouldn't cry. He ran to Daddy's room. Shutting the door softly so the noise didn't hurt him too, he hid under the bed.

He wished Daddy was here.

He would tell Remus that Peter was bad.

And Daddy wasn't that loud. Daddy hardly ever raised his voice.

Teddy buried his face tight to his knees, pressing his back against the wall, his shoulders and head pressed to the hard metal of the under the bed. He held his ears to help stop the ringing.

The ringing hurt.

Lyall came down from his study at run at the sound of shouting.

"What?" he asked, panicked, "What's happened now?"

"Teddy is happy Peter is dead," Remus said, his face flushed.

Lyall frowned, "Teddy is three years old. And though I am personally not 'happy' your friend is dead, nor am I pleased with your part in his accident, Peter Pettigrew was not a very likeable kid."

Remus's expression darkened, "How dare you! He was my friend! He-!"

"Do not raise your voice at me, son," Lyall cut him off, "your guilt does not give you the right to shout at your little cousin. Nor does Peter's death make him a saint. Does it not occur to you that maybe Teddy might have reason to dislike him?"

Lyall had not been blind to the bullying tendencies of his son's closest friends.

"He said Uncle Rell didn't let him stay in our DADA class because of Peter."

Lyall felt his eyes widen at that, had Peter been more than a bully? He shook his head, the boy was dead, it didn't matter now. Aloud he said, "And your Uncle Peverell does not strike me as a wizard to easily misjudge people. Perhaps you didn't know Peter as well as you should have. Now, where is Teddy? And I do expect you to apologize to him once everyone has calmed down."

"But Dad-"

"Enough, Remus. I know things have been trying for you, but Teddy is not only a guest in our house, but he is an innocent. You are not a child to take your grief out on those around you."

"He went to the guest room," Hope said softly, looking worriedly down the hall.

Lyall turned his back on his son and went to the guest room. He knocked on the door and when no answer came, he opened the door.

The room was seemed empty.

He had a split second to wonder if it was possible for a metemorphmegus could go chameleon and hide in plain sight. He dismissed this idea, because even if it was possible it wasn't likely that a three year old could pull it off. Lyall checked the closest first, before dropping to his knees then stomach to check under the bed.

Sure enough, there was the little boy with a mop of raven hair, curled into a small ball in the back. Another smaller ball of fur curled beside him.

"Teddy," Lyall called softly.

But the boy was holding his ears, so Lyall reached out a hand to touch his leg.

Teddy nearly jumped out of his skin, he shoulder and head jerked up against the underside of the bed and Lyall winced in sympathy even as he murmmered, "It's alright, Teddy, it's just you're Uncle Lye. You're alright, you're alright." He held out his arm to the little boy.

With his eyes too big, changing between emerald green and palest honey brown, he crawled out from under the bed.

Lyall wrapped his arms around the small figure, rubbing a hand in circles around his back.

Teddy clung to his shirt front and said almost too quietly to hear, "I'm not liar."

"Shhhh, of course not," Lyall got them off the ground, sitting them both on the bed as he tried to calm the boy down.

The kitten jumped up on them, nestling herself between Teddy's shoulder and Lyall's chest.

Teddy gave muffled sob and seemed to be fighting himself not to cry.

Lyall's heart broke for the boy. "It's okay, Teddy, you're okay. Your dad will be here tomorrow night. You're okay."

Teddy buried his face against his chest, as the kitten began to purr.

When Teddy finally lessoned his death grip a bit, Lyall asked, "Teddy, why were you holding your ears?"

"It hurts."

Fear swept through Lyall. The idea of his little sister's son being injured… "What hurts?"

"Too loud, everyone is too loud."

Lyall frowned, "Do your ears hurt a lot?"

He nodded without looking up.

"Do your ears just hurt, or only when people are being loud?"

"Loud, everyone is loud, loud things. They hurt. Daddy doesn't talk loud. Daddy puts up sound rooms in rooms."

The last part took a bit of translating but he realized Rell must have put up a sound burier.

"Do you tell your father things are too loud?" Lyall asked, knowing from experience with his own son that sometimes children were as prone to overstating as they were to understating things.

Remus had taken his transformation as something that was normal. Too young to understand that chronic pain wasn't normal. He cried more about fevers and being hungry than the bruises and cuts he acquired each full moon.

Teddy shook his head, "Daddy isn't loud."

Lyall pulled his wand and did a quick diagnosis spell. Teddy wasn't injured, but Lyall thought that he should still get his ears checked by a professional. But that could wait until tomorrow night when Rell came back. For now…

"Did your Dad ever tell you the story about a little girl named Sunny?"

Teddy shook his head and was asleep fifteen minutes into the story.

Lyall didn't stop rubbing the boy's back.

His sister's son.

How he wished Naomi was here. How he wished she could see who her son was going to become.

After her attack, she had begun to believe that none could love her. But Rell had, and the child that they had made together...

Well, Teddy was the kind of child every parent would be proud of.

Hope came in a few minutes later.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I raised my voice when he said Peter was a bad person. He shouldn't repeat such things."

Lyall ran a hand over Teddy's curls, "Sometimes, Hope, the words of children are simply truth. Even if it isn't truth we want to hear."

"What do you mean she's engaged to Lucius?" Andromeda demanded.

"Kingsley just told me," Bella answered, picking Nymphadora up in her arms. The small child held onto her and began playing with her dark hair.

"When?"

"Ten minutes ago."

Andromeda rolled her eyes, "No, when did she say yes to that bastard?"

"Two nights ago."

"But why? Narcissa would never forgive him. Where is she now?"

"Hogwarts."

"Did you try to reach her?"

Bella made a face, "I'm not going to be the one to lose my eyebrows this time."

"Bella-"

"Andromeda, the last time we tried to help our little sister-"

Andromeda cut her off, looking toward Nymphadora who was studying them closely with honey-brown eyes. Instead, she asked, "Malfoy?"

Bella's smile was cruel, "I know where he will be."

Andromeda took Nymphadora to bring to her father reading a medical journal at the table with his afternoon cup of tea.

"Where is Malfoy going to be?" the little girl repeated as she settled in her father's lap.

"Six feet under," Bella answered with another smile.

"Under what?" Nymphadora asked.

Ted glared at her, "You know you're marrying an Auror, correct?"

"What Kingsley doesn't know won't hurt him."

"That isn't how marriage works."

"Relax sweetie, we aren't going to kill him," Andromeda said.

Bella's smile grew wider.

Ted narrowed his eyes on his wife. "Andromeda," he warned.

Bella cackled.

"We'll be back for breakfast," Andromeda assured him, kissing his cheek, then kissing Nymphadora's head.

Once her mother and aunt left home, she asked her father, "Is Mama going to jail."

"No," Ted answered, straighten out the journal he had been reading on the table, "No, your Mama is too good to get caught doing anything wrong."

Nymphadora patted her father's hand, "Mama is scary, but she's not scary to us, right?"

Ted kissed his daughter's head, "That's right." And wondered at what lessons they were teaching their daughter.

Harry had set up islands in the room, i.e. chairs and tables, putting sticking charms on them to ensure they didn't fall when leaped off of and, as always, put cushion charms on the floor.

"Today," he announced to the class, "We are playing the floor is lava."

One of the students objected by saying, "This isn't lava, those are lemons."

Harry smiled, "If we were all actually this close to lava we would all be suffering from heat exposure and likely toxic gas. None the less, I would advice not touching the lemons."

Said lemons, lay inert on the floor. Cheerful, harmless, lemony lemons.

So of course, students reached out to touch them.

Harry sat down crossed legged on his desk as the room descended into pure lemony chaos.

Most of the lemons were charmed to spawn duplicates of themselves, so there were infinitely more lemons than when the class had started.

Other lemons exploded, chunks of charred sour fruit sored into the air. This was more dangerous to the lemons than the students, but to the students who began to fight the lemons… they quickly discovered that lemon juice to the eye was, at very least, undesirable.

The true mayhem started when the desks became slippery and the students, half blind with citrus juice fell into the rising tide of produce.

Once the screaming began and the houses began working together to fortify desks. As seventh years, Harry had put them through similar assignments before. So halfway through the class, they formed teams and began to claim desks as territories in the ocean of lemons.

Lavation charms were used to both shield and attack with the lemons. Many were brandishing their wands as swords.

Harry only needed to help one student not be completely swallowed into the lemon sea.

Once he was sure they all got a handle on the spawning and exploding charms and were getting too invested in tearing each other down, did he begin to set more charms loose into the field of yellow.

Some lemons grew to the size of boulders, and others began to sing, and more turned into illusionary fireworks that burst into white and yellow sparks.

Eventually, the situation began to grow uncontrollable. The desks were no longer visible, and Harry and his students were sitting in the rafters, late for dinner, smelling of lemons by Frank Longbottom thought to ask, "What was the point of this lesson?"

Harry smiled sweetly at him, "Your objective was to reach the door, at which point the charms on the lemons would disappear."

They all looked toward the doors of the classroom, said doors were obscured by thousands upon thousands of lemons.

"Well," Frank said, "That would have been helpful to know."

"I advised you all not to touch the lemons."

"You are fucking crazy," another student, who was clinging to the rafter said.

"Language," Harry sang cheerfully.

"What do we do now?" a Slytherin asked of everyone.

"The bell rang, technically class is over, Professor," a Ravenclaw said.

"You are free to leave, whenever you like," Harry said.

"You're not going to help, are you?" Alice asked staring down at the room of lemons.

"That wouldn't be very educational, would it?"

"I hate you," the Ravenclaw snarled.

"We can go swimming?" Frank offered.

"We would get crushed," Alice said, shooting the idea down.

"So what do we do!?"

The Slytherin student said timidly, "Wait for help?"

"Twenty points to Slytherin," Harry said.

"Really!?" Frank exploded, "That's your answer?"

"Waiting for help is an excellent solution when you are safe and everywhere else is unsafe."

"We'll miss dinner!" the Ravenclaw protested.

"You aren't going to die from missing one meal," Harry assured them.

"Well now that we've come up with the answer, can you help us?" Alice asked, "Please, Professor Rell?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" Frank asked.

"Because patience is a virtue and practice makes perfect."

"Nobody needs to practice waiting for help," a Hufflepuff student argued.

Harry smiled, "Ten minutes, if you can all last ten minutes without complaining or heavy sighs I'll get us down and to the Great Hall in one piece."

They didn't last three minutes. And it took a full hour before the other professors came to get them.

The doors were opened and as the lemons spilled into the hall they disappeared. The fruit drained from the room like bathwater down a drain. Leaving professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore staring up at the seventh year DADA class of NEWT students, plus Harry, hanging out in the rafters.

McGonagall and Dumbledore turned the rafters into slides that brought them all safely to the ground.

Two lemons sat on the ground, inert, harmless, and cheerfully lemony yellow.

"What do we say, class?" Harry asked his students.

"We hate you?" Frank asked as the rest of the class chorused thank you's to the other three professors.

Harry joined his colleagues as the class filled down to the kitchens to ask the house-elves for dinner.

"You could teach Charms," Flitwick noted with a smile.

Harry grinned back, "You could teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Dueling Champion."

Flitwick flushed, "Not many know about that."

McGonagall huffed, "You're too modest Filius."

"As impressive as ever, Professor Rell," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

Harry was grading papers later that night when Narcissa entered his office without knocking.

He stood, walking around his desk.

If she was here to finish crushing his heart, he wasn't going to let it show that he cared.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked, with not nearly enough venom.

She said nothing, walking closer to him.

He wondered briefly if she would have a real explanation for him, but she said nothing to him until she stood directly in front of him.

"I came to say goodbye," she said, voice not cold, but toneless. Utterly devoid of -anything.

That was his first hint.

She held out her hand to him with the new ring, showing it off to him.

Standing this close to her, he saw the glazed look in her grey eyes.

That was his second hint.

He probably should have run, but his 'saving people-thing' took over and he reached for her hand.

"Narcissa, are you alright?"

She held onto his hand, and said to him "I'm happy."

She clearly wasn't, and if Harry hadn't embraced his hurt feelings and he could have spotted the Imperius curse sooner.

"I'm happy," she repeated, "I forgive Lucius. I love him. I-"

He tuned her out as he tried to pull his hand out of her grip as he heard the hissing coming from her arm.

'Kill, kill, kill, kill,' the shadow snake hissed as it began to coil up his hand.

Why did it always have to be insane killing snakes? Harry liked snakes. Not all snakes were murdering serial killers.

He pushed his magic, raw, pure, into the creature, the shadow, the serpent that was not really a serpent. He felt the darkness, the destruction pouring off it. He knew he had seconds to redirect it, as well as he knew that the redirection would not except anything short of pain.

'Burn, burn, burn, burn,' Harry hissed in Parseltongue as coiled further up his arm.

Narcissa made a pained noise as both their flesh began to bake.

Her grip changed, from clinging to holding on for support.

Harry shoved his power into the dark creature and in a burst of searing heat, it disappeared.

Narcissa let go of his hand, falling to her knees with a gasp. She looked up at him slowly, life and depth returned her blue-grey eyes. She frowned at him, then down at her arm. She winced as she reached for the ring and tossed it across the room.

"He-" her voice caught in her throat, and she lifted her uninjured hand to her temple, "He… I don't remember what happened. But he..." She looked back at his arm, "he used me to get to you, to try to kill you."

Harry offered her an arm, she accepted, the weight she gave him the only indication she was unsteady on her feet.

"It happens," he said, "You were under the Imperius curse. What is the last thing you remember?"

She scowled, "I do not fall prey to the Imperius-" She cut herself. "He told me to take his hand. That's the last thing I remember. I was going to Olivander's, they-"

"They knew you needed a new one," Harry supplied, he had to work to keep the fury from his voice, "They probably had someone posted weighting for you who would alert them."

"Lucius, he-" she closed her eyes. "No, no it wasn't Lucius. Lucius asked for my hand, but it was another voice… I felt peaceful and another voice said sweetly into my mind to take his hand, I… I'm such a fool."

Harry put a hand to her cheek, "No, no you're not. They were subtle. They ambushed you and taking his hand is not the same thing as squawking like a chicken. You would have noticed if they asked for something-"

"They did," she cut him off, "But I can't-" she met his gaze, horror overcoming her, "I can't remember."

He took her unscarred hand with his scarred one, "Come on." He tugged her toward the door.

"Rell, obliviate has no cure."

"Yes, it does," he said, the anger simmering in his veins.

He had other things to think about in his sixth year, but he knew someone who messed with memory charms and had kept a way out for himself.

Down and down they went to the dungeons, Narcissa kept pace with him and he could feel the anger coming off her.

Lucius was a dead man walking.

Harry pounded on Slughorn's door.

"Professor Peverell," the man greeted warmly, "What- Narcissa, my dear, are you alright?"

"No," she said shortly, shutting the door behind them as they came into the room.

Harry let go of her hand and she took a seat without being asked.

"Err- what can I do fo-"

"Where are your potions for retrieving memories?" Harry demanded.

Slughorn paled, "My boy, I don't-"

"Oh, but you do. You tried to erase your memory of giving Mr. Tom Riddle the key to creating Horcruxes, and instead of living with that mistake, instead of informing the Headmaster or Dumbledore, you altered your memory."

Slughorn sputtered.

"The potion you made, it works on Obliviate Charms, doesn't it?"

"How-?" he asked, "How could you possibly-"

"It works, doesn't it?"

Slughorn's shoulders slumped, "The third cabinet on the right, I named it Solaces Potion."

Narcissa looked appalled, "You found a cure and you kept it to yourself? Do you even realize all the people you could have helped?"

"I-" Slughorn began to say, then changed course, "It isn't perfected. It takes a year to brew and I've only ever tested it on myself. Boy! Don't just drink it! Did you not hear me say it takes a year to brew?"

Harry had taken a swig from the bottle, he wasn't about to give it to Narcissa without knowing if it was absolutely safe.

A memory of Naomi flooded his mind, she was sobbing into his chest, I can't do it, I can't do it. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.

Harry blinked, his vision clearing, even as the echoes of old memories of his second life flitted through his mind more clearly, grounding themselves in him. Becoming a little more Rell, a little less Potter.

"Horace," Harry said, "How much does she take?"

"How much was taken?" Slughorn asked Narcissa, not unkindly.

"A night," she said, "I don't remember what time I got back to the castle."

"Two nights ago?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Was it Lucius?"

She nodded again.

Slughorn seemed to deflate, "Oh, what a pity. I never liked his father, but I had hoped… I'm sorry my dear."

"Just give me back my memories, you bastard," she said, voice sharp enough to cut steel.

He looked at her as if wounded, "You would call me a bastard?"

"I would call you every vile name in the book, you selfish, ignorant man. How could you not know what a potion like this would mean to our society? Can you imagine what cruelties have been erased? Obliviate is not an Unforgivable, but it should be. Such a simple charm, and no one thinks... I know women who have been driven mad by how often it was used against them. You-" she visibly bit her tongue.

Harry felt his gut churn. He was just as guilty, of not thinking of that.

The most horrible thing he had seen done with it, had not been Lockhart stealing people's legacies, but rather Hermione erasing herself from her family's lives.

Harry hated himself for not connecting that Slughorn had this potion.

"Two teaspoons, Ms. Black and you should remember everything."

Harry summoned a teaspoon and handed it to Narcissa.

She gave it back to him, her own hand shaky. But Harry's had to work to keep his own burned hand steady as he fed her the potion.

She shut her eyes, going absolutely still.

"You could be famous for creating this," Harry said softly to the other professor.

"I never wanted fame."

"You didn't want the death threats," Harry corrected.

Slughorn looked away, because, yes, that's what potion like this would mean. It might very well unseat many of their most powerful officials.

Because people were corruptible, and where corruption was not stopped, rot grew.

"Produce this potion Horace Slughorn, in your name."

"It isn't perfected yet, it needs-"

Harry turned on him, "Tom Riddle is a Dark Lord powerful enough to rival Dumbledore. You helped make him so. Grow a spine, and take responsibility for something, you conniving, soft-bellied spider."

Slughorn met his gaze, "I said you could lead Slytherin in a new direction, Mr. Peverell. I still think it. But if you know what Mr. Riddle has planned, why don't you stop him?"

Harry turned back to look at Narcissa who still sat with her eyes closed.

"Tom Riddle killed my wife," he said, "he killed my parents. I don't want him dead, I want him ruined."

"Would you sacrifice the rest to get revenge?"

"He has five, maybe six horcruxes. I could destroy two of them tonight if I liked, but that only means he will hide the others, guard them more jealously. He'll hide in the shadows and pick apart any force that goes at him directly. He means to start a war, not with armies and moving the people toward a common movement, but with assassins and terror. He will be a tick, as bloody to leave in as claw out."

"Why did he kill your parents?" Slughorn asked, "Why Naomi?"

Harry's words were vicious, "Because they found something out that will dismantle everything."

"Mr. Riddle was a half-blood, an orphan, he-"

Harry cut him off, "It was a secret bigger than Riddle, something to shake the very foundation of the magical world."

"You're playing with fire."

He looked at the older man sharply, "No, Professor, fire played with me."

Narcissa eyes flashed open, "I remember."

"What do you remember, Ms. Black?" Slughorn asked, looking ill, sweat dripped down the sides of his face.

"Lucius took me out to dinner, and there was- another wizard. I never saw him, but he was close enough to hear what Lucius said to me throughout the meal because he timed the Imperius curse perfectly."

Her grey-blue stared into Harry like pale sapphires caught in the morning light, "Lucius wasn't interested in me. He didn't want me, he wanted you dead."

Harry sighed, "I get that a lot."

She frowned at him, "I could have killed you."

Harry waved it away, "A little snake curse? Riddle is going to have to try harder than that if he wants me dead."

"What if he hurts Teddy?"

"Then I'm levelling London," Harry answered simply.

"You can't be with him all of the time, you're not with him now," she insisted.

"No, I left him with Lyall Lupin, is about as protecting of his children as I am, and about as vengeful in regard to Naomi as I am. He is safe."

"You don't believe that," she shot back.

He flicked her nose, "You're just picking because you slipped up." Though his worry for Teddy did spike at her words. But then Harry was always worried about Teddy whether he was with him or not.

She batted his hand away, "Don't patronize me."

"It isn't a sign of weakness to ask for help, Narcissa. I could have gone with you to Olivander's if you asked. Hell, you could have asked your sister or Kingsley to go with you. Poppy, Minerva, your father. You didn't have to go alone."

She flushed, "I am independent, I don't need an escort."

"Of course you don't need one, but you had already been attacked when you were armed. Our lessons with wandless magic were not enough to handle an ambush."

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been ambushed."

"That's true."

She glared at him, "You're not going to fight back?"

"I'm an orphan, a widower, and have survived more assassination attempts than I care to recall. Being close to me, being my friend, my lover, those are not safe occupations."

She looked at him, looked at him as if she had never seen him before.

Slughorn suddenly reminded him he was there, "And yet you raised your son on your own."

Harry raised his chin, "I was an orphan, I would have faced all the dangers in the world rather than be raised as I was. I couldn't give him up, not for anything, not even the off chance he would be safer, which as my son, I doubt. I would never risk him to a loveless home. Being neglected, being raised by someone who simply does not care if you live or die, if you are happy or sad, that, that, has no cure."

Narcissa touched his arm, "I'm sorry."

He sighed, "I'm sorry they used you to get to me."

Her hand tightened around his arm, "I'm going to destroy Lucius."

Not kill, destroy.

Why did Harry find that so damned attractive?

He mentally shrugged, hadn't he just said the same about Riddle. His middle name was Black now, he supposed it was only fitting he embrace his crazy side a little more.

Slughorn coughed, "Yes, well, if you two don't mind, apparently I have a sales pitch to prepare."

"You mean an exit strategy," Narcissa said, her voice sultry.

Harry shivered, wondering at the tension hanging between them.

Slughorn adjusted his collar, "You are feeling better, aren't you? They didn't-"

"I'm fine," she cut him off.

Before Harry could throw in a jab, she pulled him out of the dungeon room with her.

Narcissa was not feeling great about herself.

Everything felt uncertain.

She should have, as Rell suggested, asked for help.

But even with everything that had happened tonight, all she could think about was Rell. She had learned more about him than she had since meeting him.

The Dark Lord, Tom Riddle, wanted him dead, had already murdered his parents and wife.

No wonder he was so damn protective of his son and so paranoid all of the time. The ease in how he held dealt with the curse surprised her.

They feel of his magic as it burned the curse away, the raw power of him, as well as the competency to handle such specified attack.

With her own training in the Dark Arts, the best she could have done was send it back to kill the messenger.

She was glad he hadn't killed her.

"Thank you," she said as he slowed in the dim hallway.

He looked down at her, his emerald eyes darker than normal. "As you said, it was my fault you were harmed in the first place."

The ribbon from his shoulder length black curls had come undone, so that his raven curls framed his face. Did she have a thing for long hair on men?

Probably.

"I didn't want to be with you because I thought it would be safe or easy."

He tilted his head just a bit, reaching out a hand to tuck back her own curls back from her face, "And why are you interested, Narcissa? You have so much potential, you're young, you're intelligent. You are beautiful, you don't have to choose between a cad and a single father."

She cupped his hand against her the side of her face, the burns on her hands were peripheral to what she said next, "Because I want you. Because I do not care how messy, how dangerous your life is. I'm a Black, my life has always been such, but you, you, actually deal with it. You became a master in Defense, and no matter the misfortune that seems to befall you, you're still kind. You still care."

And Narcissa wanted that, she wanted to care. She was sick of burning bridges, cutting off everyone and everything just so she could escape the inevitable disappointment.

He searched her face, and instead of wasting breath on words, he kissed her.

She let out a sound between a whimper and a groan as he explored her, and in turn, he opened for her exploration. He brought his hands down to wander her shape.

And even through her mediwitch robes, she felt fire where he touched her.

"Narcissa," he growled against her lips.

She bit his lower lip, and told him, "If you stop now, it's over."

Because fuck taking it slow, screw waiting for marriage. They could both find themselves dead in the morning.

She had made her choice, and her choice was him.

He wrapped his arms around her in a solid embrace, and she parted her legs to hold onto him. He broke the kiss long enough to say, "As my lady wishes."

And then they were disapparating.

They appeared in his bedroom with a pop and she let out a breath. "You aren't supposed to be able to do that here," she remarked, though it was not a complaint.

"So I've been told."

The clothes really didn't last long. They mostly raced to undress themselves. One night there would be romance and slow reveals.

Tonight was not that night.

Tonight was about warming each other, about skin on skin, about turning the coals to set the world ablaze.

Everyone said she was cold, distant, harsh, but that wasn't Narcissa. That was the world, the world that inspired such dispassion in her being as everyone made the same mistakes, played the same petty games, over and over again. Everyone trying to escape it only to rebuild the same traps for themselves.

But Rell?

Rell made her burn, made her long for passion, adventure, life.

Tonight was as much about her pleasure as it was claiming him. After tonight he would not be able to simply turn away from her.

Perhaps that was arrogance on her part, she after all, had no idea what she was doing, but when he stretched her out on his sheets, she let her gaze take stock of him as he knelt over her.

His emerald eyes sparked, his own desires sharping when he found its mirror in her, "See something you like?"

His deep voice sent a thrill through her. She tilted her chin up, exposing her throat, knowing the line he drew with his gaze from her neck to the swell of her breasts. "Waiting for him to come across."

She expected him to say something witty, what she got was his parted lips on her neck, his naked flash teasing over hers.

When her whole being was aflame and she thought she might combust if he didn't quit tormenting her, he pulled back to ask, "Narcissa, are you a virgin?"

Panic seized her momentarily, would that be a problem for him?

He must have seen her answer in her expression because he said, "We'll go slow."

" I don't want slow," she wanted him to melt her bones.

But Rell only smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes that hard her pulse racing in the back of her throat as he trailed kisses down her body, until he came to the apex of her thighs.

"Hairy," she thought he said.

She flinched away from him, attempting to close her legs, but he placed his hands on her inner thighs, keeping her spread before him.

"No, Narcissa-" she trembled at the way he said her name. "-I mean Harry short for Henry. My name is Harry."

Still feeling flushed and light headed she tasted his name, "Harry."

The smile he gave her damn near broke her.

And then he removed his glasses and lowered his head over her, and proved that the language of snakes was performed with vibrating tongues.

She shattered, screaming his name and clawing helplessly at the sheets.

A part of her thought it was too much, too much pleasure, too much sensation, and the other part of her was ready to murder him if he didn't finish that climbing promise.

"Harry!" She cried, she damn near sobbed as he brought her over that golden edge again. Deeper, fuller this time as he added fingers.

And then he was above her, and she was ready, more than ready, she was aching for him.

She was tight, so deliciously tight but there was no flash of that sharp pain she had been expecting. She understood then why Harry had insisted on foreplay because as much she wanted him, she had needed it this first time.

He settled his weight once he reached the end of her, their hips flush against her. He kissed her languidly, tasting her, possessing her. She brought her arms up to trace along the firmness of his back.

She shuddered for him, as much from having his length inside her as being allowed to touch him so freely.

He ground into her without pulling out, and in turn, she pulled him closer with one hand at his waist and the other tangling in his wild hair. It was much softer than she had expected those raven curls to be. She deepened the kiss, tried to tell him without words what she wanted, but when he pulled his hips back to thrust into her, he was powerful but slow.

She wanted, no, she needed more friction. She turned her face away from his and he wasted no time in lavishing the bend of her neck in kisses.

"More, Harry, give me more."

His thrusts sped up and he reclaimed her lips with his, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more, she wanted to see him, she wanted all of him.

She straightened her legs and rolled them both, a lifetime of wrestling with her older sisters paying off as she straddled him, taking him fast and hard. He was long but even still, she slipped from inside her a few times. But soon enough they were dancing together, Harry rocking up to meet the lift and roll of her hips.

He laughed, voice husky as his hands explored upward. His callouses scrapped enticingly over the curve of her rear, her hips, her sides, until he found her breasts where he nearly lost his rhythm in matching her.

It was her turn to laugh and she tightened herself around him.

He gasped, his hands fell away as his back arched. She watched the muscles in the column of his neck strain as he fought himself not to lose control.

"Narcissa!" he groaned, his entire body shivered beneath her, and the sight of him like that. Of him coming undone beneath her, because of her-

She came screaming and he let himself go. They collapsed together, his arms coming round to hold her as she settled into the curve of him.

He kissed first her cheek, then the shell of her ear. "You are so beautiful."

She shivered, wriggling closer to him. His front to her back, "Can we do that again?"

Harry laughed, joyous, masculine; hers.

"Sleep first, I may be magic with my tongue but I am not multi-orgasmic."

She huffed, though she remained smiling, "I'll try not to hold it against you."

He nipped her neck and she writhed for him, which caused him to groan and sent his hands roaming. But eventually, they both relaxed completely against each other. Narcissa knew when he slipped into sleep, his body pulling her closer, his limbs becoming heavier.

She felt cherished, safe, and dare she even think it, loved.

She pulled that feeling around her like his sent, filling her lungs as she drifted into the deepest, richest sleep she had ever known.