Chapter 36: ComfortChapter TextThe heavy wooden door to the second-floor bedroom of 12 Grimmauld Place creaked open slightly as Harry pushed it, careful not to make too much noise. The room was dimly lit with several floating orbs of light hovering near the ceiling, casting a warm glow across the space. His eyes immediately found Nat on the far side, her back to the door as she worked methodically at an old oak table covered with various medical supplies, glass vials, and herbs. The soft glow of light framed her form, casting delicate shadows along the contours of her shoulders, the curve of her waist, the gentle sway of her hair as she moved with an effortless grace.
Two women lay unconscious on the large bed against the wall—Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector. Their normally vibrant faces were pale, but their breathing seemed steady. He could see it in the slow rise and fall of Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector's chests as they rested.
Various magical monitoring charms hovered above them, thin ribbons of colored light pulsing in sync with their heartbeats.
Harry paused at the doorway, taking a moment to simply watch Nat work. Her long hair was pulled back in a practical braid that fell down her back, a few loose strands framing her face as she leaned over her work. Her shoulders moved as her hands sorted through ingredients and supplies, measuring and mixing with practiced movements.
A feeling of warmth spread through his chest as he observed her. It wasn't just her physical beauty that captivated him, though that was undeniable. It was the care in every movement, the fierce intelligence behind each decision, the way she had thrown herself into helping these women without hesitation—even after discovering who was responsible for their condition.
Her strength wasn't in brute force or intimidation; it was in her unwavering compassion, her refusal to let darkness win, even after enduring so much suffering. And in that moment, watching her heal the two professors with complete disregard of her feelings and emotions, Harry felt that familiar swell of emotion that still surprised him sometimes—how deeply he had come to love her.
Silently, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Nat didn't turn, still focused on grinding something in a small mortar and pestle. She'd told him doing it manually, without magic, helped soothe her.
The floorboards creaked slightly as he crossed the room, but she seemed too absorbed in her work to notice, or perhaps she had, but she didn't react outright.
When he reached her, Harry slowly wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin gently on her shoulder. He felt her body shiver momentarily in surprise before she relaxed into his embrace.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he whispered, his lips close to her ear. "What you did for them... it's nothing short of brilliant."
A small smile formed on her lips as she set down the mortar. Her hand moved to rest atop his where they clasped over her middle, her thumb tracing light circles on his skin as their fingers linked.
"I just did what needed to be done," she replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of weariness.
Harry pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck, smiling when he felt her shiver in his arms.
"Still, you did brilliantly," he murmured, his voice low.
"They'll be alright now," she whispered, nodding. "That's what's important."
Harry pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "And that's because of you."
A soft smile touched her lips, though she didn't speak.
"Are you okay though?" he asked softly. He knew the question was delicate, but it was also necessary.
She sighed, her thumb brushing absent circles over the back of his hand. "I'm trying to be."
Harry tightened his hold on her, drawing her closer, burying his face in her hair. "Talk to me."
Nat was quiet for a long moment, as though sorting through her thoughts, and Harry allowed her the time. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "I'm trying to keep my anger in check," she admitted. "When I realized it was Malfoy behind this... that he was the ugly carcass like thing there on the floor... everything came rushing back at once…"
Her voice trailed off, her hand tightening over Harry's.
Harry tightened his embrace in return, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the faint scent of healing herbs and something uniquely her. "I understand," he said, the words vibrating against her skin. "Believe me, I understand exactly how you feel."
"I wanted to strike him down immediately. I have never felt rage like that before. It felt like I was burning from inside, like I was suffocating. I wanted to do something—anything—to make him suffer right then and there," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But they would have died if I had."
Harry pulled back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to the side of her head. "You could have given in to it. You had every reason to." He turned her gently in his arms, his hands settling on her waist as he looked down at her. "But you didn't."
She sighed, her fingers lightly brushing against his chest. "I couldn't. Not with them needing me. I had to push it aside."
"And that's why I'm so proud of you," Harry said, turning her slightly even more so he could see her face. "That's what makes you so strong. You put aside your pain and anger to do what was more important. Not everyone could do that, Nat. I certainly struggled with it for years. That's one of the many reasons why I admire about you so much."
Her eyes flicked toward the bed where the two professors lay. "The curse was meant to be fatal."
"Good thing we had you," Harry said, a hint of fierce pride in his voice. "Your knowledge saved their lives when no one else could have helped them."
Nat turned in his arms then, facing him fully. Her hands came to rest on his chest, her fingers absently stroking the fabric of his shirt as she looked up at him. In the soft light, he could see the complexity of emotions in her eyes—her determination, her exhaustion, all the residual anger, and something softer, tender, when she met his gaze. He saw all the love she held and his face softened, conveying the love he had for her.
"Sometimes I worry about how much hatred I'm capable of feeling," she confessed, her voice low. "When I think about what he's done, what he's continued to do over the years..."
A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. Harry reached up without hesitation, gently wiping it away with his thumb.
"Believe me, he won't be able to do anything anymore," Harry said with conviction. "And your capacity for compassion is so much greater than your capacity for hatred, Nat. I see it every day."
He cradled her face in his hands, his green eyes locked on hers. "I promise you, Malfoy will answer for every sin and atrocity he's ever committed. He'll suffer and watch everything he values crumble before he finally meets his end. But it will be on our terms, not out of blind rage."
Nat nodded slightly, leaning into his touch. "I know," she said. "And I know we need to be smart about this. I just..." She took a shaky breath. "Seeing what that curse was doing to their blood, knowing what they must have felt... realizing that the murderer of my family—my people, was there right in front of me… that he still breathes…"
"It's okay to be angry," Harry assured her, caressing her face tenderly. "After everything you've been through, everything you've seen—I'd be worried if you weren't." He brushed another stray strand of hair from her face. "Just don't let it consume you. That's how he wins."
"When did you get so wise?" she asked, the ghost of a smile returning to her lips.
Harry chuckled softly. "I've had good company. Wonderful partners to learn from."
She looked up at him, vulnerability and strength equally present in her expression. "Thank you for understanding. For not telling me to just let it go."
"I would never," he replied simply. "Some things shouldn't be let go. They should be channeled, used to fuel something better."
Nat's hands slid up from his chest to rest on his shoulders. "Like healing instead of hurting?"
"Exactly like that," Harry murmured.
She nodded, her expression resolving into something determined yet peaceful. "Then that's what we'll all do. Together."
Harry leaned forward as Nat tilted her face up, meeting him halfway. Their lips met in a kiss that was gentle yet firm, conveying the feelings they held for each other. What had once started as simply fulfilment of a debt had evolved into something significantly more profound between all of them, the influence of the ritual be damned.
His arms tightened around her waist as hers encircled his neck, drawing strength and giving comfort in equal measure as they tenderly kissed, their lips moving together in harmony.
When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers. "You should rest," he said. "You've been at this for hours."
"I need to monitor them a bit longer," she replied, glancing toward the bed. "The curse might be broken, but their bodies still need to recover."
"Then I'll stay with you," Harry said simply, no room for argument in his tone. "We'll watch over them together."
Nat's smile was small but genuine. "I'd like that."
As they turned toward their patients, Harry kept one arm wrapped around her waist, unwilling to break contact completely. The room was silent, with the steady breathing of the recovering women and the soft pulsing of monitoring charms surrounding them, and Harry felt a sense of calm determination replace the anger that had been simmering since he'd heard about the attack.
Justice would come for Malfoy and all his former Death Eater pals, as it eventually did for all who chose the path of darkness.
XXXXX
Evelyn's eyes burned from staring at her notes for too long. Scattered across the desk were dozens of parchments, each covered in intricate runic sequences, magical formulas, and failed attempts at replicating the Dark Mark. The office was larger than usual but no less functional, a single massive window allowing weak afternoon sunlight to filter through dusty glass. Several magical lamps hovered in the air, casting additional light onto all the work.
She rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Three weeks," she muttered to herself, "three bloody weeks and what do we have to show for it?"
The answer was depressingly little. For all their combined knowledge, neither she nor Narcissa had managed to create anything close to a working replica of the Dark Mark. The magical tattoo was frustratingly complex, layered with protections and subtleties that seemed to mock their efforts.
Evelyn picked up her latest attempt—a parchment with a modified linking rune sequence that had shown promise yesterday. Today, however, the magical resonance had faded entirely, leaving behind just another failed experiment.
"It's the balance," she said to the empty room, tapping her wand against the parchment. "The balance between the binding element and the sympathetic connection. If we push too far in either direction..."
She didn't need to finish the thought. They'd seen what happened when the balance failed—painful magical backlash at best, and at worst, a writhing mass of inky darkness that had nearly burned through Narcissa's workbench before they managed to contain it.
There had been moments of hope. Last week, they'd managed to create a mark that remained stable for nearly six hours before dissolving. Three days ago, Narcissa had discovered a way to incorporate a modified Protean Charm into the runic structure that seemed promising. But these small victories felt hollow against the enormity of the task.
The Dark Mark wasn't just a tattoo—it was a masterpiece of dark magic, likely one of Voldemort's greatest creations. A perfect blend of flesh-binding magic, sympathetic connection, distance communication, and individual identification. The skill required to create something like it was well beyond either of their capabilities, despite their considerable talents.
"We're missing something fundamental," Evelyn muttered, scribbling another note. "Something about how he—"
The door to the office slammed open with such force that the walls shook. Evelyn jumped, her wand instantly in her hand as she spun around, a defensive spell on her lips.
Narcissa stood in the doorway, her face unnaturally flushed even for her, and her blonde hair disheveled. But what drew Evelyn's attention immediately was the severed arm floating in the air beside her, suspended by Narcissa's wand.
"Merlin's beard, Narcissa!" Evelyn gasped, lowering her wand. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. A little warning next time before you—" Her words died as she fully registered the bleeding limb.
Narcissa strode into the room, her movements sharp with barely contained fury. With a flick of her wand, she unceremoniously dumped the severed arm onto the table, knocking several parchments to the floor. Blood immediately began to pool on the wooden surface.
"For heaven's sake!" Evelyn grimaced, quickly casting a cauterizing charm on the ragged stump. The smell of burned flesh briefly filled the room before she banished it with another flick of her wand. "What in the name of all that's magical is this about? Whose arm is this?"
Narcissa paced the length of the small room, her breathing erratic. She stopped, closed her eyes, and visibly forced herself to calm down.
"It's Lucius's," she finally said, her voice tight.
Evelyn's eyes widened. "Lucius? Malfoy? What—"
"Look at it," Narcissa interrupted, twirling her wand to rotate the pale, bloodless arm. "Look closely, Evelyn."
Frowning, Evelyn leaned over the limb. At first, she saw only pale skin covered in deep scratches and gouges, as if it had been mauled by some animal. A grimace appeared on her face as she leaned closer. As she squinted though, she spotted it—on the inside of the forearm, where the Dark Mark should have been, was a different tattoo entirely. A snarling wolf, its ink almost black against the pale skin, its edges ragged and tattered. The scratches crossed over it, partially obscuring the image beneath the wounds.
"Oh Morgana," Evelyn breathed, recoiling slightly. "What is that mark? I've never seen anything like it."
Narcissa's laugh was hollow. "I can only guess. A wolf—Greyback's signature, most likely." Her voice hardened. "The Dark Lord gave that cretin to Greyback as a... plaything. This appears to be how the werewolf marks his property."
"But the Dark Mark—"
"Gone, as you can see," Narcissa said flatly. "Replaced with this... abomination."
Evelyn nodded slowly, her analytical mind already working through the implications. She began clearing away the wounds with careful spellwork, revealing more of the wolf tattoo.
"There," she said after several minutes of delicate healing magic. "That's as clear as I can get it without damaging the tattoo itself."
Narcissa stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the now-exposed mark. "This is exactly where his Dark Mark used to be," she said softly. "I believe the Dark Lord removed Lucius's mark before giving him to Greyback. That would be the ultimate sign of rejection from his service."
Both women leaned over the arm, studying the tattoo intently. The wolf image seemed to pulse slightly, as if alive in some limited way.
"Do you see it?" Narcissa asked suddenly, pointing with her wand tip.
Evelyn nodded, excitement building inside her despite the grim circumstances. "Yes—look at the edges. There are faint traces of the original Dark Mark still visible, just outside the boundaries of the wolf."
Indeed, the shadow of a serpent inside a skull could be seen, ghostly against the skin but unmistakably there. As they watched, the faint outline seemed to writhe slightly, independent of the wolf's movements.
"Even when he unmarks his servants, he doesn't fully release them," Narcissa said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Some part of the Dark Mark's magic remains active beneath the surface. Insurance against betrayal, perhaps."
"Fascinating," Evelyn murmured, her eyes fixed on the interaction between the two magical tattoos. "The wolf mark is actually fighting against the remnants of the Dark Mark. Look how they repel each other at the boundaries."
"Will this help us?" Narcissa asked, an edge of desperate hope in her voice.
Evelyn straightened up, considering. "It might. This gives us something we didn't have before—a look at how the Dark Mark interacts with other binding magics. And..." she gestured to the wolf tattoo, "this mark is cruder, less sophisticated. We can see more of its magical structure."
"It's not ideal," Narcissa said, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"No, but it's better than nothing. We could use this as an intermediate step. Master the techniques needed for the simpler mark, then apply those lessons to the Dark Mark replica." Evelyn picked up a fresh piece of parchment and began sketching rapidly. "The wolf mark lacks the multi-layered protections of the Dark Mark. It's primarily a binding and tracking charm, from what I can see."
Narcissa nodded slowly. "A crude binding, yes. One that can't be tracked behind the Fidelius either."
"Which makes it perfect for our purposes," Evelyn said, energy returning to her voice. "We can practice on replicating this first, then work our way up to the complexities of the Dark Mark."
For the first time since entering the room, Narcissa's expression shifted to something closer to satisfaction. "Well, at least that pathetic fool is finally good for something."
Evelyn looked up, momentarily surprised by the comment, before nodding. "I'll need to take some magical readings from both marks. And we should preserve the arm—stasis charms, I think, rather than preservation potions. We don't want to alter the magical signatures."
"Of course," Narcissa agreed, already casting the first of the stasis spells.
Evelyn glanced at their previous work, taking in the failed attempts at replicating the Dark Mark directly. She swept them aside without hesitation. "We should get back to work," she said simply. "This changes our approach entirely."
As she began setting up her magical measuring instruments, Evelyn couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path ahead was still difficult, perhaps impossible, but at least now they had a direction. Sometimes, she reflected, that was all you needed to move forward.
XXXXX
Harry lingered at the doorway, his hand still clasping Nat's as they shared one final kiss. It was tender yet passionate, filled with the emotions and feelings they held for each other.
"I'll check back in a few hours," he murmured against her lips. "Try to rest if you can."
Nat nodded, squeezing his hand before releasing it. "I will. They're stable now. Just need monitoring."
With a last glance at the two recovering professors, Harry slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stood for a moment, collecting his thoughts, the weight of everything that had happened in the past few hours settling on his shoulders.
He had taken only a few steps down the corridor when he felt it—a tugging sensation that had nothing to do with physical movement. The magical bond he shared with the women in his life vibrated with a distinct disharmony. Not danger, not pain, but a deep unsettling sensation of inner conflict and distress.
Harry paused, focusing on the feeling, letting it guide him. His feet carried him further down the hallway until he stood outside his own bedroom door. Somehow, he knew who he would find inside.
He opened the door slowly, and his eyes found Cassie sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight but her shoulders slightly slumped. Her head was bowed, her brunette hair falling forward to partially obscure her face. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white with tension.
She didn't look up as he entered, though he knew she was aware of his presence. Harry shut the door behind him and crossed the room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his feet. Without a word, he sat beside her on the bed, close enough that their shoulders touched, and wrapped an arm around her.
The effect was immediate. Cassie leaned into him, her rigid posture melting as she turned to press her face against his shoulder. Harry pulled her closer, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles on her back. He didn't speak, her didn't push. He knew what was troubling her, and he knew she would share when ready.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the occasional crackle from the fireplace and their breathing. Harry simply held her, offering the silent comfort of his presence.
Finally, Cassie drew a shaky breath.
"Sometimes I feel like my entire life has been a lie," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet room.
Harry continued the soothing motion of his hand on her back, waiting for her to continue.
"I remember—" she faltered, then tried again. "I remember when I was little, I thought he was the most wonderful father in the world. Lucius Malfoy, so powerful, so respected. He would bring me presents from his travels. Sit me on his knee and tell me stories about our family's great history."
She pulled back slightly, enough to look down at her hands. "I used to feel so proud when he would introduce me to his associates. 'My daughter, Cassandra,'" she mimicked, her voice taking on a hollow quality. "And they would bow and kiss my hand like I was a little princess."
Harry remained silent, though his jaw tightened at the mention of Lucius.
"I believed him when he said everything he did was for our family's honor and legacy," Cassie continued, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. "When he began teaching me about pureblood traditions, about my responsibilities, I thought it was because he cared about my future."
She looked up at Harry then, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And all the while, he had another child. A son he was grooming to take everything that should have been mine by right. Not that I care about the money or the estates. But he—" Her voice broke. "He never intended for me to be anything but a tool. A broodmare to be sold to the highest bidder, or whoever would most benefit his standing with that bastard Voldemort."
Harry's arm tightened around her. "Cassie—"
"No, let me finish," she said, drawing another unsteady breath. "I've known about Draco for years. Found out by accident when I overheard a conversation I wasn't supposed to. But I thought... I convinced myself that perhaps it was some sort of arrangement, that maybe my father had been forced into it somehow."
She laughed, the sound brittle and hollow. "I made excuses for him, Harry. Even when he became colder toward me as I grew older. Even when he started talking about suitable matches and my duty to the family. I told myself that deep down, he must care about me. That I wasn't just a pawn in his games."
Harry couldn't stay silent any longer. "None of that was your fault, Cassie. He's the one who betrayed you, not the other way around."
"I know that. Logically, I know." She brushed away a tear that had escaped. "But hearing him speak about his son with such... such pride and protectiveness, when he's never once defended me that way—"
Her voice caught, and Harry pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"And the worst part is that I don't even feel sad anymore," she admitted. "I just feel... empty. Like I'm mourning someone who never actually existed."
"The father you thought you had," Harry said softly.
Cassie nodded against his chest. "I don't recognize the man in that cell, Harry. The things he's done, the things he would have let happen to me—" She shuddered. "And yet when I think about what's going to happen to him, about how he's going to die for his crimes, I feel... nothing. Just this void where I think grief should be."
She pulled back to look at him directly, her expression troubled. "Does that make me a terrible person? That I can't even summon proper emotion for my own father's death?"
Harry took her hands in his, his green eyes intense as they met hers. "Listen to me, Cassie. You are not a terrible person. You're one of the best people I know."
"But—"
"No," he said firmly. "Lucius forfeited any right to your grief or loyalty long ago. He wasn't just a bad father—he was actively planning to destroy your life. To use you as a tool for Voldemort. You don't owe him your tears."
Harry's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand. "The fact that you're even questioning this, that you're worried about your reaction, only proves how much better you are than him. He never once questioned the pain he caused, not to you, not to your mother, and not to anyone else."
Cassie was quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. "When I was little," she said finally, "before I went to school, I used to dream about my wedding day. How proud he would look walking me down the aisle."
She gave a sad smile. "Silly childhood fantasies. But sometimes I still catch myself mourning that future that never existed." Her eyes searched his. "Is it okay to grieve for things that were never real?"
"Of course it is," Harry said softly. "You're grieving the father you deserved to have, not the man Lucius actually is. That's completely valid, Cassie."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "And for what it's worth, I think that little girl who dreamed of a loving father would be incredibly proud of the woman you've become. The woman who broke free, who chose her own path."
Something shifted in Cassie's expression then, a tension releasing. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "How do you always know what to say?"
Harry smiled slightly. "I don't. I just tell you the truth as I see it."
"And what truth do you see now?" she whispered.
"I see a strong, brave woman who has overcome more than most people could imagine," he said, his voice low and intense. "Someone who has every right to be angry, bitter, and broken—but who chose compassion and love instead. Who rebuilds rather than destroys."
His hand came up to cup her cheek. "I see my future wife, who amazes me every single day."
The ghost of a smile touched Cassie's lips. "Even when I'm being an emotional mess?"
"Especially then," Harry replied, his thumb brushing away the remnant of a tear. "Because you let me see it. You trust me with all of you, not just the polished parts."
Cassie's eyes softened as she looked at him. "I do trust you. More than I've ever trusted anyone."
She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his lips. "Thank you," she murmured. "For listening. For understanding."
"Always," Harry promised, closing the remaining distance between them.
Their lips met in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened with shared need and emotion. Cassie's hand came up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as she sought comfort in his embrace. Harry responded in kind, his arm tightening around her waist as his other hand cradled the back of her neck.
The kiss spoke what words couldn't—reassurance, acceptance, and a deep, abiding love that would face whatever came next, together. As Cassie pressed closer, Harry felt the last of her tension dissolve, replaced by a different kind of intensity.
The world outside their bedroom door faded away as Cassie's fingers traced the line of Harry's jaw. Her touch was reverent, seeking both comfort and connection in equal measure. The heaviness of their earlier conversation lingered, but was gradually being replaced by something warmer, more immediate.
"You're thinking too much," she whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "I can practically hear your thoughts racing."
Harry smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. "Sorry. Force of habit."
"Don't apologize," Cassie said, her hands moving to his shoulders. "Just... be here with me. Just for a little while, let everything else wait."
He nodded, understanding what she needed—what they both needed. An escape, a reminder that despite everything dark and twisted in their world, they had the desire to build something beautiful with all of them together.
"I'm here," he promised, pressing his forehead against hers. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."
Cassie's smile was soft but genuine—the first real smile since he'd entered the room. She tugged gently at his shirt. "Then this is in the way, don't you think?"
Harry laughed quietly, helping her remove the offending garment. The air in the room was warm from the fire, casting a golden glow across their skin as Cassie's hands explored the contours of his chest and shoulders.
"I used to dream about this, you know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whenever I was with Daph and Trace. About when you would see me. The real me."
"And do I?" Harry asked, his fingers tracing patterns along her back as he held her gaze.
"Better than I ever imagined," she replied, leaning in to kiss him again.
As their lips met, Harry gently guided her backward until they were lying on the bed, his weight supported on his forearms as he hovered above her. Cassie's hands wandered across his back, mapping the familiar landscape of scars and muscle with tender attention.
"I love you," Harry murmured against her neck, his lips tracing a path from her pulse point to her collarbone. "All of you."
Cassie sighed, her eyes fluttering closed as she arched into his touch. "Show me?"
Harry drew back, his expression serious despite the desire evident in his eyes. "Are you sure? After everything today—"
"I'm sure," she interrupted, cradling his face in her hands. "I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to remember. Just... make me feel something else. Something good."
Understanding flickered in Harry's eyes. Sometimes words weren't enough to heal the kind of wounds Cassie carried. Sometimes the most profound comfort came from simply being present, from the wordless language of touch and trust.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he said softly, his hand finding the hem of her shirt.
Cassie nodded, helping him with the buttons. "I will. But I won't want to."
As clothing slipped from their bodies, Cassie's fingers trailed over the scars on Harry's torso, tracing each mark as if memorizing them anew. He shivered under her touch, responding by pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of her shoulder. Her breath hitched as his hands explored the dip of her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Cassie arched against him, her nails digging lightly into his back, basking in the sensation of warmth and skin. Harry's lips found hers again, the kiss deepening as his hands moved lower, his touch reverent.
"You're beautiful," Harry whispered, his voice filled with wonder despite having said the words countless times before.
Cassie's response was to pull him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair as their bodies pressed together, seeking and finding the rhythm that belonged only to them.
"Stay with me," she breathed against his ear, the words both a request and a promise.
Harry's answer was in his touch, in the way he held her like something precious yet unbreakable. Wrapped up in each other, with the warmth of the fire and their shared magic humming between them, they found exactly what they needed—a moment where nothing else mattered. Whatever waited for them outside this room, whatever battles or heartbreaks lay ahead, they would all face it together. And that was enough.
Chapter 37: PR GamesChapter TextHarry's hands slid down Cassie's sides, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her hips as he tugged her closer. The firelight danced across their bodies, casting a warm glow over the tangle of limbs and discarded clothes.
Cassie's breath caught in her throat as he pressed his manhood against her, the heat of him searing against her bare skin. She could feel every inch of him—hard, ready, and aching for her—and it sent a jolt of need straight through her core.
"Damn, Cassie," Harry groaned, his voice rough as he kissed her hard. His lips crashed into hers, hungry and insistent, while his hands roamed lower, gripping her thighs. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"
She grinned against his mouth, her fingers tightening in his messy hair. "Good. Now do something about it."
He didn't need any more encouragement. With a low growl, Harry shifted his weight, nudging her legs apart with his knee. Cassie let out a soft gasp as he settled between her thighs, his erection pressing firmly against her wanton core. She arched her hips up to meet him, desperate for more contact, and he cursed under his breath.
"Fuck, you're impatient tonight," he teased, nipping at her bottom lip. His hand slipped between them, his fingers brushing over her slick heat, testing her readiness. She was already soaked, and the discovery made his eyes darken with lust.
"Harry," she whined, squirming under his touch. "Don't tease. Not now."
"Alright, alright," he chuckled, but there was an edge to his voice—like he was barely holding himself together. He lined himself up, the tip of his cock nudging against her entrance, and paused just long enough to look into her eyes. "You're ready?"
"Harry, if you don't fuck me right now, I swear—"
Her words cut off with a sharp moan as he thrust into her, filling her completely in one smooth motion. The stretch was perfect, intense, and she clenched around him instinctively. Harry groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he fought to steady himself.
"Shit, you feel so good," he muttered, his breath hot against her neck. He started moving, slow at first, letting her adjust, but it didn't take long for the pace to pick up. Cassie wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he took the hint.
"Harder," she demanded, her nails raking down his back. "I need it, Harry."
He didn't hesitate, knowing she truly needed this right now. His hips snapped forward, driving into her with a force that made the bed creak beneath them. Cassie cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders as pleasure sparked through her. Every thrust sent a wave of heat crashing over her, building fast and relentless.
"Like that?" Harry asked, his voice strained. He propped himself up on one arm, watching her face as he pounded into her. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hair stuck to his skin, but he didn't slow down. "Tell me what you want, Cass."
"More," she gasped, meeting his thrusts with her own. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He grinned, a little wild, and shifted his angle just enough to hit that spot inside her that made her see stars. Cassie's head fell back, a loud moan ripping from her throat as he kept going, relentless and fierce. Her whole body was on fire, every nerve screaming with pleasure as her lover pounded into her with everything he'd got.
"Harry—oh fuck, right there," she panted, her fingers digging into his ass to urge him on. He grunted in response, his rhythm faltering for a second as he adjusted his grip on her hips, lifting her slightly off the bed.
"Got you," he rasped, slamming into her even harder. The new angle had her trembling, her thighs shaking as she clung to him. "You're so fucking tight—shit, I'm not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that."
"Then don't," she shot back, breathless and bold. "Come with me. I want to feel you come with me!"
Her words flipped a switch in him. Harry's thrusts grew erratic, desperate, and he slipped a hand between them, finding her clit with his thumb. He rubbed fast, rough circles, matching the frantic pace of his hips. Cassie's moans turned into a string of curses, her body tensing as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter.
"Harry—fuck, I'm close," she warned, her voice breaking. Her legs tightened around him, locking him in place as she chased that edge.
"Me too," he gritted out, his face buried in her neck. "Come on, Cass. Let go for me."
That was all it took. The orgasm hit her like a freight train, ripping through her with a force that left her gasping. She clenched hard around him, her whole body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Harry groaned her name, his thrusts stuttering as he followed her over the edge. She felt him pulse inside her, hot and deep, and it dragged her climax out even longer.
For a moment, they just stayed there, panting and tangled together, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Harry's forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself together. Cassie's hands slid up his back, softer now, tracing lazy patterns over his damp skin.
"Merlin," he mumbled finally, lifting his head to look at her. His hair was an even bigger mess than usual, his breathing labored, and she couldn't help but laugh.
"You okay there, stud?" she teased, brushing his hair back from his face.
He smirked, still catching his breath. "More than okay. You?"
"Very satisfied," she said, stretching beneath him with a contented sigh. "You're good at this whole 'making me feel something else' thing."
"Happy to be of service." He kissed her softly, lingering for a moment before pulling out of her with a quiet groan. She whimpered at the loss, but he didn't go far—just rolled onto his side and pulled her against his chest.
Cassie nestled into him, her cheek pressed to his heartbeat. "That was… wow."
"Yeah," he agreed, his arm tightening around her. "Wow's about right."
They lay there in the afterglow, the crackle of the fire filling the silence. Her body still buzzed with the remnants of pleasure, and she could feel the soreness starting to settle in—a good kind of ache. Harry's fingers brushed through her hair, his touch gentle and calming.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked after a while, his voice quieter now. "After today, I mean."
She tilted her head to meet his eyes, smiling softly. "I am now. You've got a way of fixing me, you know."
"Same goes for you," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Always."
Cassie snuggled closer, letting the warmth of him and the moment wrap around her. Indeed, whatever chaos waited outside, they all had this—this heat, this connection they shared, and the love they all felt for each other. And it was more than enough.
XXXXX
Harry woke up slowly, the soft light of morning creeping through the curtains. His body ached in that good way, muscles loose and heavy from the night before. He blinked, feeling the warmth of skin pressed against his chest and legs tangled with his own. A slow smile spread across his face as he registered Cassie curled into him, her dark hair fanned out over his arm, her breath steady and warm against his neck. She was still out cold, one arm slung across his waist like she was staking a claim even in sleep.
But then he felt it—another body pressed against his back, softer curves molding into him, a leg hooked over his thigh from behind. His heart gave a little jump, surprised but not displeased. Tilting his head just enough, he caught a glimpse of blonde hair spilling over the pillow.
Daphne.
She must've slipped in sometime after he'd crashed, joining the pile of limbs without a word. He couldn't help the quiet chuckle that slipped out. These witches—he loved them, every single one, and waking up like this only made that clearer. His chest felt full, a steady glow of affection settling in as he lay there, sandwiched between two of the people he'd fight the world for.
He shifted slightly, careful not to wake them, just taking it in. Cassie's familiar weight on his left, Daphne's gentle grip on his right—it was messy and perfect. His hand rested on Cassie's hip, thumb brushing over her bare skin, while his other arm stretched back to find Daphne's waist, pulling her a little closer. He didn't care how they'd ended up like this; he was just glad they had.
A soft hum broke the quiet, and he felt Daphne stir. Her breath hitched, then evened out as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Harry turned his head, catching her sleepy blue eyes blinking open. She gave him a lazy smile, all soft edges and warmth, and his heart did that stupid flip it always did when she looked at him like that. Before he could say anything, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a tender, unhurried kiss. It was slow and sweet, the kind that said more than words ever could.
Harry's hand slid up her side, his fingers tracing the dip of her waist and the curve of her ribs as he pulled her tighter against him. Her skin was warm under his touch, smooth and bare, and he let his hands wander—over her hip, along her thigh, and back up her front to her shoulder. She melted into him, her own hand slipping into his messy hair, tugging just enough to keep him close. The kiss deepened for a moment, a quiet hunger waking up between them, but it stayed gentle, relaxed, content.
When they finally pulled back, Daphne rested her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his. "Morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," he echoed, grinning as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "When'd you sneak in?"
"Late," she admitted, stretching a little against him. "Couldn't sleep alone after… everything. Needed you."
Harry's grin softened, and he pressed a quick kiss to her nose. "Glad you did."
They lay there for a bit, Cassie still snoring softly against his chest, oblivious to the world. Daphne's fingers traced idle patterns over his chest, her touch light but steady. After a while, she propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with those sharp eyes that always saw too much.
"You holding up okay?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "After yesterday, I mean."
Harry let out a slow breath, his hand gently stroking her lower back. "Yeah. Mostly. Still pissed he got away, but… I'll get over it. You?"
Daphne nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line for a second. "Same. Felt good to fight, though. To do something. Watching Nat work on them after—it hit me how close we came to losing more people."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his thumb rubbing small circles against her skin. "Seeing those two pull through… that's what matters. And having you all there—fighting with me—it keeps me sane."
She smiled, a real one this time, and leaned down to kiss his lips. "You're stuck with us, Potter. No getting rid of me or Cass or Trace—or any of them."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, pulling her back down so she was half-draped over him. Her weight was comforting, familiar, and he let himself relax into it. "You were bloody brilliant out there, you know. Holding the line like that."
Daphne shrugged, but her cheeks pinked up a little. "Had to. Couldn't let those bastards get past me. And you—" She poked his chest. "Don't think I didn't see you pulling that crazy stunt with Greyback. Nearly gave me a heart attack."
Harry laughed, quiet enough not to wake Cassie. "Had to keep him busy. Couldn't let him get to you."
Her expression softened, and she rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him. "You're too good at this, you know. Taking care of everyone."
"Says the witch who wouldn't let anyone near those professors," he shot back, grinning. "We're a team, Daph. Always will be."
"Damn right," she said, snuggling closer. Her hand found his, lacing their fingers together. "Just… don't carry it all yourself, okay? I know you. You'll stew over what we couldn't fix instead of what we did."
Harry squeezed her hand, nodding. "I'll try. Promise. Having you here helps. Both of you."
Daphne's eyes flicked to Cassie, still dead to the world, and she smirked. "She's out like a rock. Guess you wore her out last night."
He snorted, cheeks heating up. "Oi, you weren't complaining when you climbed in."
"Never said I was," she teased, kissing him again—quick and playful this time. "Just saying she's lucky I didn't wake her up for round two."
Harry groaned, mock-dramatic, and tugged her down until she was laughing against his chest. "You're trouble, Greengrass."
"And you love me," she fired back, settling into him with a contented sigh.
He did. Merlin, he did.
XXXXX
The living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place buzzed with mid-morning chatter. It was a bright day, and the sunlight poured through the windows, lighting up the room.
Daphne sat next to Astoria on one of the couches, their mother Evelyn perched on the armrest. They talked quietly, glancing now and then toward the door. Fleur lounged in an armchair, playing with her wand while Tracey talked enthusiastically about something, hands flying everywhere. Nym leaned against the fireplace, her hair shifting between blue and purple as she chatted with Susan, who sat cross-legged on the floor with her tea, leaning against the wall.
Narcissa and Andromeda shared the window seat, heads close together in conversation. A few months ago, seeing them like this would've been impossible. Cassie stood nearby, keeping an eye on everyone. Amelia was by the fireplace, going through some papers, her monocle flashing in the light.
Everyone was waiting for the same person, and the wait didn't last long.
When Harry walked in, everyone went quiet. He crossed the room and dropped into an empty chair, running his fingers through his messy hair. Daphne's eyes softened as she watched him, and Fleur straightened slightly in her seat, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Everyone's here. Good," Amelia said, tossing her papers on a side table. Harry's arrival was her signal to start. "Let me update you on what the DMLE's done since yesterday. We've put up extra wards around magical villages, especially isolated ones like Willow's End. Doubled the Auror patrols too. And now there's an official kill-on-sight order for Greyback."
Daphne snorted. "Sorry, but that's useless. Greyback was already wanted. What's another piece of paper going to do? He'll just keep hiding until he's ready to attack again."
"Daphne," Evelyn said in a warning tone, but Daphne wasn't having it.
"No, Mum, we need to be real about this. We won't beat Greyback with some fancy ministerial order. We need to take away his power base completely."
Amelia raised an eyebrow, looking at Daphne with interest. "And what exactly do you mean by that, Daphne?"
Harry gave Daphne an encouraging nod, his eyes conveying a silent trust that made her straighten her shoulders.
Daphne straightened, her ice-blue eyes focused and intense. "Greyback is too good at hiding and fleeing. It's not easy to just find and kill him—we saw that yesterday. What we should be doing is psychological warfare."
"Sounds interesting. Go on," Fleur encouraged, leaning forward in her seat.
"Instead of just waiting for him to strike again, we use propaganda, fear, and reputation against him," Daphne explained. "Make sure word spreads that Greyback lost most of his pack, and that Harry Potter personally saved people from the curse of being turned when his pack attacked them."
Tracey snapped her fingers. "Use fear and boost Harry's reputation at the same time. Sounds wicked!"
"Exactly," Daphne nodded. "Destabilize recruitment to Greyback's cause. Maybe even fake a message or betrayal that divides his remaining forces."
The room fell silent as everyone considered her words.
"It's not a bad idea," Amelia admitted after a moment. "But how would we implement something like this effectively?"
"We'd need to control the narrative," Susan spoke up, setting her teacup aside. "The Daily Prophet would be the obvious choice, but they're unreliable at best, even with Fudge in our pockets."
"The Quibbler," Astoria suggested. "Luna's father runs it. He would publish whatever we want, no questions asked."
"Luna?"
"She's in my year. In Ravenclaw," Astoria explained.
"No offense, Tori, but does anyone actually read that paper?" Tracey asked skeptically.
"More than you'd think," Astoria replied. "And people are drawn to stories about Harry, whether they want to admit it or not. If we plant the right information there, other publications will pick it up."
"We could add anonymous tips to the Prophet as well," Nym suggested, her hair settling into a shade of dark blue. "I have contacts there who wouldn't question the source too closely."
Andromeda, who had been listening carefully, leaned forward. "This is all well and good, but is spreading propaganda really the most ethical approach? We're supposed to be better than the Dark Lord and his followers."
"This isn't about ethics, Mother," Daphne said, her voice firm. "This is about saving lives. Greyback has killed and turned countless people. If undermining his reputation means fewer victims, I'm willing to do it."
"I agree with Daphne," Astoria said quietly. "Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire."
"Not fire," Harry corrected. "Something smarter. Targeted. Precise."
Fleur nodded approvingly. "We need to lean into symbolic victories. Publicly show that Harry saved the professors."
"Speaking of which," Cassie interjected, "how are they doing?"
"Nat says they'll recover fully," Tracey replied. "They're awake and coherent this morning. Professor Babbling hasn't left their side."
"That's good to hear," Amelia said. "And you're right, Fleur. If those professors begin speaking out in support of Harry, it could be powerful."
"We could present Harry not just as a warrior," Daphne suggested, "but as a protector, strategist, and savior—the people's chosen one, not just Dumbledore's so-called weapon."
Harry shifted uncomfortably at this. "I really don't want to be some propaganda piece."
"Too late for that," Daphne remarked dryly. "You've been a propaganda piece since you were in nappies. At least this time, it's on our terms."
"She's right," Narcissa added, her voice cool and collected. "You've been used as a symbol by others for years. It's time you controlled how your image is utilized, more than you already have."
Harry frowned but didn't argue further.
"How would we fake a betrayal within Greyback's ranks?" Susan asked, steering the conversation back to strategy.
"We'd need to identify his closest allies first," Amelia replied. "Then find a way to plant information that would make him suspicious of them."
"Or," Nym suggested, "we could make it look like one of them has been feeding us information. Greyback is paranoid enough to believe it."
Fleur drummed her fingers on the armrest. "That could backfire. If he suspects a traitor, he might just kill everyone around him. That makes him more dangerous, not less."
"That might not be a bad thing," Harry said slowly. "If he's isolated, he's weaker."
"Unless he goes on a rampage out of desperation," Evelyn cautioned.
"We need to be careful not to push him too far too fast," Amelia agreed. "A controlled destabilization would be preferable."
Daphne tapped her chin thoughtfully. "What if we focus on making his followers doubt him instead? Spread stories about how he abandoned his pack during the fight, how he fled while they died."
"Did he actually do that?" Astoria asked.
"Not exactly," Harry admitted. "But he did escape while leaving them behind."
"Close enough for our purposes," Daphne said dismissively.
"I don't know," Susan frowned. "Lying outright might not be the best approach. We should stick to exaggerated truths rather than complete fabrications."
"Susan's right," Amelia nodded. "It's easier to maintain consistency that way. And if we're caught in an outright lie, it undermines everything else we say."
"Fine," Daphne conceded. "But we still emphasize that he left his pack to die while he escaped."
"That works," Harry agreed. "And we highlight how many of his followers we took down. Make potential recruits think twice about joining him."
"We could also spread rumors about silver weapons," Fleur suggested. "Make him paranoid about how we're hunting him."
"I like that," Nym grinned, her hair flashing bright for a moment. "Fear is a powerful motivator."
"What about reaching out to the werewolf community directly?" Andromeda proposed. "Not all werewolves follow Greyback. Many despise him for what he's done to their reputation."
"That's an excellent point," Amelia said. "If we could get Remus Lupin involved—"
"No," Harry cut in sharply. "I don't want Remus anywhere near this. It's too dangerous."
"Harry," Nym said gently, "Remus is already involved whether you like it or not. He's a werewolf, and he has connections we don't."
"She's right," Narcissa added. "Using Lupin would give us credibility with the werewolf community that we can't achieve otherwise."
Harry's jaw clenched. "I'll talk to him, but I won't ask him to put himself at risk. That's final."
A part of him was also not fully sure that Remus would pick him over Dumbledore after everything that had happened.
"Fair enough," Amelia conceded. "Now, let's discuss our public approach. How do we want to frame yesterday's events?"
"We emphasize that it was a rescue mission," Daphne suggested. "That we went in to save innocent people, not just to kill werewolves."
"And we stress that Harry specifically stopped the dark curse from spreading," Fleur added. "Show that he's not just fighting against darkness, but actively saving people from it."
"That plays well against Greyback's image," Tracey nodded. "He spreads the curse; Harry contains it."
"Light versus dark," Astoria murmured. "People understand that narrative."
"We should use Lucius to our advantage too," Narcissa said, her voice suddenly cold. "His capture matters."
"Does it?" Harry asked. "He barely looks like himself anymore. Will anyone even believe it's him?"
"We can prove it's him," Amelia assured them. "Having a high-ranking Death Eater locked up is a big win, even considering his... condition."
Narcissa's hand brushed Harry's shoulder as she moved to pour herself tea, the brief contact seemingly casual but intentional. "The information we got from him yesterday will be useful," she added.
"What about the professors?" Susan asked. "Once they recover, will they speak publicly about what happened?"
"That's up to them," Harry replied. "I won't pressure them either way."
"Perhaps Bathsheda would be willing," Evelyn suggested. "She seemed quite grateful yesterday."
"It would be powerful," Daphne agreed. "A Hogwarts professor publicly thanking Harry Potter for saving her colleagues from both werewolves and dark magic."
"Speaking of which," Cassie spoke up, "we should consider sending someone back to Hogwarts. If Greyback attacked Hogwarts professors, the school might be a target in the near future."
"Dumbledore can handle the school's security," Harry said dismissively.
"Can he?" Narcissa raised an elegant eyebrow. "He didn't prevent those professors from being attacked in the first place, or whatever's been happening there over the past few years."
"They weren't at Hogwarts when it happened," Harry pointed out. "They were in Willow's End for some leisure. And I don't think he targeted the professors. Rather, they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
The less said about the events during his presence at Hogwarts, the better it was.
"Still," Amelia frowned, "Cassie raises a valid concern. Hogwarts can be a target, even if you won't be there anymore. We should at least send word to Minerva about what happened."
"I'll take care of that," Andromeda offered.
"Thank you," Amelia nodded. "Now, back to our propaganda strategy. We need to decide on key messages and how to distribute them."
"The core message should be simple," Daphne said. "Harry Potter and his allies are actively fighting against Greyback and winning. Greyback's forces are decimated. Joining him is a death sentence."
"And for the broader public," Fleur added, "we emphasize hope. Harry is protecting people, saving them from curses, preventing transformations."
"That's good," Amelia agreed. "Hope for the public, fear for potential recruits."
"What about a name?" Tracey piped up. "For our group, I mean. Something catchy that people can get behind."
"Do we seriously need that?" Harry groaned.
"Yeah, we do," Daphne said, leaning forward. "It gives people something to believe in, something to talk about."
"Potter's Army," Astoria suggested with a grin.
"No way in hell," Harry said flatly.
"There's already the Order of the Phoenix," Susan reminded them.
"We're not the Order," Harry shot back. "We do things our way."
"How about 'The Resistance'?" Nym suggested, moving to sit on the arm of Harry's chair, her knee lightly touching his shoulder.
Tracey made a face. "Too boring."
"We don't need a name," Harry insisted. "This isn't some school club."
"Harry might have a point," Evelyn said smoothly. "Having a name could make it seem like we're competing with the Order instead of focusing on Greyback."
Daphne caught Fleur's eye across the room, and they shared a small smile at Harry's predictable resistance to being the center of attention.
"Fine," Daphne conceded. "But we still need to present a united front in public."
"Agreed," Narcissa said. "Which brings me to our next point: public appearances. Harry, you need to be seen."
Harry's expression soured. "You want me to parade around Diagon Alley or something?"
"Not exactly," Narcissa replied. "But strategic appearances would help. Perhaps visiting St. Mungo's to check on victims of previous attacks. Show that you care about the aftermath, not just the fighting."
"That's actually not a bad idea," Harry admitted grudgingly.
"We could accompany you," Fleur suggested. "Show that you have support from different magical backgrounds."
"A French part-Veela, a pureblood Slytherin, and the Boy Who Lived," Tracey mused. "That's quite the image."
"Don't forget me," Nym grinned, her hair cycling through rainbow colors briefly. "Nothing says unity like a Metamorphmagus."
"This is starting to sound like a circus," Harry muttered.
"Politics often is," Narcissa remarked smoothly. "But appearances matter."
"What about security?" Susan asked. "If Harry starts making public appearances, he becomes a target."
"He already is a target," Daphne pointed out.
"Even more of one," Susan insisted. "And now Greyback has a personal grudge against him."
"We'll ensure appropriate security measures," Amelia assured her niece. "No public appearance without proper planning and protection."
"I can handle myself," Harry said firmly.
"No one doubts that," Evelyn said gently. "But being cautious isn't the same as being afraid."
Harry didn't look convinced but nodded anyway.
"What about the Ministry's official position?" Andromeda asked, turning to Amelia. "Will they support this approach?"
Amelia's expression hardened slightly. "The official position is that Greyback is to be captured or killed on sight. Anything beyond that... well, let's just say that what the Minister doesn't know won't hurt him."
"So, we're operating in a gray area," Cassie noted.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry remarked dryly.
"There's another aspect we haven't discussed," Daphne said. "Lucius Malfoy. What are we doing with him?"
All eyes turned to Narcissa, who met their gazes unflinchingly. "He will face justice for his crimes. All of them."
"The Ministry would want him handed over once we reveal him. Fudge will throw a tantrum, no matter how much he needs us," Amelia said carefully. "Even now, he's sometimes complaining about Umbridge, trying to test the waters, mostly."
"I thought what we did would've been enough to keep Fudge quiet," Harry muttered. "But if he keeps acting up, we might need to accelerate the replacement plans."
"That's something to be discussed later. Handing over Lucius for the Ministry to send him to Azkaban, from which the Dark Lord will promptly free him?" Narcissa shook her head. "I think not."
"So what's the plan for him?" Cassie asked firmly.
"Now that we've gotten what we needed from him," Narcissa said coolly, "we ensure he can never hurt anyone again."
The room went quiet as everyone absorbed what she was suggesting.
"We don't just execute people," Evelyn said quietly.
"Maybe you don't," Narcissa muttered.
"Evelyn has a point," Amelia said firmly. "We need boundaries, or we're no different than them."
"Some things are worse than death," Narcissa replied. "Lucius is going to be learning that firsthand."
"We've got the information we needed," Harry said, ending the argument before it heated up. "He's not going anywhere from that cellar."
"Fine," Narcissa agreed, her eyes still cold. Under the table, Fleur reached over and squeezed Narcissa's hand briefly, offering silent support.
"Back to Greyback," Tracey said, redirecting the conversation. "How do we measure success with our psychological warfare approach? How will we know if it's working?"
"Decreased attacks would be one indicator," Amelia replied. "And intelligence reports of discord among his followers."
"We'd need better intelligence networks for that," Nym pointed out.
"I'm working on it," Amelia assured her. "But these things take time."
"Time we may not have," Harry said grimly.
"All the more reason to start implementing these strategies immediately," Daphne responded. "I can draft some initial messaging today."
"I'll help," Fleur offered.
"And I can make contact with some of my former associates," Narcissa added. "There are still those who owe me favors, even after my... change in circumstances."
"I need to return to the Ministry soon," Amelia said, checking her watch. "But before I go, we should finalize our immediate actions."
"I'll speak to Luna's father about The Quibbler," Astoria volunteered.
"Fleur and I will draft a narrative for public consumption," Daphne said.
"I'll coordinate with the Auror office about security for any public appearances," Nym added.
"And I'll check on the professors," Tracey offered. "See if they're willing to make any statements."
"Good," Amelia nodded approvingly. "Andromeda, could you please contact Minerva about Hogwarts security?"
"Of course."
"I'll help Nat with the patients," Susan said. "I've been studying healing charms."
"What about me?" Evelyn asked.
"You and I could help draft correspondence to some of the neutral families and old associates," Narcissa suggested. "Our social connections could be valuable."
Evelyn nodded, seemingly satisfied with the task.
"And when we're done, I," Narcissa said coolly, gazing at Harry meaningfully, "will be ready with my former husband's punishment."
Harry glanced at her knowingly, and he gave her a firm nod. "Fair enough."
"Alright then," Fleur said, standing up. "We all know what we need to do. Let's get to it."
As people started to leave, Daphne grabbed Harry's arm. "Think this'll work?" she asked quietly.
Harry looked straight into her eyes. "It has to. I won't let Greyback hurt anyone else."
"We've got your back," she told him, her hand lingering on his arm. "All of us."
Harry nodded, his face softening a bit. "I know. That's why I think we might actually pull this off."
Across the room, Amelia watched them with interest. The group worked together surprisingly well, everyone bringing something different to the table. No telling if their plan would work, but one thing was clear: Greyback had never dealt with a team like this before.
"Auntie?" Susan nudged her. "You okay?"
Amelia smiled at her niece. "Just fine. I was thinking Greyback has no idea what's coming for him."
Susan looked over at Harry, now with Fleur at his side and Nym's hand on his shoulder, while Daphne stood close by. The women moved around him with a natural familiarity that spoke volumes about the deep connection they shared.
"No," Susan agreed with a small smile. "He really doesn't."