Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 4
~ Harry Potter ~
Gringotts, usually filled with a sharp clinking of Galleons and goblin growls, was eerily quiet as Harry, escorted by one of Ragnok's men, was ushered deeper into its most secretive depths. He'd braced himself for the usual claustrophobic tunnels, all sharp turns and dirt, designed to make a wizard feel small. Instead, he was led into a chamber carved from pure white marble, silver wards pulsing with a low, hungry magic.
This wasn't some dusty vault or waiting room; this was a council room, a place for big secrets and bigger power plays, tucked away beneath the main bank. This is where the top brass of the wizarding world made deals that affected this country as a whole.
Inside, a figure sat poised and elegant, waiting along with Director Ragnok and another goblin. And when he laid eyes on her, he remembered her from the papers.
Narcissa Malfoy.
Harry felt that familiar prickle of irritation, sure, but also a deeper, more primal hum of awareness. She was a vision of aristocratic composure, her pale hands folded neatly, blonde hair pulled back in a severe, perfect knot that somehow just screamed expensive.
Her dress, a dark, shimmering silk, clung to her frame like a second skin, hinting at the pronounced curves beneath, a subtle, almost taunting display of wealth and generations of careful breeding. She exuded cool, untouchable beauty, a woman perfectly sculpted for luxury and quiet command – the kind of woman who knew exactly what she was worth, and expected you to, too.
But the second Harry stepped through that doorway, his own power thrumming like a restless beast after being unchained by the removal of Voldemort's soul piece, her ice-queen facade cracked. Her cool, assessing gaze flickered with raw, almost primal fear. He could feel it – the shift in the air, his presence pressing down on her, heavier, more potent than anything she must have ever felt. He wasn't the scrawny boy under the stairs anymore, and the world was about to get a very loud reminder.
Her lips parted, a soft, almost imperceptible gasp escaping – a tiny, involuntary tribute to the power radiating from him. But Harry was faster. He wasn't in the mood for pleasantries or polite society's little dances. Not after facing down the darkest wizard of all time. A Malfoy was hardly going to make him break a sweat.
"Before you say a single word, Mrs. Malfoy," he cut in, his voice a low, dangerous growl that sucked the air out of the room, making it vibrate with his intent. "Get this straight. If you're here to spy for your husband, or for old snake face," he added, the last word dripping with contempt, carrying hints of a snake's hiss, a sneer twisting his lips, "I will kill you where you sit. Gringotts' wards won't even twitch. I'll make damn sure of it."
His green eyes, usually so expressive, were now hard chips of emerald, boring into her, daring her to even think about crossing him. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, a flash of the dangerous confidence that was practically his brand now. "I'm not the boy you remember. And you'd be smart to keep that in mind."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on, stealing the very breath from the room. Ironshard, the goblin who'd set up this little secret rendezvous, shifted in his ornate obsidian chair, claws tightening on the parchment. Even the stoic goblin, no stranger to power plays, looked a little unnerved by Harry's blunt, chilling declaration. He'd seen wizards bluster and posture. He'd rarely seen one speak with such raw, unadulterated intent.
For moments, the only sound that could be heard was the low thrum of magic in the marble chamber. Ragnok's low cackle, a sound that startled everyone out of the tense situation, garnered Harry's attention.
"The removal of that wretched parasite seems to have caused some interesting changes in you, Lord Potter," Ragnok spoke, smirking at how the boy before him had changed within hours of getting to know him.
~ Narcissa Malfoy ~
Narcissa swallowed, her gulp heard throughout the chamber as she digested what was said moments before, her carefully constructed composure threatening to shatter. She'd grown up with men who wielded power carelessly, men who blustered and thought themselves untouchable. Her father, her husband, her former master – all formidable in their own ways. But the boy before her, now a man forged in the fires of war, was different.
He wasn't blustering. No dramatics, no hesitation.
He meant it.
He would kill her, and the stark thought sent a shiver down her spine. Not entirely of fear, no. More like a strange, thrilling recognition. Gringotts' ancient magic might protect its vaults, but it wouldn't interfere with a true wizard's duel of wills, especially not with a wizard whose power now felt... unrealistically divine. Untamed. He was a force of nature, and she, Narcissa, had always been drawn to power, to the men who wielded it like a sword.
Lucius? A dull pocket knife by comparison.
Her chin lifted, a flicker of that infamous Black pride returning, tempered by a newfound admiration that warmed her blood. She met his gaze, not with defiance, but with a quiet strength that was itself a challenge. "I am no one's spy, Lord Potter," she answered, her voice quiet but steady, betraying no hint of the tremor that had run through her. "I am a woman who has chosen survival over betting on a man who would kill my entire family if someone dared to breathe in his presence. If that displeases you, then finish it now. But do not mistake me for Lucius' shadow. Or anyone's."
Her eyes, the symbolic stone grey her family was known for, held his, a silent invitation to examine her and see the truth.
~ Harry Potter ~
For a long moment, Harry just studied her, his gaze observant, looking for any tell, any hidden agenda. He saw the genuine fear, yeah, but also the steel beneath it, the raw will to protect her own. He recognized that kind of will, even respected it, though he didn't quite trust its owner. But there was something else, too. Something new. A subtle shift in her posture, a lingering glance, a hint of something more in her words.
She hadn't mentioned Draco even once. It wasn't about her son.
It was about her.
Finally, he gave the smallest of nods, a barely perceptible dip of his head. It was enough. The suffocating tension in the room loosened by a fraction, like a tight cord snapping just short of breaking.
"Good," he said simply, the dangerous edge in his voice receding, replaced by a weary pragmatism, though a hint of his earlier confidence remained, a smug satisfaction at having established dominance. "Glad we covered that." Turning his head towards their host, Harry asked Ragnok, "Thank you for everything, Director Ragnok. Was that all we had to discuss?"
Ragnok, lounged in his rather comfortable chair, simply said, "Ironshard."
Ironshard cleared his throat, a dry, rasping sound, clearly itching to get back to the script. He unrolled a long, heavily sealed parchment across the polished ebony table. "As you are aware, Lord Potter," the goblin began, his voice surprisingly smooth for such a creature, "with Sirius Black's passing, you have inherited the Lordship of House Black. Combined with your own bloodline, you are now both Lord Potter and Lord Black. With those titles come vaults, properties and obligations."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Obligations? What kind of obligations are we talking about here? Because if it's more paperwork, it can wait after the war is done." He shot a dry look at Ironshard,
Narcissa, on the other hand, was both impressed and slightly fearful of the way the man in front of her was being so casual yet respectful with important members of the Goblin race. Her former husband himself never dared to do anything like this, regardless of his penchant for cursing goblins in the comfort of their own home. She found the new Lord Potter's casual arrogance, his irreverence for the hallowed institutions, surprisingly, intensely appealing. He was a force, not to bound by dusty rules.
Ironshard's sharp, pointed teeth glinted in the dim light. "Marriage contracts," he stated bluntly, as if announcing the weather, or the price of dragon dung.
Narcissa's eyes, which had been impassive moments before, flickered with a sudden, intense interest, though she quickly schooled her expression. Harry, however, caught it. 'Of course,' he thought, 'this would interest a pure-blood witch.'
He caught her gaze for a split second, and in that fleeting glance, he saw not just curiosity, but a spark of something possessive, a silent question, a challenge in her eyes. It was a question he suspected he already knew the answer to.
Ironshard tapped a clawed finger on the parchment, revealing a list of names and dates, written in an elegant script. "Several ancient contracts were forged long before your birth. Alliances between Potter, Black, and other prominent families. Some expired. Others remain valid."
Harry leaned forward, scanning the list. His eyes widened slightly. Bones. Greengrass. Abbott. Carrow.
"Are you telling me," he said slowly, his voice laced with disbelief, a hint of his usual exasperation returning, "that I'm legally bound to marry someone because some ancestor, who probably never even would have thought his lineage would last that long, signed a piece of paper centuries ago? What next, am I going to find out I owe a dragon a dance?"
Ironshard merely inclined his head, a predatory smile adorning his lips. "The contracts are binding, Lord Potter. Unless nullified by mutual consent, or by the specific terms laid out within each document. Some require a magical challenge, others more mundane negotiations. And considering your unique position, these alliances could prove quite beneficial."
"Not all," Narcissa muttered, running her eyes over the names listed. The Carrows were one of the most loyal family serving the Dark Lord. Allying with his mortal enemy? They would sooner start loving muggles.
Harry exhaled slowly, a long, weary sigh, forcing his rising irritation back down. More shackles, this time forged by dead ancestors? Brilliant. He was fighting a literal war against a Dark Lord who refused to stay dead. The idea of navigating ancient courtship rituals felt like a cosmic joke. "Great," he muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Just what I needed, a dating pool chosen by dead people."
"Who knows, Lord Potter, you might enjoy this arrangement more than you think," Ironshard said, a knowing, predatory smile, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. "However, I believe Lord Potter wishes to address the immediate threats before delving into the intricacies of his marital future?"
Harry chuckled, a low, dry sound. "Bingo, Ironshard. You read my mind. Tell the ghosts of my ancestors they can wait. I'll deal with these later. One war at a time, you know? And Voldemort's a bit more pressing than finding a suitable pure-blood bride. Though, I suppose it might be nice to have a wife who knows how to make a decent cup of tea without poisoning me." He winked at Narcissa, a confident, teasing glint in his eyes.
Narcissa couldn't help but blush. A faint rose color spread across her high cheekbones. She tilted her head, her lips curving into a subtle, almost possessive smile. "Some of us, Lord Potter, are quite capable of more than just tea, or indeed, marriage contracts. You might be surprised." The challenge was subtle, yet unmistakable. A silent offer, a promise. She had been a wife, a Lady of a powerful house, and she knew exactly how to manage a Lord, how to run a household, how to provide comfort and... more. And with Harry Potter, the possibilities felt endless. He was a man worthy of a Black daughter.
Harry, for his part, felt a surprising jolt. He hadn't expected that. He simply grinned, a flash of his old Gryffindor charm, now sharpened with a dash of something dangerous. "I'm always open to surprises, Narcissa. Always."
Harry agreed, reluctantly, to leave Gringotts under the bank's protection, with Narcissa Malfoy as his unlikely escort. He still didn't trust her, not truly, not with his life, but he trusted her fear of him, and her desire for self-preservation, far more than any oath. Besides, she was a Malfoy, and knew the inner workings of their world better than he ever would.
~ Narcissa Malfoy ~
It wasn't long before they stood at the threshold of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The Fidelius Charm hiding the Black's fortress from the Death Eaters and Muggles alike. The house itself seemed to creak and groan, as if it was aware that the new Lord Black, and a most unexpected guest, were stepping inside to habit it once more.
The air inside was thick with dust and carried a hint of foulness in the air, generations of dark magic warping the very atmosphere of the place. His elves were more than happy to make the place habitable, a place worthy of the new Lord Black.
Narcissa moved through the gloom-filled house with a calculating eye. Despite its peeling wallpaper and grim history, she could sense the power of the ancestral wards, still alive, still humming with ancient magic.
This was her family's seat of power
Aligning herself with Harry Potter, Lord of Black, wasn't just about survival anymore. It was an opportunity. A chance to rebuild, to regain influence, to secure her own future and show everyone that even after shedding the Malfoy name, Narcissa was still a woman every pure-blooded witch aspired to be like. Lucius had squandered everything, his ambition and blind faith in a madman had cost them everything.
She would not make the same mistake.
So, she adapted. Shedding the last vestiges of her pure-blood snobbery, she embraced the changes with a quiet competence, going as far as taking up caring for him and the house like a traditional pure-blood wife. She cooked meals, far better than Kreacher ever had, coaxing the ancient house-elf into grudging cooperation. The scent of roasted chicken and fresh herbs replaced the usual mustiness, making the old house feel homey. She offered small comforts Harry had long forgotten—quiet evenings with real, nourishing food, soothing tea, and even, to his initial discomfort and then grudging acceptance, skilled massages when his rigorous training and the constant, throbbing headaches from when his overwhelming magic wore him down.
One evening, as Harry sat hunched over a map of Death Eater movements, flickering candlelight casting long shadows across his intense face, Narcissa entered the study. She moved silently, a steaming cup of Earl Grey in her hand, her silk robes rustling softly and illuminating her curvaceous figure, the faint scent of jasmine clinging to her.
"You'll burn out, Lord Potter," she observed, her voice low, a soft, purring sound that seemed to wrap around him, placing the cup gently beside him, her fingers brushing his arm for a fleeting moment. The touch sent a surprising tingle through him. "He wants you reckless, exhausted. Don't give him the satisfaction. You need to be sharp and at your peak when you face him."
Harry grunted, rubbing his temples, the touch still lingering. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a target on your back by a madman trying to take over the country, committing every possible crime known to us."
"No," she agreed softly, stepping closer, her hip brushing against the edge of his chair, her presence surprisingly comforting. "But I understand the mind of such a man better than most. He preys on weakness, on desperation. You are neither." Her hand reached out, gently, almost imperceptibly, stroking the tense line of his shoulder. "Though you are certainly stubborn. A desirable trait, in its way, for a Lord."
He looked up, a faint, weary smile touching his lips, his eyes meeting hers. "I'll take that as a compliment, Narcissa. You're not so bad yourself, for a former Death Eater wife. You clean up surprisingly well."
A ghost of a genuine smile touched her lips too. "And you, for a boy who grew up in a cupboard. We are both survivors, Lord Potter. Perhaps that is all that truly matters. Perhaps that is what makes us… compatible." Her eyes sparkled with a knowing intensity, a silent promise of understanding, of shared burdens, and something far more intimate. She was offering herself. A Lady for her new Lord.
He was her new path, her salvation, and she would make herself indispensable.
To prove her usefulness beyond the kitchen, to herself as well as her Lord, while Harry was immersed in his training and strategic planning, Narcissa reached out to Rita Skeeter. Hidden in one of her safe houses in Knockturn Alley, Skeeter was still plying her trade, feeding sensational, often embellished, stories to foreign papers and underground publications.
Narcissa knew how to play the game.
She sent a coded message, an anonymous tip, hinting at a scoop too juicy to ignore. When Skeeter, ever the vulture, took the bait, Narcissa met her under the strictest secrecy, wrapped in silencing charms and cloaking glamour.
She gave Skeeter a gift: the tale of Narcissa Malfoy, abandoning her husband and fleeing the Dark Lord's shadow, a woman of courage rather than cowardice. It was a masterpiece of manipulation, part truth, part carefully constructed performance. She painted herself as a victim who became a survivor, a mother who defied a mad tyrant for her son's sake. The story, when it hit the international press, was an absolute hit, subtly shifting public perception. She was transformed from a villainess to a tragic, defiant figure.
It was a necessary move, a strategic piece on the chessboard. She was not just surviving; she was rebuilding her reputation, one carefully crafted step at a time, securing her place at Harry's side, ensuring that when the time came, the world would see her as a worthy Lady standing by the side of the man who won it all.
Author's Note
Took a while, midterm season is upon us. But hope you guys like this one. The next one will come sooner than you think. And it will introduce to more ladies that you guys and Harry would definitely love.
Check out more on my forbidden site, advanced chapters and stories that have not been published yet. I got a draco one that will pick up soon enough along with a DxD one about to make its debut. You will love it if that is your poison.
See you soon.