A/N - I struggled with this chapter and am still not completely happy with it, so apologies if it isn't up to standard. I may come back and update it later.
Chapter 27 – The Order of the Dragon
The morning of Harry's return to Hogwarts dawned crisp and cool, with the faintest hint of autumn in the air. Harry stood in the grand foyer of Black Manor, his trunk and Hedwig's cage at his side. Narcissa and Bellatrix were with him, both looking torn between pride and reluctance to see him go.
"You'll write to me," Narcissa said, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his cloak.
"Every week," Harry promised, pulling her into a tight hug. "And I'll still come home on the weekends."
"You'd better," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I'll be counting the days."
Bellatrix stepped forward, her usual smirk softening into something more genuine. "You'll be fine, love. Just remember what I taught you. Keep your head high, and don't let anyone forget who you are."
Harry chuckled, pulling her into an embrace as well. "Thanks, Bella. I'll miss you."
"Of course you will," she teased, but her voice was thick with emotion.
With a final glance at both women, Harry picked up his trunk and headed toward the fireplace. "I'll see you soon."
"Be safe," Narcissa called, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"And don't let anyone push you around!" Bellatrix added as the green flames flared and whisked Harry away.
The Hogwarts Express was bustling with students when Harry arrived at Platform 9 3/4. As he boarded the train, heads turned, and whispers filled the air. Harry Potter, heir of Slytherin and champion of the Triwizard Tournament, was a figure of fascination and controversy.
Crabbe and Goyle, his self declared bodyguards, flanked him as he made his way down the corridor. They cleared the way with subtle, intimidating glares, ensuring Harry wasn't mobbed.
Harry finally found the compartment where Hermione, Ginny, and Draco were already seated.
"About time," Draco said, lounging casually with his arms crossed.
"Good to see you too, Malfoy," Harry said with a grin, dragging his trunk in and taking a seat.
Ginny gave him a warm smile. "How was your summer?"
"Eventful," Harry replied, glancing at Hermione, who was studying him with a knowing look.
"Understatement of the year," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow, her hand gently resting on Draco's thigh.
The train ride passed in a blur of conversation. Harry caught up with Hermione and Ginny about their summers while Draco chimed in with his usual dry wit. All the while, students hovered outside the compartment, trying to catch a glimpse of Harry. Crabbe and Goyle stood guard, deflecting anyone who got too bold.
"Does this happen to you everywhere you go now?" Draco asked, gesturing to the crowd outside.
"Lately, yes," Harry sighed.
"You should charge for autographs," Draco said with a smirk.
When the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the students disembarked and made their way to the carriages. By the time they reached the castle, the Great Hall was glowing with floating candles and the soft hum of anticipation.
Harry entered with Hermione, Ginny, and Draco by his side. Conversations hushed as students turned to watch him, their whispers filling the air. Harry ignored them, keeping his head high, just as Bellatrix had taught him.
The feast began as McGonagall rose to address the students, her stern yet kind expression commanding attention.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," she began. "This year marks a time of change and growth. As your new headmistress, I intend to honour the traditions of this great institution while ensuring it evolves to meet the needs of our world."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "Now, allow me to introduce our new staff members. Professor Remus Lupin will be our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor."
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, and Harry smiled warmly as Lupin nodded in acknowledgment.
"Professor Andromeda Tonks will be teaching Muggle Studies and Wizarding Heritage, a new class designed to explore the shared history and values of our magical and non-magical worlds."
There was polite applause, and Harry clapped enthusiastically as Andromeda stood briefly to wave.
"And finally," McGonagall said, her gaze sweeping the room, "our new Transfiguration professor, Narcissa Black."
The hall fell silent, shocked whispers rippling through the crowd as Narcissa entered the hall, her elegant demeanour commanding respect. She gave Harry a subtle wink as she took her place at the staff table.
Draco leaned toward Harry, whispering, "Mother didn't tell me she'd taken the job."
"Neither did mine," Harry replied, hiding his amusement.
As the feast continued, Harry felt a sense of anticipation. This year promised to be unlike any other, and he was determined to rise to the challenge.
For now, though, he focused on the food and the company of his friends, grateful for the moments of normalcy in a life that was anything but.
The next morning, Harry dressed quickly, his mind buzzing with curiosity about his first day of classes. The idea of being taught by not only Sirius' friend Lupin but also his aunt Andromeda and mother Narcissa filled him with both excitement and trepidation.
As he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, Hermione was already there, poring over her timetable.
"You have Defence first, then Muggle Studies, and Transfiguration after lunch," she said, handing him a copy of his schedule.
Harry nodded, scanning the parchment. "Seems straightforward enough."
"Straightforward?" Draco snorted as he joined them. "Mother is teaching. Nothing about that will be straightforward."
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin.
Lupin's classroom was exactly as Harry expected it would be - warm, welcoming, and slightly shabby, with a hint of the outdoors in the air. Lupin stood at the front of the room, smiling as the students filed in.
"Good morning," he greeted, his voice calm but commanding. "Welcome to a new year of Defence Against the Dark Arts."
The class greeted him enthusiastically, clearly relieved to have what seemed to be a competent teacher.
"Today, we'll start with something practical: recognising and countering various hexes. This knowledge will serve you well, both in duels and in everyday situations."
Lupin demonstrated a few basic counterspells, his wand movements fluid and precise. Then he paired the students up for practice. Harry found himself partnered with Hermione, and the two worked seamlessly together.
"Excellent, Harry, Hermione," Lupin said as he walked by. "You're both naturals. Keep at it."
By the end of the class, everyone was energised, their confidence bolstered by Lupin's encouraging approach.
After class Harry made his way to muggle studies filing in after most of the Hufflepuff students. He quickly found Susan and sat down beside her.
The newly combined class was held in a bright, airy classroom that Andromeda had clearly taken great care to set up. Half the room was filled with artefacts and displays from the Muggle world, while the other half showcased historical wizarding artefacts, blending the two worlds seamlessly.
Andromeda stood at the front of the room, her posture regal but her smile warm.
"Good morning, everyone," she began. "This class is about understanding. Understanding where we come from, how we coexist, and how we can bridge the gap between magical and non-magical communities."
She gestured to a map of the world. "We'll start with a look at magical societies across the globe and their relationships with Muggle communities. Then we'll explore how historical events have shaped those dynamics."
Andromeda's teaching style was engaging, balancing lectures with interactive discussions. Harry was surprised to find himself genuinely interested, and he noticed many of his classmates taking furious notes.
"And remember," Andromeda concluded, "this class isn't just about learning facts. It's about challenging your perspectives and broadening your understanding. That is how we grow."
After lunch, Harry headed to Transfiguration, where Narcissa was waiting at the front of the classroom, her elegant robes flowing as she moved.
"Welcome, students," she said, her voice cool and precise. "Transfiguration is a subtle and complex art, requiring discipline and focus. My job is to teach you not only the mechanics but the intent behind the magic."
She waved her wand, and the desk in front of her transformed into a sleek black cat with gleaming green eyes. The class gasped as it leapt gracefully forward, its movements fluid and lifelike.
"Transfiguration is not just about changing the shape of an object," Narcissa continued, watching the cat with an approving gaze. "It is about imbuing it with new purpose, while respecting the essence of what it was."
She turned to the class. "Today, you will attempt a basic transformation: turning a quill into a matchstick. Pair up and begin."
Harry paired with Draco, who seemed eager to prove himself under his mother's watchful eye.
"Focus on the essence of the matchstick," Narcissa advised as she walked by. "See it in your mind's eye before you cast."
Harry found the transformation challenging but satisfying. When his quill finally turned into a perfect matchstick, Narcissa gave him a small nod of approval.
"Excellent work, Harry."
Draco smirked. "Show-off."
O – o – o – o
The silence of Slytherin Castle was unnerving. With Harry at Hogwarts, the grand halls seemed emptier, the air heavier. Bellatrix paced in one of the sitting rooms, her mind racing. She had spent years sharpening her instincts, and now, every fibre of her being screamed that Voldemort's presence in the castle was dangerous—not just for Harry, but for her as well.
As much as she loathed him, Voldemort had an undeniable pull. His power, his charisma, his confidence—they were intoxicating to those unprepared to resist. But Bellatrix was not weak, nor was she the naive girl who had once believed in his vision.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him.
"Ah, Bellatrix," Voldemort drawled as he entered, his voice like silk. "How fortunate that I find you here. I was hoping for some company."
Bellatrix turned, keeping her expression neutral. "Lord Voldemort," she said, inclining her head slightly but refusing to bow.
"You don't need to call me that, you know," he said, stepping closer. His crimson eyes seemed to glow as he observed her. "After all, you're practically family."
Bellatrix stiffened but held her ground. "I prefer to keep things... professional," she replied coolly.
"Professional," Voldemort repeated, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "You wound me, Lady Slytherin. Surely, after all we've been through, we can be more than... professional."
Bellatrix's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't trust his charm for a second. She folded her arms, putting a deliberate distance between them. "Is there something you need, or are you merely here to waste my time?"
Voldemort chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "I came to discuss Harry's progress. I must admit, I'm impressed with the young Lord Slytherin. He has potential—raw, untamed, but undeniable."
"He's more than you deserve," Bellatrix shot back before she could stop herself.
Voldemort's smile faltered, but only for a moment. Instead of anger, a look of curiosity crossed his face. "Your loyalty to him is admirable," he said, stepping closer. "But tell me, Bellatrix, where does that loyalty end? How far would you go for him?"
"Farther than you could comprehend," she said sharply, her wand twitching in her hand.
Voldemort tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. "I wonder," he mused. "If he asked you to stand against me, would you?"
Bellatrix's heart raced, but her voice remained steady. "Without hesitation," she replied.
"Hmm." Voldemort leaned against the mantel, his posture casual but his eyes still calculating. "You've changed, Bellatrix. I remember a time when you would have done anything for me."
"That time is long gone," she said, her voice firm.
"And yet," he continued, stepping closer again, "I can't help but wonder if some part of you still remembers."
Bellatrix's fingers tightened around her wand, and she took a deliberate step back. "If you're looking for someone to manipulate, you're wasting your time," she said icily. "I am not the girl you knew."
Voldemort smirked, his eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous. "No, you're not," he said softly. "You're much more intriguing now."
Before she could respond, a loud knock at the door interrupted them. One of the Death Eaters entered, bowing low.
"My Lord, there's a matter that requires your attention," he said nervously.
Voldemort turned away from Bellatrix, his expression instantly turning cold. "This had better be important," he hissed before following the man out.
As soon as Voldemort was gone, Bellatrix exhaled deeply, realising how tightly wound her body had been. She sank into a chair, her mind racing.
"He's testing me," she thought. "Pushing boundaries, looking for cracks."
Through her connection with Harry, she sent a brief thought:"Your father is insufferable."
Harry's reply was instant and laced with humour:"You're not flirting with him, are you?"
Bellatrix snorted aloud, feeling some of the tension leave her body."Not if my life depended on it."
But her humour faded as she stared at the empty room. She couldn't let her guard down—not for a second. Voldemort was playing a long game, and she had no intention of losing. For Harry's sake, she needed to stay sharp and keep him at arm's length, no matter what it took.
She squared her shoulders and left the room, determined to find something productive to do. If Voldemort thought he could wear her down, he was sorely mistaken.
O – o – o - o
By the end of the first week, Harry felt an ache in his limbs that was both physical and emotional. The new classes had been demanding—each one stretching his knowledge and forcing him to think in ways he hadn't before. He welcomed the challenge, though. For the first time, he felt as if his education was preparing him for something meaningful, something real.
As he made his way to his private quarters, Harry couldn't help but reflect on how drastically his life had changed since last year. He was no longer just "The Boy Who Lived." He had a family now—a group of brilliant, fiercely loyal women who pushed him to be better, who cared for him deeply. And Sirius of course, who made sure he didn't take life so seriously ALL of the time.
And he had a mission.
There was power in that purpose. He wasn't fighting for someone else's vision of what the world should be. He was carving out his own path, one where both sides of the magical divide could find a way to coexist.
As he reached the door to his quarters, he felt a familiar presence brush against his mind—a whisper of affection and teasing.
"Don't take too long, my little Lord. I've missed you."Bellatrix's voice was like silk, pulling him from his thoughts.
Harry chuckled, shaking his head."It's only been a week,"he replied.
"Well,"she purred in response,"I've been a very bad girl while you've been away. Don't you want to punish me?"
A smile spread across Harry's face, despite the weariness in his bones."I'm on my way."
An hour later, the tension of the week was a distant memory. The fire in the hearth cast a warm glow across the room, and Harry lay tangled in silk sheets, his arm draped over Bellatrix's waist. Their breathing was slow and steady, the aftermath of passion leaving both of them feeling content and grounded.
Bellatrix turned her head slightly, her dark curls spilling across the pillow as she smiled at him. "So, tell me about your first week back, my little Lord."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Exhausting, but good. Lupin's class is everything I hoped it would be—he's an incredible teacher. Andromeda is brilliant, of course, and she's already made the heritage class fascinating. But the real surprise was my mother."
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smile. "Oh?"
"She's... terrifying," Harry admitted with a laugh. "In the best way. She has this commanding presence in class. I swear, even the Gryffindors are sitting up straighter and hanging on her every word. It's... strange, seeing her like that. I'm proud, but it's going to take some getting used to."
Bellatrix chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw. "Narcissa always had that in her. She just needed the right opportunity to show it."
"What about you?" Harry asked, his voice soft. "How has your week been?"
Bellatrix's smile faltered slightly, and she looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "It was... trying," she admitted. "Your father has a way of getting under my skin. He finds excuses to talk to me—pointless little things, really—and he never stops trying to... charm me."
Harry's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "If he's bothering you—"
"I can handle him," Bellatrix interrupted, her tone firm but reassuring. "Don't worry about me, love. He's harmless in that regard. Annoying, but harmless."
Harry relaxed slightly but made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation.
Bellatrix shifted closer, resting her head on his chest. "Don't let him distract you from what you're building," she said softly. "You're doing something incredible, Harry. You're creating a future worth fighting for."
O – o – o - o
On Saturday, the morning sunlight was filtering through the grand windows of Harry's quarters as he stood before a large circular table. He had spent weeks planning this moment, and now it was time to put his vision into action.
Before him sat a group of individuals he trusted implicitly: Hermione, Ginny, Susan, Draco, Andromeda, Nymphadora, Amelia, Snape and Sirius. Bellatrix stood slightly behind him, her presence as commanding as ever, while Narcissa sat elegantly on the other side of the room, listening intently.
"This isn't just about Voldemort," Harry began, his voice steady but passionate. "This is about creating a future where wizards and witches don't live in fear—of each other, of the Ministry, or of antiquated ideals that divide us. I can't do this alone, and I won't. That's why I'm forming the Order of the Dragon."
The name hung in the air for a moment before Hermione leaned forward, her curiosity evident. "Why 'the Dragon?'"
Harry glanced at Bellatrix, who gave him an encouraging nod. "Dragons are powerful, resilient, and they protect what's theirs. They're creatures of both fire and grace, capable of destruction but also of incredible beauty and strength. It's the balance we need—a force that can bridge the divide between light and dark."
Draco smirked. "I like it. Very Slytherin of you, Potter."
Harry smiled back, but his expression quickly turned serious. "This isn't going to be easy. Each of you has a role to play, and I'm asking you to take on responsibilities that will push you out of your comfort zones. But if we succeed, we'll change the wizarding world forever."
He turned to Hermione. "You're the strategist. I need you to research laws, policies, and history—anything we can use to dismantle the systems that are failing us."
Hermione nodded, her eyes blazing with determination. "I'm ready."
"Ginny," Harry continued, "you've always had a way with people. I want you to help rally support among the younger generation. We need their voices, their passion."
Ginny grinned. "Consider it done."
"Draco," Harry said, addressing the blond wizard directly, "you and mother are the bridge to the old families. I know it won't be easy, but we need allies who can sway those in power."
Draco inclined his head, a sly smile on his lips. "I do love a challenge."
Finally, Harry turned to Sirius. "You're our field leader. When it comes to covert operations, there's no one I trust more."
Sirius's grin was wolfish. "I've been waiting for this, pup."
After discussing everyone else's role and finishing up the meeting, Harry and Bellatrix retreated to the chamber of secrets. Bellatrix was pouring over documents related to the Wizengamot, her sharp eyes scanning every detail.
"You're sure about this?" Harry asked, sitting across from her.
Bellatrix looked up, her expression resolute. "It's time someone used the Slytherin house seat for something other than personal gain. I can use it to sway the council, to gain allies and undermine those who oppose us."
"And the Prophet?" Harry asked.
Bellatrix smirked. "That was a stroke of brilliance, wasn't it? With partial ownership, I can ensure the truth is published. No more lies, no more propaganda. The people deserve to know what's really happening."
Harry leaned back, a proud smile on his face. "You're amazing."
Bellatrix arched a brow, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. "You think so?"
"I do."
"Well maybe you should show me?"
o - o - o - o
Over the following weeks, the changes were palpable.
Bellatrix began attending Wizengamot sessions, her presence a force to be reckoned with. She made connections with those who had grown disillusioned with the Ministry's incompetence, crafting alliances that strengthened their cause.
Meanwhile, the Daily Prophet began to shift its tone, with articles exposing corruption and highlighting stories of unity and resilience. Bellatrix's influence was subtle but effective, ensuring that the truth was no longer buried under lies.
At the same time, Harry and his Order of the Dragon began making waves. Small changes rippled through Hogwarts and the broader magical community—discussions about reform, whispers of hope.
Lucius Malfoy, however, remained an outlier. He frequently visited Slytherin Castle for Death Eater meetings, but he refused to even look Harry in the eye.
"Let him stew," Bellatrix said one evening as they sat by the fire. "His time will come."
Harry nodded, determination burning in his chest. He was building something powerful, something lasting. And though the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, he knew he wasn't alone.
He had his family, his allies, and his vision for a better world. Together, they would forge a path that no one—light or dark—could ignore.
O – o – o - o
On Halloween, the sun was high in the sky as Harry arrived at Slytherin Castle for the weekend. Harry stepped through the entrance hall, his robes billowing slightly, his mind already bracing for the usual verbal sparring match with his father.
Bellatrix met him first, her smirk lighting up her face as she leaned casually against the grand staircase. "You're late, my little Lord."
Harry chuckled, leaning down to kiss her. "Blame Draco. He insisted on showing me his new broom before I left."
"Don't let him distract you," she teased. "You've got a sparring partner waiting for you upstairs, and I'm not talking about me."
Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. "And here I was hoping for a quiet weekend."
Bellatrix laughed, her voice rich with amusement. "With you and him under the same roof? Hardly."
Bellatrix pulled him close, sucking gently on his earlobe. "When you're done with him, you're mine. I expect your undivided attention for the rest of the day."
"As you wish. Happy wife makes a happy life," replied Harry with a smile.
"Damn right it does," said Bellatrix as she walked up the stairs with a smirk.
Harry found Voldemort in the study, seated in a high-backed chair, sipping tea as if he were a gentleman enjoying a lazy afternoon. A stack of parchment rested on the desk before him, filled with his plans for the magical world.
"Ah, Harry," Voldemort said, setting his cup down with deliberate precision. "You're finally here. Sit. We have much to discuss."
Harry sat across from him, eyeing the parchments. "More plans for conquest?"
Voldemort smirked, his red eyes gleaming. "Conquest is such a blunt word. I prefer restoration of order and power."
"And by 'order,' you mean fear," Harry countered. "That's not how you create a better world."
The Dark Lord's expression darkened, but he held his temper. "Fear is a tool, Harry. One the weak respect and the strong wield."
"It's also what keeps people divided," Harry said firmly. "You don't need fear to unite people. You need understanding and equality."
Voldemort chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Equality is a naive ideal. Power will always determine rank and influence."
"Power doesn't have to mean oppression," Harry argued, leaning forward. "It can mean protection, guidance, and opportunity for those who need it most. You claim to want a stronger wizarding world, but your methods ensure it'll always be fractured."
The room grew tense as the two locked eyes, their gazes fierce and unwavering.
Despite their clashing views, their debates often veered into deeper conversations. Over time, Harry noticed subtle shifts in Voldemort's demeanour. He began to listen more, occasionally nodding as if considering Harry's words.
This time was no different. Voldemort leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "You surprise me, Harry. You speak with conviction, not just idealism. There's a strength in you that's... unexpected."
"Maybe because I actually believe in what I'm saying," Harry replied, his tone measured.
"Belief is powerful," Voldemort admitted. "It's what allows men to rise above their limitations. But belief alone won't win wars."
"I'm not looking to win a war," Harry said. "I'm looking to build a future where there's no need for one."
Voldemort gave a slow nod, though his eyes remained calculating. "You have potential, my son. Perhaps more than I anticipated."
Amelia's advice echoed in Harry's mind during every conversation.
"Think about what you want. What matters. What are your limits?"
Harry held firm, refusing to be swayed by Voldemort's manipulations. Every decision he made was guided by his values: loyalty, compassion, and the drive to protect the vulnerable.
He noticed Voldemort observing him closely, as if trying to unravel the thoughts behind his actions. But Harry gave nothing away, maintaining a careful balance between respect and resistance. Though they argued frequently, there were moments of connection—glimpses of understanding that hinted at the possibility of change.
Still Harry knew better than to let his guard down. Voldemort was cunning, and his motives were always layered. Harry was determined to use their time together to learn, to challenge, and to protect everything he held dear.
When eventually Voldemort gave a nod, his usual sign that he was done with their conversations, Harry turned to leave, eager to spend time with Bellatrix.
"Go to the bathroom in our bedroom," he commanded in his mind. "Draw a bath, but don't get in. Strip."
"What do you have in mind, Little Lord?" Bellatrix asked in return.
"Just do as your told Bella."
"Yes," she said simply, knowing from his tone exactly what he had in mind.
"Sorry Cissy. I need to go, Harry needs me." Bellatrix said as she rushed out of the drawing room, anticipation building. She quickly started the bath and shred her clothing, eagerly pacing the length of the tub while she waited for Harry.
"Good girl," he said approvingly when he saw her standing there as he had ordered.
Bellatrix tried to school her face against the glow of pleasure his words provided, but suspected she had failed. Harry stripped quickly and efficiently and led her into the bath.
** BEGINNING OF LEMON **
"These are the rules for tonight," he said in her ear when he pulled her onto his lap. "You are going to comply with every request I make. You do not have to concern yourself with anything other than obeying me. There is no world outside our doors. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," she whispered, and sagged against his chest slightly. His arm encircled her waist and brought her flush against him.
"Any time you want to stop, you say your word. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," she repeated.
"Tell me what your word is," he said firmly.
"Mudblood," she said clearly, over the noise of the water.
Bellatrix had never used her word. She had used her slow down word, back in the first few times, but never her stop word. She honestly thought she never would.
"Good," he said as he released her from his grip. "Good girl. Rest your hands on the edge of the tub, Bellatrix. Keep them there."
Harry started with her hair, carefully building up a lather with fingers were expert, and the massage of her scalp made pleasure sing out along every one of her nerves. He worked soap all over her skin, and she giggled as his hands rubbed and kneaded her full breasts.
"It's very important to ensure the cleanliness of this particular area," he said with mock-seriousness. He tugged at her nipples and she immediately arched into him, the spark of pleasure/pain igniting something deeper inside her.
Harry continued to work at her breasts, his hands becoming firmer and less gentle. She revelled in the sensations he was creating, and she moaned unashamedly, reaching back for him.
Harry spanked her right buttock, the noise of the slap reverberating around the small room.
"Hands on the wall," he reminded her firmly.
Bellatrix whined, either because of the sharp sting, or because he had stopped at one smack. He smacked her again, on the left cheek.
"Stop whining," he reprimanded.
She dropped her head and obeyed. He let his hands remain on her backside, rubbing at the flesh that must be a pleasing shade of pink with the heat of the water and the force of his blows. His fingers dug into the muscle, and she groaned with pleasure.
"That's better," he murmured into her ear. "That's what I want to hear."
His hands slid forward, tugging one of her legs upwards and holding it in position. He let his hand slide forward to cover her exposed centre. His fingers rubbed at her folds and slid inside her. A moment later, he added another finger as he allowed his thumb to flick at her clit. Bellatrix moaned again, and thrust as best she could with the rhythm he had set up.
Normally he would play with her for a while, pleasing himself by delaying her pleasure, but for some reason tonight was different. Harry pushed her towards her orgasm, biting and sucking at her neck and her shoulder as his fingers pressed into her time and again. It didn't take her long to achieve it, the orgasm exploding out of her. Bellatrix screamed with the force of it, and she clenched down hard on his fingers still trapped inside her body.
It took her a long time to come back to herself. He held her firmly against his body, stroking her back gently and murmuring loving nonsense into her ear. Bellatrix could feel him hard against her hip, and she began to bend forwards, knowing how he loved to take her like this, bent at the waist with her hands wrapped around her ankles.
"No," he said, pulling her back towards him. "No, not tonight."
They stayed like that for a while longer, pressed front to back while he caressed the skin of her breasts and belly. He dropped kisses along the nape of her neck, then pulled away and stepped out of the water. Harry towelled himself off quickly then beckoned her out. He took an age to pat her carefully dry.
Harry led her back into their bedroom and arranged her face-down in the bed, hands touching the headboard above her. She felt drops of warm oil splash lazily onto her back, and she hummed with pleasure as he worked the massage oil into her skin. The tips of his fingers traced over every mole and lingered suggestively at the crease of her buttocks. She spread her legs obediently, tilting her hips up to expose her body further, but he just dropped a kiss to the small of her back and carried on massaging the oil into her legs and feet.
Harry flipped her over and worked his way back up her body. She closed her eyes, somehow unable to both watch him work and feel the effects of his hands upon her. It was sensory overload, and she had to pick. He paused briefly to suckle at her clitoris for a while, before continuing his journey back up. Her breasts were the centre of attention for a while again, as he loved to hear the whimpers that pinching her nipples caused.
He was straddling her now, working the oil into the skin above her clavicle with gentle, sweeping motions. His hands circled her neck, and he waited for her to exhale shakily before continuing to rub the sweet oil into her skin.
The sensation of his hands around her neck was a powerful one, and she could feel the moisture gather between her legs as he gently squeezed then released the skin of her neck. Breathplay was new to her, and what scared her the most was how much she enjoyed it, how willing she was to let him tighten his grip around her throat as he pounded into her fiercely.
Harry kissed her again before he shifted away from the bed, and she chased the taste of herself from his lips. She kept her eyes closed, and she heard him summon something. Her stomach turned over deliciously.
"Sit up," he commanded. "Hold out your hands."
Bellatrix obeyed, opening her eyes in the proceedings. Harry wrapped her wrists together. Then he bound her further, wrapping the fabric along her forearms to her elbows. She wiggled her fingers for him to show that blood flow was not constricted, and he nodded approvingly. He picked up a shorter length of fabric and showed it to her.
"I'm going to put this over your mouth," he said calmly. "It's permeable, so you'll be able to breathe through it. You won't be able to speak, so I'll give you a scarf to hold. If you want to use your word, you drop the scarf. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, my little Lord ," she said, eyeing the fabric nervously. This was the first time that he had used a gag on her. He normally enjoyed the noises she made.
"Do you want to use your word?" he prompted her. "You can, I won't be angry."
"No," she said hurriedly, then again more firmly. "No. I trust you."
Harry smiled at her, and pulled a red scarf from the bed behind him. He tucked it into her hands, where she gripped it tightly, making sure that no red material was displayed. He kissed her fingertips, then gently pressed the fabric across her mouth flicking his hand gently to stick it in place. It formed a seal immediately, heavy on her lips. She sucked in an experimental breath, and relaxed slightly when she discovered that air did indeed pass through the gag.
Harry picked her up and lay her gently on her side. Her arms folded up neatly by her head, and he spooned her from behind. The feeling of serenity was practically indescribable. With her arms bound together and her mouth immobilised, she felt safe, secure. She could no longer control any aspect of her person or environment; she gave that responsibility to the man that held her in his arms and stroked her skin and hair lovingly.
"Relax," Harry whispered into her ear. "I've got you now. Let go. Just let it all go."
Bellatrix sighed, and the last remaining vestiges of worry and tension from the last couple months disappeared under his skillful hands. He traced the shape of her lips under the fabric, and chucked as he felt her pulse race as he placed a hand on her throat and squeezed ever so gently. He palmed her breasts, teased her sore nipples back into perkiness and made her gasp wordlessly into her gag as he plunged two, then three fingers deep inside her.
He lifted one of her legs and slid himself into the slick channel that his fingers had just vacated. He held her in place as he began moving inside her, slowly at first but his strokes building in strength and depth as he grunted out words of love and need and desire into her ear. His strong body pinned her to the bed; all she could do was shudder and writhe under the onslaught of his tender words and fierce body. His hand snaked down her body, and it didn't take a great deal of stimulation to have her shuddering to climax shortly after he emptied himself into her.
**END OF LEMON **
He stayed draped over her for a long time, holding her tightly against him.
O – o – o - o
As Harry's time at Hogwarts and weekends sparing with his father continued, Voldemort's curiosity about the prophecy grew into a gnawing suspicion. For years, he had dismissed it as irrelevant, a relic of his conflict with the Potters. But as he observed Harry more closely—his power, his charisma, his ability to influence even the most skeptical—he began to wonder.
Was the prophecy not about a threat to his plans, but a direct threat to him? Could Harry be the one it spoke of?
Late one evening at Slytherin Castle, Voldemort sat in his private chambers, the fireplace casting long shadows across the room. A piece of parchment lay on the desk before him, detailing the remnants of the prophecy's text that Severus Snape had overheard so many years ago:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord..."
The words echoed in his mind, accompanied by an unshakable unease. He had always believed the prophecy referred to the original Harry Potter, the one he had killed that night. But what if it had always been this Harry – Lord Slytherin—his own son?
He tapped his long, pale fingers against the desk, his crimson eyes narrowing. If the prophecy was about Harry, it meant that his heir could also be his greatest threat.
Voldemort summoned Lucius Malfoy to Slytherin Castle the next evening. Lucius arrived promptly, though his unease was evident. He avoided Harry's gaze whenever they crossed paths, and his interactions with Voldemort were tinged with a careful wariness.
"Lucius," Voldemort said, his voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge. "I have a task for you."
Lucius inclined his head. "Of course, my Lord. What do you require?"
"The prophecy." Voldemort's tone was measured, but his words carried a weight that made Lucius flinch. "The one from the Department of Mysteries. I need it."
Lucius hesitated, but only for a moment. "It is guarded by the Unspeakables, my Lord. Only those directly mentioned in a prophecy can retrieve it."
Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. "Then find a way to circumvent that. Use whatever means necessary. But I want it in my possession. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said, bowing low.
Voldemort's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Do not fail me, Lucius. The consequences will be... severe."
At the same time, Harry was beginning to sense a change in Voldemort. Though their arguments and debates continued, there was a subtle shift in the Dark Lord's demeanour—a sharper edge to his questions, a deeper intensity in his gaze.
One evening, as Harry was working in the library, Bellatrix's voice whispered through their connection. "Something's shifted with him, my little Lord. He's plotting something."
"He's always plotting,"Harry replied, though her words left him unsettled.
"This is different," Bellatrix insisted."He's... watching us. More closely than usual. Be careful."
Harry leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. What was Voldemort up to?
In the weeks that followed, Lucius Malfoy worked tirelessly to devise a plan to retrieve the prophecy. He pulled strings at the Ministry, used bribes and threats, but every avenue led to a dead end. The Department of Mysteries was impenetrable, and the Unspeakables were notoriously unyielding.
Adding to his frustration was the weight of Voldemort's expectations. The Dark Lord's occasional visits to Malfoy Manor were marked by thinly veiled threats and icy stares that left Lucius on edge.
As Lucius struggled, Voldemort's suspicion deepened. He continued to observe Harry, noting his growing power and influence. The boy was an enigma—one moment defiant, the next strategic and cunning.
During one of their debates at Slytherin Castle, Voldemort tested Harry's resolve.
"Tell me, Harry," he said, his tone deceptively light. "Do you believe in fate?"
Harry shrugged. "Not particularly. We make our own choices, shape our own paths."
Voldemort's eyes gleamed. "And if there were a prophecy—one that spoke of your future—would you want to know it?"
Harry met his gaze evenly. "I'd rather focus on the present. Prophecies are vague at best, dangerous at worst. They're not worth chasing."
Voldemort's expression remained unreadable, but his mind was racing. Harry's answer was clever, but it did little to ease his doubts.
By the end of November, the tension between Voldemort's ambitions and Harry's principles was palpable. Harry knew Voldemort was planning something, but he couldn't yet see the full picture.
For now, all he could do was remain vigilant, trusting in his allies and his own instincts. But as the days passed, one thing became increasingly clear: the battle for the wizarding world's future was far from over, and the stakes were higher than ever.