Chapter 16 – Confessions and Reconciliations
Narcissa brought Harry to a secluded Black family property, a stately but somewhat neglected manor hidden away from prying eyes. The moment they stepped inside, she flicked her wand, and the lounge was immediately swept clean of dust and cobwebs. Plush furniture righted itself, the fireplace roared to life, and a warm, inviting light filled the room. She summoned a house-elf, who promptly appeared with a tea service before vanishing with a small pop.
"Sit, Harry," she said softly, gesturing to a comfortable armchair by the large window.
Harry obeyed, sinking into the seat, feeling both the weight of the conversation ahead and the surprising comfort of the chair. Narcissa settled herself across from him, her spine straight but her demeanour relaxed. She poured them both tea with an elegance born of years of practice and took a measured sip, her gaze never leaving him.
"I'm here when you're ready," she said gently.
Harry stared out the window for a moment, gathering his thoughts as the late afternoon sun cast golden hues across the room. When he finally began to speak, his voice was quiet but steady.
He started with the events in the Chamber of Secrets, recounting how he had discovered Ron there under the control of the diary and how Tom Riddle had emerged, accusing him of being more than just Harry Potter. He spoke of Voldemort sensing his magic and claiming he was his heir—and his son. His fists tightened on the arms of the chair as he shared Riddle's accusations that Bellatrix had done something to make him into Harry Potter.
"She never told me," Harry said, his voice laced with anger and confusion. "Why wouldn't she tell me? I trusted her!"
Narcissa's expression didn't waver, though her fingers tightened slightly around her teacup. She remained silent, allowing him to continue.
He described Voldemort's attempt to steal his magic and how it had nearly killed him. He spoke of the basilisk and how it had obeyed him instead of Riddle, proving that Harry was the true heir of Slytherin. His voice cracked slightly as he admitted how overwhelming it all felt—the weight of such a legacy pressing down on him.
When he finished, the room fell into a heavy silence. Narcissa placed her teacup down on the saucer with deliberate care, her pale fingers trembling just slightly.
"Harry," she began, her voice steady but soft, "you have been through more than most adults could endure. And yet here you are, strong enough to tell me all of this, to face the truth head-on. That speaks volumes about the kind of person you are."
Harry looked at her, noting for the first time how pale she was, her usually composed expression tinged with worry and guilt.
Narcissa sat across from Harry, watching as a range of emotions flitted across his face—confusion, anger, sadness, and a deep-seated yearning for understanding. She steeled herself, knowing the answers she had to give would only deepen his pain, but he deserved the truth.
"Which part is bothering you the most?" she asked softly, her voice calm but tinged with vulnerability. "What do you want to talk about first?"
Harry took a deep breath, his hands clenching tightly around the arms of his chair. His blue eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw not a boy, but someone far older than his years, weighed down by the burdens he'd carried.
"Is he really my father?"
Narcissa exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. "Yes. Voldemort is your father." Her voice was steady but laced with pain. "He was a cruel man, Harry. Cruel in ways most people couldn't imagine. He craved power, yes, but he also took pleasure in humiliation—especially of his followers. To him, loyalty wasn't enough. He demanded submission, total control over those who served him. He would… claim a follower's new wife on their wedding night as proof of their servitude."
Harry's hands trembled slightly as he absorbed her words. His anger bubbled just beneath the surface, directed at a man he had always been intrigued by, but was now beginning to despise.
"Do you know who my mother is?" he asked quietly, though his voice was tight with tension.
Narcissa hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly as she set her teacup down. "I do," she said in barely more than a whisper. Her eyes, usually guarded, softened with a rare vulnerability. "You look like a perfect blend of Lily and James, Harry, but your eyes… you have my eyes."
Harry's breath hitched. The pieces clicked together in his mind, but he still couldn't quite believe it. "You—" he faltered. "You're my mother?"
"Yes."
Harry's throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. He blinked at her, his emotions swirling between disbelief, anger, and a strange, bittersweet relief.
"He—he did that to you?" he finally asked, his voice shaking with anger.
Narcissa's gaze didn't waver. "I don't remember it," she admitted. "But when Bellatrix escaped Azkaban and came to Malfoy Manor, she told me everything. She raved about you, her nephew—about Harry Potter being her soulmate. I thought she was mad, but after she told me I had flashes of memories I'd repressed for years. Giving birth to you. Losing you. Then when I saw you for the first time – when I saw you, Harry, my heart knew the truth.. I knew then that you were mine."
Harry's anger wavered as he saw the genuine pain in her eyes. It was a pain he recognised, a pain he'd felt every time he'd longed for a family of his own.
"What am I supposed to do with all of this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How am I supposed to reconcile who I am, who I thought I was, with all of this?"
Narcissa reached out and placed a gentle hand over his. "One step at a time," she said softly. "You are Harry Potter. You have Potter blood in your veins, and nothing can change that. But your magic… your magic is a blend of Voldemort's and mine. That doesn't define you, though. What defines you is the choices you make. Your path is yours to decide—not Voldemort's, not Bellatrix's, not mine."
Harry looked at her, his jaw tight. "So it's true, then?" he asked, his voice edged with both hope and dread. "Bellatrix… she did something?"
Narcissa nodded slowly. "Yes, she did. But, Harry, before you condemn her, you need to understand something. Everything she did—every risk she took—was to save you. To protect you. Her actions may seem twisted, even unforgivable, but they were born out of love. A fierce, desperate love."
Harry leaned back, his head spinning. "Why?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why would she go that far? Why wouldn't she just tell me the truth?"
"Because she's terrified," Narcissa said, leaning forward. "Terrified of losing you. Terrified that you would hate her if you knew the full story. Bellatrix has always been fierce and stubborn, but when it comes to you, she's vulnerable in ways I've never seen before. You're everything to her, Harry."
Harry looked down at his hands, his emotions a chaotic storm. The anger he'd felt toward Bellatrix warred with the faint, undeniable memories of her saving him—of the passion, love, and sacrifice she had poured into keeping him alive.
"I don't know how to forgive her," he whispered.
Narcissa gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Talk to her," she urged. "When you're ready, let her tell you the truth herself. Only she can explain her motives, her reasoning. Maybe then you'll understand. But until then, take the time you need to process everything."
Harry nodded, though the path ahead still felt daunting.
"She loves you," Narcissa said quietly. "More than anything. She gave nearly all of her magic to save you. Despite her past, that has to count for something." She paused, her voice softening. "It was certainly enough for me to forgive her."
Harry swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I know she loves me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "But that doesn't make it any easier."
"No," Narcissa agreed. "But love rarely is."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Harry allowed himself to lean into the comfort of someone who cared for him, the enormity of the truth settling heavily on his shoulders—but no longer feeling like a burden he had to carry alone.
O – o – o – o
As they returned to Black Manor, Harry hesitated in the foyer, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Narcissa turned to face him, her expression soft and maternal, something Harry hadn't realised he'd yearned for until this moment. Without a word, he stepped forward and hugged her tightly, his arms wrapping around her in an awkward but heartfelt embrace.
"Goodnight, Mom," he murmured.
Narcissa froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes, and she hugged him back fiercely, her hand gently stroking his hair.
"Goodnight, my son," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Harry pulled back, offering her a small, tentative smile before heading up to his room. Narcissa watched him disappear down the hallway, her heart full and aching all at once. She stood there for a moment, letting the emotions wash over her, when Bellatrix entered the room.
Bella's sharp eyes immediately caught the tears streaming down her sister's face. Concern etched across her features, she strode over, placing a hand on Narcissa's arm.
"What's happened? Why are you crying?" Bellatrix asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Narcissa wiped her tears, composing herself slightly before looking up at her sister. "He knows, Bella," she said quietly. "He knows everything."
Bellatrix's breath hitched, and her face paled. "Does he… does he hate me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Narcissa shook her head. "No. He's angry, confused, and hurt, but I don't think he could ever hate you."
Bella exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding her features.
"But," Narcissa continued, her tone firm, "he needs time. He doesn't understand everything yet, and he's struggling to reconcile his feelings. When he's ready, he'll come to you. And when he does, Bella, youmustbe honest with him. You have to bare your soul—no walls, no excuses. Only then will the two of you be able to move forward."
Bellatrix's hands clenched at her sides. "What if he doesn't want to be with me anymore?"
Narcissa sighed, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder. "He might not. Bella, he's not even fourteen. This is so much for someone his age to handle. He may need time—years even—to figure things out. But you and I both know he'll come back to you. You just have to be patient. You can't push him. If you do, it will only take him longer to come to terms with everything."
Bellatrix's lips pressed into a thin line, but a spark of hope glimmered in her dark eyes. "What if he—" her voice broke, and she swallowed hard, "what if he dates someone else? One of those harlots at Hogwarts?"
Narcissa raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Maybe that would be for the best."
"How can you say that?" Bellatrix hissed, her voice sharp with indignation.
"Because," Narcissa said patiently, "maybe that's what he needs to realise what he has with you. That it's worth fighting for, worth forgiving for."
Bellatrix looked ready to argue, but Narcissa held up a hand. "Bella, listen to me. Harry has barely known love in his life. Now he's discovered he has a soulmate—a connection so deep and overwhelming that it's beyond his years to fully comprehend. If he were to seek affection elsewhere, he would quickly learn that nothing compares to what he has with you. And when he comes back—and he will come back—you'll both know it's forever."
Bellatrix's gaze softened, her shoulders slumping slightly as she processed her sister's words. "You think he'll come back?"
"I know he will," Narcissa said firmly. "But only if you let him come to that realisation on his own. He's stubborn, Bella, just like you. You can't force him to accept this—it has to be his choice. Give him space. Let him make his mistakes if he needs to. When he's ready, he'll come back, and you'll have the chance to build something real and lasting."
Bellatrix nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in her eyes. "I'll try," she said softly. "For him, I'll try."
"That's all you can do," Narcissa said, pulling her sister into a comforting embrace.
O – o – o – o
It took Harry two weeks to finally confront her. Bellatrix was seated in the library, a book resting on her lap, though her eyes barely skimmed the words. When he walked in, her heart leapt in her chest, though his expression was unreadable.
"Aren't we meant to be dueling? It's Sunday after all," he said flatly, his tone devoid of warmth.
Bellatrix looked up, her mask of composure slipping slightly. "If you'd like. I'm not doing anything."
He nodded curtly and turned on his heel, leaving the library without another word. Bellatrix closed her book, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed it on the table. She followed him silently, her mind racing. The walk to the training chamber felt endless, each step heavy with unspoken tension. The air between them crackled, but neither dared to break the silence. Harry kept his distance, ensuring their hands didn't so much as brush.
When they finally arrived, Harry didn't waste time with pleasantries. The duel started slow, almost awkwardly, as if he were testing his memory or holding back. Bellatrix matched his pace, uncertain of his intent. But soon, his movements became sharper, his spells faster and more relentless. The room echoed with the sound of incantations and the hum of magic.
Bellatrix was forced to erect a shield to protect herself, her mind reeling at the intensity of his attacks. "Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind instead of trying to maim me?" she said, attempting a teasing tone, though her voice wavered.
Harry's eyes burned with anger, and instead of responding, he launched another series of spells, pushing her further back. She dodged and countered, but his determination overwhelmed her. A binding curse caught her off guard, and suddenly she was tied to a training dummy, her movements restricted.
"You seem to enjoy tying me up, Harry," she quipped, her voice tinged with nervousness. "If it's bondage you're in to I am happy to oblige."
Harry ignored her jibe, stepping closer until she could feel the heat of his body. His blue eyes, so like his mother's, burned into hers with a mix of fury and betrayal.
"What did you do to me?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Bellatrix froze, her heart pounding. This was the moment she had dreaded, the moment she had tried to prepare for but knew she never could. She swallowed hard, willing herself to speak.
"It was an ancient Black family spell," she began, her voice shaking. "It switched your magic with the Potter boy's… allowing you to live his life. I thought—" she broke off, her throat tightening. "I thought you'd be safe. Free from the persecution you'd face as Voldemort's son. It would give you a better life."
Harry's face darkened. "You didn't think I deserved a choice?"
"There wasn't time! And you were only a little over a year old. What did you want me to do ask you?!" she snapped, her own emotions bubbling to the surface. "Severus said you'd be raised by your godparents, loved and cared for. I thought I could visit you, get to know you, and let our bond grow naturally. But when I couldn't find you—when I learned where you'd gone—it broke me."
Harry stepped closer, his wand pointed at her chest. "You're still not telling me everything."
Bellatrix hesitated, her pulse hammering in her ears. She closed her eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. "The spell – it was a spell only soulmates could use," she admitted. "By using it, I tied our life forces together. It completed the initial bond of our magic, making it unbreakable. Making it - so our magic would need to be together. We would feel significant pain if apart."
"But all those years with the Dursleys? I never felt anything," he replied, confusion etching his features.
"No matter where you went, I knew we wouldn't be able to be together as much as the bond would require. I couldn't bear the thought of you being in pain because of my choice, so I ensured I suffered for us both." Harry's anger ebbed slightly at her words. All those years in Azkaban she had suffered so that he wouldn't. Narcissa words crossed him mind - Everything she did—every risk she took—was to save you. To protect you.
Harry's jaw clenched, his anger returning, "You took away my one chance tochoosethis – to choose you."
"Yes," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You would have chosen me eventually, but this made the bond stronger - sooner then it would have been naturally. I couldn't risk losing you."
"You don't know that," he hissed. "You had no right to make that choice for me."
"There wasn't time to consider all the options," she said, her voice desperate. "You couldn't even speak. I had to act, and I acted out of love. You're my soulmate—meant to spend your life with me. I had to protect that."
"You chose for both of us Bella," he said coldly, "but I can't do this if I don't choose it for myself. I need time, and I need it away from you. I don't want to see you- I don't want to talk to you, until I've decided." Harry took a step back and turned to walk away.
Her breath hitched, panic flaring in her chest. "Don't say that," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't go, Harry. Talk this out…..You're a coward if you leave….. You said you love me. If you love me, you won't leave—not like this."
Harry froze for a moment, her words hanging in the air like a challenge. But then he shook his head, his expression resolute. "Maybe I'm not so sure anymore."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She watched helplessly as he walked away, the sound of the door slamming echoing in the chamber. Alone, bound and defeated, Bellatrix finally broke.
For the first time in years, she cried—gut-wrenching, soul-shaking sobs that left her trembling. It was a pain she hadn't felt since her darkest moments, a raw, unbearable ache that cut deeper than any curse. And for the first time, she wondered if her choices had cost her the one thing she had fought so hard to keep.
O – o – o – o
The moment Harry left the training room, regret began to gnaw at him. He knew he loved Bellatrix—he felt it in his very core—but the anger he felt was overwhelming. It clouded his thoughts, suffocating the part of him that wanted to turn back and comfort her. He needed time to figure it all out, to process everything that had happened. If he was to spend his life with her, it had to feel like his decision in some way, no matter how small. Yet, he also knew he was being stubborn. He knew his words had cut her deeply, and the guilt weighed heavily on him. But he couldn't take them back now; all he could do was move forward and sort through his feelings.
When he approached Narcissa and told her he wanted to spend a couple of weeks with Sirius, she nodded in understanding. Her smile was gentle but tinged with sadness.
"I understand, Harry," she said softly. "But know that you're always welcome here. I'll miss you while you're gone."
"I'll miss you too," Harry said, meaning it.
She reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, her affection clear. "Just promise me you'll come back for Occlumency lessons on Saturdays."
"I promise," he replied, relieved that she hadn't pried further.
Sirius greeted Harry with his usual exuberance, pulling him into a tight hug as soon as he arrived. "Welcome, kiddo! We'll have a proper Marauder's summer. No questions, no lectures—just fun."
Harry smiled, appreciating the lack of pressure. Sirius seemed to instinctively know that Harry needed space to breathe and time to sort through his emotions. True to his word, Sirius didn't press him about why he'd come, and Harry found himself relaxing in his godfather's company in a way he hadn't expected.
Sirius brought out a playful side of Harry he hadn't fully realised was there. They spent long days exploring new spells, racing each other on broomsticks, and even attempting cooking—though the latter ended in disastrous but hilarious results. Sirius constantly challenged him to try new things, keeping him too busy to dwell on his inner turmoil.
For Harry, it was a much-needed break. He could almost forget the heavy truths weighing on him, if only for a little while.
As August approached, Harry made good on his promise to visit the Burrow. Sirius accompanied him, claiming he couldn't resist the idea of seeing old friends and meeting the famous Weasley brood.
The Burrow was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. The house was chaotic and noisy, bursting with life and laughter. At first, it overwhelmed him—the constant chatter, the magical objects zipping through the air, the sheer energy of the Weasleys. But it didn't take long for Harry to feel at home.
Molly fussed over him endlessly, making sure he ate enough to feed three grown men, and Arthur regaled him with stories about his fascination with Muggle contraptions. Fred and George kept him laughing with their pranks, and even Ron's occasional grumbling about chores couldn't dampen the warmth of the house.
Harry found himself smiling more than he had in weeks. For a time, he allowed himself to just be a normal boy, surrounded by a family that accepted him without hesitation.
When Sirius announced that he had gotten tickets to the Quidditch World Cup for everyone, the excitement in the Burrow was infectious. Ron and the twins could barely contain themselves, and even Ginny beamed with excitement. Their joy rubbed off on Harry, and he found himself looking forward to the match, if only to see what all the fuss was about.
When it was time to leave the Burrow, Ginny hesitated by the door, her usual bright demeanour replaced by a shy uncertainty.
"Harry," she began, her cheeks turning pink, "I was wondering… would you like to do your school shopping together? And maybe—um—have lunch? Like… like a date?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard. He hesitated, his mind flickering briefly to Bellatrix. His heart ached, a sharp reminder of the bond they shared and the unresolved tension between them.
But Ginny's hopeful expression made it hard to say no. She looked so sweet, so nervous, and Harry didn't want to hurt her feelings.
"Sure," he said, managing a small smile. "That sounds nice."
Ginny's face lit up, and she nodded quickly. "Great! I'll see you in Diagon Alley, then."
As she turned to join her family, Harry watched her go, a bittersweet feeling settling over him. He liked Ginny—she was kind and funny—but he knew his heart wasn't free.
Still, he told himself, maybe this was what he needed: a chance to figure out what he wanted and who he truly was. It wouldn't be easy, but for now, he could only take things one step at a time.
The next Saturday, Harry sat with Narcissa in the Black Manor sitting room, a hesitant smile on his face as he told her about his plans.
"I have a… a date with Ginny," he admitted, watching her reaction carefully.
To his surprise, Narcissa's eyes lit up with excitement. "How wonderful, Harry! Ginny seems like such a sweet girl. When would you like to go?"
They spent the morning planning the outing, settling on the following weekend. Harry agreed to send an owl to Ginny to confirm their plans. Narcissa helped him choose the appropriate tone for his letter, advising him to keep it simple and warm.
The week passed quickly, and soon, Saturday arrived. The Weasleys, Sirius, and Narcissa all made the trip to Diagon Alley. Once there, the adults and older siblings gave Harry and Ginny some space, wandering off to handle their own shopping. Ginny eagerly slipped her arm through Harry's, a bright smile on her face as they began to stroll down the cobbled streets.
They talked about everything—classes, Quidditch, and even mundane things like the best flavours of Bertie Bott's Beans. Ginny's easy laughter was infectious, and Harry found himself relaxing, though part of his mind stayed distant.
Their first stop was Quality Quidditch Supplies, where Ginny picked out a new pair of gloves, and Harry surprised her by offering to pay.
"You don't have to do that," she protested, blushing.
"I want to," Harry insisted, handing over the Galleons. Her smile grew even brighter, and Harry felt a pang of guilt for the small flicker of relief that followed—it was far easier to make Ginny happy than to navigate the complexities of his feelings for Bellatrix.
At Flourish and Blotts, Harry found a new potions textbook that intrigued him, and Ginny teased him for his interest in the subject.
"Who likes potions?" she joked, nudging him playfully.
They both laughed, and for a moment, Harry felt like a regular teenager.
Lunch was at a cozy little café tucked into a quieter corner of the alley. Ginny chatted animatedly, her enthusiasm spilling over as she recounted stories from the Burrow. Harry listened attentively, laughing at her anecdotes, but his mind kept drifting.
He couldn't help but compare this date to the one he'd shared with Bellatrix. She had always been so attuned to his needs, anticipating them before he could voice them. She made him feel important in ways he was only now beginning to understand. The memory of her playful smile, her careful attentions, and the warmth of her touch filled him with guilt.
By the time lunch ended, Harry paid the bill, feeling a mix of satisfaction and unease. Ginny thanked him, her cheeks pink, and as they stepped outside, she turned to face him.
"I had a great time today," she said softly, her eyes searching his. Then, before he could respond, she leaned up and kissed him.
The kiss was soft, fleeting, and caught Harry completely off guard. He froze, unsure how to react, and before he could say anything, the sound of voices interrupted them.
The rest of the Weasleys approached, their shopping bags in hand. Ginny stepped back quickly, her face flushed but glowing with happiness.
"Well," Sirius said with a teasing grin, "looks like you two had a good time."
Harry forced a smile, but when he glanced at Narcissa, her expression wasn't teasing or curious. Instead, it was knowing and faintly sad. She said nothing, only offered him a gentle smile.
"Are you ready to come home?" she asked quietly as the group prepared to leave.
Harry hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I'm ready."
He realised then that it was time to stop running from his emotions, time to face Bellatrix and try to mend what he had broken.
Narcissa reached out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. "Let's go, then."
O – o – o - o
That night, Harry sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with confusion and guilt. When Ginny had kissed him earlier, there had been no spark, no fire—just the faint sensation of her lips against his. It was nothing like the consuming heat that filled him whenever he was with Bellatrix.
He sighed heavily, his chest tight with realisation. Nothing could ever compare to what he had with her. She might have strengthened their bond with her spell, but she hadn't created it. It had always been there, undeniable and unshakable. He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out his journal, the one that connected him to her.
I miss you, he wrote, the words a confession and a plea all at once.
The response came almost instantly, as though she had been waiting for him to write, her emotions pouring through the ink.
I miss you too.
I'm sorry.
Me too.
I think there's something I should tell you in person.
There was a long pause, and then the softest sound at his door. He turned to see her standing there, framed by the flickering light from the hallway. Vulnerability was etched into her features, but curiosity glimmered in her dark eyes.
"You wanted to tell me something?" she asked, her voice quiet but steady.
He nodded, moving over on the bed and patting the spot beside him. She hesitated for a moment before walking in, her fingers wringing nervously in her lap as she sat down.
"Ginny kissed me today," he said softly, watching her reaction carefully.
Her eyes flared with anger as she turned to him, her voice sharp. "You brought me here to tell me about the other witches you're kissing?"
"No," Harry said quickly, his heart pounding. "I brought you here to tell you I love you."
Her expression shifted in an instant, anger melting into stunned disbelief. "What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Ginny kissed me," Harry repeated, "and the only thing I could think about was how I wanted it to be you. I love you. Maybe it's a soulmate thing, but—"
"A soul bond can't create love, Harry," she interrupted gently, her gaze softening. "Only we can do that."
"Really?" he asked, hope flickering in his voice.
She nodded, a faint smile curving her lips.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice steady but filled with longing.
"If you must," she replied, her smirk returning in full force, playful and teasing.
Harry reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he gently ran his fingers through her hair. He leaned closer, his heart hammering in his chest as he pulled her down toward him. Their lips met, and the world around them seemed to dissolve into nothingness.
The kiss was slow, deep, and passionate, every emotion he had buried pouring into that single moment. Bellatrix responded with equal fervour, her fingers tangling in his hair as she leaned closer, pressing herself against him.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.
"I love you too," she whispered, her voice unsteady but certain.
Harry smiled, his heart finally at peace.
"Happy Birthday Harry," she whispered as she kissed him softly. Harry looked at her in surprise not even realising the clock had struck twelve.
O – o – o - o
Harry woke up on his birthday feeling lighter than he had in months. The past few weeks had been filled with a mix of healing and rediscovery, and today felt like a culmination of it all. He never cared much about celebrating his birthday, but the plans Bellatrix and Narcissa had whispered about filled him with anticipation.
By the time he made his way downstairs, the house was buzzing with quiet activity. Narcissa greeted him with a warm smile, setting a small stack of his favourite breakfast foods on the table.
"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, her voice tinged with maternal pride.
"Thanks, Mum," he said softly, enjoying the way her face lit up whenever he called her that.
"Don't eat too much," she warned. "Bella has plans for you, and she won't be happy if you're too full to enjoy it."
He chuckled, tucking into his breakfast anyway, and then hurried upstairs to get ready. By midday, Bellatrix appeared in the doorway of his room, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders and her signature smirk firmly in place.
"Are you ready, birthday boy?" she asked, leaning against the frame with an elegance that made his breath catch.
"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied, grabbing his wand.
"Good. Let's go."
She took his hand, pulling him close to her, and just when he thought she might kiss him, they apparated away.
When Harry opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a secluded meadow, surrounded by wildflowers and tall, swaying grass. A small table was set up beneath an ancient oak tree, adorned with elegant candles and a spread of decadent-looking food.
"You did this?" he asked, turning to Bellatrix, his voice filled with awe.
"Don't look so surprised," she said, her smirk softening into something almost shy. "I can be romantic when I want to be. Besides, I had to prove my dates are better."
Harry couldn't help but smile as she led him to the table, pulling out a chair for him before taking her own seat. The meal was perfect—light and summery, filled with flavours Harry had never tasted before. But the real magic of the date was Bellatrix herself.
She was attentive, teasing him with quips and sly smiles, but also asking him about his hopes for the future, his dreams beyond Hogwarts. She made flirting seem effortless, but he noticed something now that he hadn't noticed before. It wasn't that she had more experience flirting then he did, it was flirting with him that was the difference.
When the meal was over, Bellatrix pulled out a small, intricately wrapped package.
"Happy birthday," she said, sliding it across the table.
Harry opened it carefully, revealing a silver bracelet with a single, small emerald charm in the shape of a lightning bolt.
"It's enchanted," she explained. "If you ever need me for any reason, just touch the charm, and I'll find you." The hopefully before your magic is drained going unspoken.
Harry slipped it onto his wrist, his heart swelling. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's perfect."
Bellatrix leaned over the table, her eyes glinting mischievously. "You're welcome."
"Bellatrix, can I ask you something?" Harry said, blushing.
"Of course. I have no intention of keeping anything from you Harry. I want you to know I will always be honest with you."
"How many people have you kissed?"
"Two. I kissed Rodolphus at our wedding, and I've kissed you of course."
"But you're so beautiful." Bellatrix laughed.
"Well it's certainly not from a lack of interest," she replied smugly. "I guess I've just never been a big fan of physical affection, until now."
"So you've never –"
"Made love to someone?" Bellatrix finished, causing Harry to blush.
"No, Rodolphus tried on our wedding night of course, but I hexed his bits. He never touched me after that. The only person I want touching me is you, Harry. Until then, I've gotten quite proficient at taking care of my own needs."
"What do you mean?" Bellatrix smirked.
"You know, pleasuring myself. You should try it," she said leaning in. "When you do, promise me you'll think of me. I know I'll be thinking about you." She winked and Harry could do nothing but nod.
By the time they returned to Black Manor, Harry's cheeks ached from smiling. The house was warm with the smells of roasted meats and fresh bread, and Narcissa greeted them at the door with a knowing look.
"Just in time," she said, ushering them into the dining room.
The table was set for five, and Harry was surprised to see both Sirius and Severus already seated. The former grinned widely when he saw Harry, while the latter inclined his head in a reserved nod.
"Happy birthday, pup!" Sirius said, pulling Harry into a quick, rough hug.
"Thank you, Sirius," Harry said, smiling.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Severus said, his tone formal but not unkind.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied, feeling a small but genuine warmth in the man's words.
The dinner was lively, filled with laughter and conversation. Sirius and Bellatrix traded jabs, their sibling-like banter lighthearted but sharp, while Narcissa and Severus shared more subdued comments that often left the table in stitches.
As the evening wound down, Narcissa brought out a cake, its frosting adorned with a Basalisk design that made Harry laugh.
"Make a wish," she said, placing it in front of him.
Harry closed his eyes, the image of Bellatrix's smile and the warmth of his family filling his mind. He blew out the candles, silently wishing for more nights like this.
When the cake was served, Bellatrix leaned close, her voice low. "What did you wish for?"
Harry smiled, his heart full. "I think it's already come true." Harry glanced at Bellatrix. Her eyes were sparkling in the candlelight, her smirk softened into something that sent his heart racing. Without thinking, without caring who was watching, he leaned toward her.
The kiss was soft and lingering, a world of unspoken emotions passing between them. When they finally broke apart, the sound of Sirius clearing his throat loudly—and obnoxiously—brought Harry back to reality.
"Something in my throat," Sirius muttered, though his wide grin betrayed him. "Or, you know, get a room might help."
Harry turned scarlet, but before he could say anything, Snape arched a single, incredulous eyebrow. "Discretion has clearly become a lost art," he drawled, though there was a flicker of amusement in his tone.
Meanwhile, Narcissa blushed furiously, her gaze darting away as she began fussing with her napkin. "Well," she murmured, trying to regain her composure, "it's getting late. Perhaps we should—"
Bellatrix, of course, was completely unbothered. She leaned back in her chair, her smirk firmly in place. "Jealous, Sirius? Or perhaps you're just bitter you don't have anyone to kiss. Is Severus not putting out?"
Sirius shot her a glare. "Oh, please. I'm just thrilled I don't have to explain soul bonds to Harry in great detail."
"Perhaps you should,pup," Bellatrix teased, earning another glare.
Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands, but a small laugh escaped him. As strange as this family was, it was his, and he wouldn't have it any other way.