Chapter 11 – Epilogue
Voldemort's defeat in Diagon Alley marked the beginning of a new chapter for the wizarding world. His death signified the end of fear and bloodshed, but the scars he left behind would take time to heal. Harry, Bellatrix, and Narcissa understood this better than anyone.
At Woodcroft Manor, the heart of their efforts, the trio worked tirelessly to rebuild. Amid their endeavours, moments of joy and connection with friends and family became cherished respites.
One of the first visitors after the dust settled was Lily, who brought James along to see Narcissa and the new baby. Lily and Narcissa sat in the sitting room, sharing tea and discussing motherhood, as well as Lily's recent engagement to James. For Harry, witnessing his parents together during these early days of their relationship added a lightness to his heart. He marvelled at their happiness and carefree demeanour, pondering what their lives would be like without the looming threat of Voldemort.
Narcissa and Lily sat comfortably, cups in hand, while a bassinet rested beside them, rocking gently with the new heir of Woodcroft sleeping inside.
"Oh, he's beautiful," Lily whispered, peering into the bassinet. "His little nose—he looks just like you, Cissy."
Narcissa smiled softly, brushing a hand over her son's tiny fingers. "He has Harry's eyes, though. I told Harry I hope all of our children inherit them."
Lilysighed dreamily, taking a sip of her tea. "You make it look so effortless."
Narcissa laughed lightly. "That's because you're not here at three in the morning when he decides he wants to cry for no reason at all."
"Oh, believe me, I'll experience it soon enough," Lily said,flushing slightly. "James and I—well, we've talked about having children one day. After the wedding, of course."
Narcissa's eyes sparkled with interest. "Speaking of which, I want to hear everything. Have you settled on a venue?"
Lily groaned dramatically, setting her cup down. "If by 'settled,' you mean 'argued over endlessly,' then yes, absolutely."
Narcissa laughed, reclining in her chair. "Let me guess—James wants something grand and flashy, and you'd rather have something more intimate?"
Lily pointed at her. "Exactly. He thinks we should have the reception at some Quidditch stadium so we can have 'proper entertainment.'"
Narcissaarched an eyebrow. "He didn't."
"Oh, he did," Lily saiddryly, rolling her eyes. "I told him absolutely not, but Sirius backed him up, saying, 'Lily, imagine the wedding photos with us flying on brooms in the background.'"
Narcissastifled a laugh, shaking her head. "Men."
"Thank you!" Lily huffed. "Finally, someone who understands. And don't even get me started on the guest list. James wants half of Hogwarts there, I swear."
Narcissa smirked knowingly. "You know, I could help with the planning."
Lily's eyeslit up. "Really?"
"Of course," Narcissa said smoothly, taking another sip of tea. "I've spent most of the summer hosting the most anticipated events of the year. Planning one wedding will be easy in comparison."
Lilysighed in relief, leaning back into the sofa. "I could kiss you, honestly."
Narcissa grinned. "Darling, flattery will get you everywhere."
James, who had been shifting uncomfortably in his chair for the past fifteen minutes, suddenly cleared his throat loudly, causing both women to turn toward him.
"Er, so…" he began, offering Harry a pleading look.
Harry looked over, noticing James's bored and desperate expression, and couldn't help but chuckle. Having grown accustomed to the constant chatter of Bellatrix and Narcissa, he had mastered the art of half-listening. James clearly needed more practice, but taking pity on the young man, he offered, "Fancy a tour of the manor?"
James's eyeslit up with relief. "Absolutely."
Narcissa glanced over knowingly but merely waved them off. "Go on, then. Leave us to our wedding talk."
Lily, oblivious, continued chattering. "I was thinking of a silk dress, but then I saw this lace one in the boutique near—oh, James, are you leaving?"
Jamespaused mid-step, forcing a smile. "Er—just a quick tour, love. I'll be back before you know it."
Lily waved him off, already returning to her enthusiastic description of veils.
As they walked through the halls ofWoodcroft Manor, Harry showed James the dueling chamber, a state-of-the-art facility designed for Bellatrix's needs.
"This is where Bella trains," Harry said, stepping inside.
James let out a low whistle, taking in the polished floors andreinforced warded walls. "This place is insane. Remind me never to get into a fight with her."
Harry grinned. "Wise decision."
They continued to the grounds, where a Quidditch pitch was under construction.
James's eyes widened in delight. "A private pitch? Now we're talking."
Harry chuckled, crossing his arms. "For the kids. Figured they might as well learn early."
James nudged him. "Admit it. You're planning to use it too."
Harry sighed. "Yeah, probably."
They walked the grounds, talking about quidditch, Hogwarts, and the ridiculousness of wedding planning. By the time they returned to the house, their conversation had flowed effortlessly, forging a friendship that would last a lifetime.
As they walked inside, James shook his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe you married two Black sisters. One is terrifying enough. How have you survived both?"
Harry chuckled. "Sheer luck, I suppose."
Peeking into the sitting room, they found the women still engrossed in wedding dress discussions.
"Think they're done yet?" James whispered.
Harry smirked. "Not a chance. Fancy sneaking off to the library?"
"Lead the way," James agreed eagerly.
As they settled into the cozy library, James sighed contentedly. "This is more like it."
Harry handed him a glass of firewhisky. "To surviving the chatter."
James raised his glass. "And to unexpected friendships."
O – o – o - o
It didn't take long before winter was upon them and Harry began planning his one year anniversary celebrations with each of his wives.
On the 21st of December, snow blanketed the vast estate, turning the grounds into awinter wonderland, and the grand halls were adorned with evergreen garlands and enchanted fairy lights that twinkled like stars. Harry stood in the ballroom, remembering their wedding day and thinking about what she meant to him. Over the last year she had been his blade, his fire, his fiercest ally, and on this night, he wanted to remind her of that—remind her that beneath the titles, beneath the power and politics, there was still just the two of them.
And so, he had planned something worthy of the warrior he loved.
When Bellatrix returned to Woodcraft Manor from a long day at the Wizengamot, frustrated but victorious, having spent hours debating new legislation, cutting through arguments like a duelist in battle, her patience was worn thin. She was ready to collapse in the sitting room with a glass of wine—until she saw the note waiting for her on the silver tray near the entrance.
A familiar slanted script.
Come to the north wing. Wear the dress I left for you.
—Harry
Her brow arched, curiosity replacing exhaustion. She spotted the box nearby, wrapped in deep emerald silk, and with a flick of her wand, the ribbon unraveled.
Inside was a gown unlike any she had ever owned—satin the colour of midnight, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like falling snow. Elegant yet dangerously alluring. A matching cloak of black fur lay beneath it.
Bellatrix smirked. "Well, well, my love. What are you up to?"
Intrigued, she dressed quickly, fastening the cloak over her shoulders before following thepath of floating silver lanterns leading her through the manor.
When Bellatrix entered the north wing, she stopped in her tracks.
The entire ballroom had been transformed.
A roaring fireplace cast golden light across the polished floors, where a circular table for two was set beneath floating enchanted icicles that glowed with soft blue light. The contrast of fire and ice was mesmerising—a perfect reflection of them.
And standing near the table, waiting for her, was Harry.
Dressed in deep black robes, his emerald-green eyes locked onto her, drinking in the sight of her in the gown he had chosen. The way it clung to her, the way the silver embroidery caught the light—she was breathtaking.
"You planned all this?" Bellatrix asked, stepping forward, her voice edged with something dangerous and pleased.
Harry smirked. "I thought my wife deserved something special on our first anniversary."
He pulled out her chair for her, his fingers trailing along her shoulderas she sat down. A shiver ran down her spine—but it was not from the cold.
The meal was lavish—succulent roasted duck, saffron-infused rice, delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar like snowfall. But Bellatrix hardly tasted it.
Because the real feast was the way Harry looked at her.
Every movement, every glance, was deliberate.
The way he refilled her wine glass, his fingers brushing against hers.
The way he leaned forward, voice low and rich as he spoke of nothing and everything.
The way his gaze darkened every time she licked a drop of wine from her lips.
By the time dessert was served—decadent chocolate mousse topped with enchanted silver flakes—Bellatrix had enough.
"I assume," she said, setting her glass down slowly, "your plans include more than dinner."
Harry's lips curled. "They do."
She rose from her chair, and he followed, closing the distance between them in a single step.
"You look dangerous tonight," he murmured, trailing his fingers down the side of her neck.
Her breath hitched, but she smirked. "I am always dangerous."
His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Then let's see if I can handle you."
Her laughter was wicked, a challenge. "You always do, my love."
And then, with a flick of his wand, the fireplace roared higher, the heat matching the intensity between them.
And as the snowfell softly outside, inside the warmth of Woodcroft Manor, Harry and Bellatrix celebrated their love the only way they knew how—with passion, fire, and the undeniable thrill of the chase.
Three days after Bellatrix's anniversary, it was Narcissa's turn.
Unlike her sister, Narcissa's fire burned quieter but no less fiercely. Where Bellatrix thrived in battle, Narcissa thrived in elegance, in grace, in the subtlety of control. And Harry knew that for her, the perfect anniversary wasn't about grand gestures or wild passion—it was about romance, intimacy, and the quiet certainty of love.
So he had planned accordingly.
When Narcissa emerged from her bath, wrapped in a silk robe, she found a single white rose resting on her vanity.
Beside it, a handwritten note in Harry's elegant script:
Follow the path, my love.
Her lips curled into a smile as she ran her fingers over the parchment. "Romantic fool," she murmured fondly before slipping into the gown that had been left for her—a flowing dress of soft silver, its fabric as light as air.
She stepped into the hallway and found a trail of rose petals leading forward.
Not just any petals—white and blush-pink roses, her favourites.
Narcissa smiled to herself. Harry always pays attention.
Barefoot, she followed the petals through the corridors, where gentle candlelight flickered, the air filled with the scent of jasmine and roses.
When she reached the doors leading to the courtyard garden, they opened on their own, revealing a sight that made her inhale softly.
The entire garden had been transformed.
Soft snow covered the hedges, but the centre of the courtyard was warm and untouched, kept free of frost by silent enchantments.
A small round table sat beneath the ancient willow tree, its branches twinkling with floating silver lights, casting a dreamlike glow around them.
The table itself was set for two, adorned with fine china, crystal goblets, and flickering candles in delicate glass holders.
And standing beside it, waiting for her, was Harry.
Dressed in a tailored black coat lined with fur, his green eyes glowed in the lantern-lit darkness. He watched her closely, drinking in the way the silver gown clung to her figure, the way her hair shimmered like gold beneath the moonlight.
For a moment, he simply took her in, as if trying to memorise her beauty all over again.
Narcissa, in turn, let her gaze drift over the setting before meeting his eyes.
"You've truly outdone yourself," she said, her voice soft but full of warmth.
Harry smiled, stepping forward to take her hand. "Happy anniversary, my love."
Shetilted her head, a knowing glint in her blue eyes. "Trying to outshine what you planned for Bella, are you?"
Harry chuckled, raising her hand to his lips. "Not outshine. Just… different. You both deserve something uniquely yours."
Her heart swelled, because that was why she loved him—because he saw them, truly saw them, as individuals, as equals, as the women who ruled his heart in their own ways.
He pulled out her chair for her, and as she sat, he poured deep red wine into her glass before taking his own seat.
The meal was decadent—buttery seared scallops, roasted pheasant in a rich wine sauce, delicate pastries filled with vanilla cream.
But the true indulgence was the way Harry looked at her throughout the night—the way his eyes lingered, the way his fingers brushed against hers, the way his voice softened whenever he said her name.
This was her Harry. Not the warrior, not the ruthless businessman, not the leader of magical alliances—but the man who loved her.
And that was what made this night perfect.
As the meal came to an end, Narcissa leaned back in her chair, swirling the last of her wine in her glass.
"You planned all this just for me," she mused, pleased.
Harry set his glass down, grinning. "Is that so shocking?"
She sighed dramatically, though her lips curved. "I suppose not. You have always been insufferably romantic."
Harry stood, offering his hand. "And yet, you love me anyway."
Narcissa took it gracefully, rising from her seat. "A terrible burden, really."
Harry pulled her closer, his hands settling on her waist. "Shall I make it worse?"
Before she could reply, soft music filled the air, played by invisible strings, wrapping around them like a whispered spell.
Narcissa laughed softly, resting one hand on his shoulder. "You really are showing off tonight."
He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No."
With that, he led her into a slow, intimate waltz, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony beneath the twinkling lights.
The cold winter air didn't touch them. The world didn't exist beyond this moment.
All that mattered was Harry and Narcissa, lost in each other's arms, dancing beneath the stars.
As the music faded, Harry didn't let go. Instead, he held her closer, his forehead resting lightly against hers.
"I love you," he murmured, voice low and certain.
Narcissa closed her eyes, breathing him in. "I know."
She pulled back just enough to study his face, her fingers trailing along his jawline. "And I love you."
Harry brushed a kiss to her temple, then another to the corner of her lips before finally capturing her mouth in a slow, reverent kiss.
Not rushed.
Not urgent.
Just love.
A love that had endured war. A love that would weather time and last for the rest of their lives.
As they finally pulled away, Narcissa whispered, "Take me to bed, my love."
Harry smiled, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"As you wish, Lady Woodcroft."
And with that, he carried her through the lantern-lit garden, disappearing into the warmth of the manor—into a night that belonged to them alone.
O – o – o – o
As life continued into the new year, Harry became more than just asymbol of change—he became a force that reshaped the wizarding world.
Though he refused titles of power, much to the frustration of the Wizengamot, he led by example, breaking down centuries-old barriers between bloodlines, fostering alliances with magical beings, and ensuring that no dark force could rise unchecked again.
It wasn't glamorous work. Some days, it involved sitting through tedious council meetings or reading stacks of parchment until his vision blurred. Other days, it was negotiating peace treaties between goblins who all insisted they were the most important in the room.
But Harry had long accepted that saving the world required patience—and a fair bit of exasperated sighing.
While Harry played diplomat, Bellatrix was conquering the world in her own way.
Once feared for her unwavering devotion to the Dark Arts, she had become one of the most respected voices in the Wizengamot. Her sharp tongue, fierce intellect, and complete unwillingness to suffer fools made her a nightmare for traditionalists clinging to the past.
She had personally led the charge on several progressive reforms, ensuring that those who suffered under Voldemort's regime saw justice, and that no group—pureblood, Muggle-born, or magical creature—would ever be persecuted again.
But her victories didn't end in politics.
Later that year, Bellatrix won the International Dueling Championship, becoming the youngest witch or wizard to ever do so.
When she returned, triumphant, eyes alight with victory, Harry had swept her off her feet, laughing as he spun her around in his arms.
"I knew you'd win," he murmured against her hair, pride swelling in his chest.
"I knew I'd win," she countered smugly, but her eyes softened when she kissed him.
Harry, naturally, decided such a victory deserved proper celebration, and whisked her away to Italy for a week—seven blissful days of fine wine, moonlit walks, and stolen kisses on sunlit terraces.
Nine months later, when Bellatrix held their daughter for the first time, her fierce brown eyes softened in a way Harry had never seen before.
But the birth had been difficult, and as Harry held Bellatrix's trembling hand through the pain, he saw something shift in her.
When their daughter finally wailed her first breath, Bellatrix exhaled a shaky sigh of relief, her grip tightening around Harry's hand.
"No more," she whispered,voice raw. "I don't want to go through that again."
Harry kissed her forehead, his own heart still racing. "We have everything we need," he promised. "She's perfect. You're perfect."
Bellatrix had nodded, exhaustion softening her sharp edges as she looked down at their tiny daughter.
"She's strong."
"Like her mother," Harry murmured.
Bellatrix smirked, barely able to keep her eyes open. "Damn right."
It wasn't long before Narcissa became pregnant again.
This time, however, she had competition.
One afternoon, Narcissa and Lily Potter sat in the Woodcroft gardens, sipping tea, both resting their hands on their swollen bellies.
"It's kind of nice doing this at the same time," Lily muttered, taking a slow sip.
Narcissa laughed lightly, shifting slightly in her chair. "I'm just glad that this time there isn't a war hanging over our heads."
Lily snorted. "No, just James and Harry being utterly unbearable about 'expectant father duties.'"
"Harry is perfectly reasonable," Narcissa said smoothly.
Lilyarched a brow.
"Mostly," Narcissa corrected with a sigh. "He does hover."
Lily groaned dramatically. "James won't stop reading books about baby care. The other day, he lectured me about swaddle techniques—as if I don't already know how to wrap a blanket."
Narcissa smirked, patting Lily's hand in mock sympathy. "It's good for them to feel useful."
Lily grumbled into her tea.
Meanwhile, Harry and James were in the dueling chamber, locked in a competitive spar.
James, panting, wiped his brow. "Merlin, Woodcroft, you're supposed to go easy on the man whose wife is carrying your godchild."
Harry smirked, flicking his wand. "Where's the fun in that?"
James groaned. "I don't even know why we do this, you always win."
Harry shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. "You keep coming back."
"Because Lily and Narcissa talk about fabric and colour swatches for hours, and I'd rather be hexed than sit through another debate on sage green vs. emerald," James admitted, grimacing.
Harry chuckled, lowering his wand. "Fair enough. Sirius is probably here now, shall we go find him?"
They left the duelling chamber and headed toward the Quidditch pitch, where Sirius was already flying laps.
"Took you long enough!" Sirius called out, throwing them a Quaffle.
James caught it and grinned at Harry. "Winner gets to skip the next baby shopping trip."
Harry grinned back. "You're on."
O – o – o – o
As the years passed, Lily, James, and even Sirius continued to be frequent visitors. Andromeda brought a growing Nymphadora over nearly every weekend, and the manor often rang with the sound of children's footsteps and laughter.
Narcissa eventually paused her Mediwitch training, choosing to focus on raising their growing family, but she promised she'd return one day.
Bellatrix, naturally, had declared herself an 'expert dueling instructor' for the children, leading to many questionable lessons involving hexes and dramatic flips off furniture.
"Bella,no," Harry said firmly, crossing his arms.
Bellatrix, mid-demonstration, paused. "What?"
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't think teaching our four-year-old how to 'properly throw a knife' counts as basic magical education."
Bellatrix huffed. "Fine." She tossed the knife onto the table (blade side up, obviously). "We'll start with the non-lethal spells."
Harry turned to Narcissa. "Is this really happening?"
Narcissa took a calm sip of tea. "Oh, absolutely."
Harry groaned, but there was no real frustration in it.
Because this was their life now. A life full of love, chaos, and laughter.
One evening, as Harry sat by the fire, Bellatrix curled against him, and Narcissa gently rocked their youngest son to sleep, he felt something settle deep within him.
Peace.
For the first time, his heart was full—his life his own—and he knew, without a doubt, that he had made the right choice in accepting Fate's proposition.
And though the world would one day tell stories of Lord Woodcroft, the warrior who vanquished the Dark Lord, the only thing that mattered to Harry was this:
He knew peace.
On the ten year anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort, the Woodcroft ballroom shimmered under the glow of enchanted chandeliers, their light dancing across polished marble floors. Music, rich and elegant, wove through the air as witches and wizards, adorned in their finest robes, laughed and celebrated.
From the top of the grand staircase, Narcissa watched the festivities below, a serene smile gracing her lips. The soft golden glow of the room reflected in her pale blue eyes, making her seem almost ethereal.
"You've outdone yourself," Bellatrix remarked, stepping up beside her, a glass of deep red wine swirling in her usual smirk softened into something almost affectionate. "Again."
Narcissa chuckled, tilting her head slightly. "It's what I was born to do, isn't it?"
Bellatrix exhaled through her nose in amusement before taking a slow sip of her wine. "And you do it beautifully."
Before Narcissa could reply, Harry approached them, his eyes twinkling with quiet pride. He reached for Narcissa's hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers.
"Everyone looks happy," he observed, glancing out at the crowd.
"They are," Narcissa murmured, squeezing his hand. "Thanks to you."
Harry shook his head. "No," he said firmly, his gaze shifting between them. "Thanks to us. This is our legacy. Together."
At that moment, the main doors swung open, and the last guest stepped into the grand foyer.
Lucius Malfoy.
His blonde hair, always meticulously groomed, gleamed under the chandelier light, and on his arm was a striking French woman, her dark eyes scanning the room with quiet curiosity.
Harry met Lucius's gaze evenly, his expression unreadable.
"Lucius."
Lucius inclined his head slightly. "Lord Woodcroft. Thank you for inviting us."
"Of course," Harry replied smoothly. His green eyes flickered to the woman at Lucius's side. "I trust your time on the Continent was pleasant?"
"It was," Lucius answered, though his tone was measured.
"Good."
Lucius hesitated before speaking again. "I assume you'll want my report at the earliest convenience?"
Harry's lips twitched in amusement. "It's already on my desk, isn't it?"
Lucius smirked slightly. "It is."
"Well then," Harry nodded approvingly. "Good work as usual. Enjoy your evening."
Lucius gave a polite nod before leading his companion further into the ballroom.
Narcissa chuckled next to Harry, shaking her head.
"Have you even been in your office today?"
Harry hummed in thought. "I don't think so, actually. I remember being quite busy in your room for most of the day."
Narcissa's cheeks flushed pink, but she refused to take the bait. "How very professional of you, my love," she said dryly.
"Is that everyone?" Bellatrix asked, shifting her wine glass between her fingers.
"I think so," Harry confirmed, offering both of them an arm.
With Bellatrix on one side and Narcissa on the other, he strode into the grand ballroom, the three of them a commanding presence among the gathered elite.
The night was filled with laughter, music, and dancing.
Harry made sure to spend the evening dividing his time between them, sweeping Narcissa into a slow waltz, before twirling Bellatrix into a fierce, impassioned dance that left them breathless and grinning.
And all around them, their friends, allies, and family celebrated the new world they had built together.
A year later, the steady hum of chatter filled platform 9 3/4, as families hurried to say their goodbyes, trunks were loaded, and first-years clung nervously to their parents.
Standing near the gleaming scarlet train, Harry, Narcissa, and Bellatrix gathered with their five children, the reality of the moment settling heavily around them.
Today, their eldest son was leaving for Hogwarts.
Hadrian Arcturus Woodcroft stood tall, a perfect mix of both his parents —messy blonde hair, piercing emerald-green eyes, and a quiet determination in his stance. His trunk was packed, his robes neatly folded, and his wand—a polished ebony piece gifted to him by his father on his birthday—was tucked safely inside his pocket.
But despite his outward confidence, he fidgeted slightly, shifting from foot to foot.
"You'll write, won't you?" Narcissa asked, smoothing down the collar of his robe with a soft, motherly touch.
"Of course, Mother," Hadrian promised, though his voice was tinged with exasperation. "Every week."
"You'd better,". Bellatrix said, smirking as she ruffled his already messy hair, much to his dismay. "And don't let anyone walk over you. If someone tries, hex them into next week."
"Bella," Narcissa scolded, glaring at her sister.
Bellatrix shrugged unapologetically. "What? He's my nephew. I'm just making sure he's prepared."
Harry chuckled but placed a firm hand on Hadrian's shoulder, drawing his attention. "She's right, in a way," he admitted, his expression serious but warm. "Never let anyone make you feel small, but choose your battles wisely. You're a leader, Hadrian. You don't have to prove it with your fists—your mind will always be your greatest weapon."
Hadrian nodded, his green eyes burning with quiet determination. "I understand, Father."
Harry studied him for a long moment, pride swelling in his eyes, this was his son. His legacy. And soon, he would step through the castle doors of Hogwarts, just as Harry once had—only this time, without the loneliness and pain Harry had endured in his own childhood.
A sharp whistle cut through the air, signaling five minutes until departure.
Narcissa inhaled sharply, her grip on Hadrian's shoulders tightening for just a moment before she pulled him into a tight embrace. "Be safe, my darling. And make sure you eat properly."
Hadrian smiled but didn't pull away too quickly. "I will, Mother."
Bellatrix nudged him next, her expression softer than usual. "Remember what I taught you," she said, lowering her voice. "About duelling, about reading your opponent. And don't let the hat push you somewhere you don't want to go."
Hadrian nodded, eyes flashing with understanding.
Harry took a deep breath before reaching inside his coat, pulling out a small, silver amulet engraved with ancient runes. "This belonged to your great-grandfather," he said, pressing it into Hadrian's hand. "It's not magical, but he always said it brought him luck and courage when he needed it. Now, it's yours."
Hadrian's fingers curled around the cool metal, his gaze flickering with emotion. "Thank you, Father."
The train whistle blew again, louder this time.
Hadrian stepped toward the carriage door, but before climbing in, he turned back one last time, his green eyes meeting Harry's.
"I won't let you down," he promised.
Harry smiled, his voice steady. "You never could."
And with that, the heir of Woodcroft boarded the Hogwarts Express.
As the train began to pull away, Harry wrapped an arm around Narcissa, who had gone quiet, her blue eyes locked onto the shrinking figure of their son.
"He'll be alright," Harry assured her, pressing a kiss to her golden hair.
"I know," she whispered, though her fingers clutched Harry's coat just a little tighter.
Bellatrix stood beside them, arms crossed, watching the train disappear into the horizon.
"First one off to school," she muttered, shaking her head. "Feels strange, doesn't it?"
Harry exhaled slowly. "It does."
There was a long silence before Narcissa finally turned away, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. "Come," she said, slipping her hand into Harry's. "Let's go home."
That night, Narcissa sat elegantly in her favourite chair by the fire, a book resting in her lap, though she had barely turned a page in the past half-hour. Bellatrix lounged across from her, absentmindedly twirling her wand between her fingers, while Harry stood near the window, sipping a glass of firewhisky as he gazed out at the star lit grounds.
They were waiting.
A rustling noise in the hallway made Narcissa sit up straighter, and a moment later, a house-elf appeared, holding out a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest.
"It has arrived, my Lady," the elf squeaked, bowing low.
Narcissa practically leapt from her seat, snatching the letter from the elf's hands before Harry or Bellatrix could react. She broke the seal with elegant precision, eyes scanning the parchment eagerly.
Bellatrix leaned forward, grinning. "Well? What does it say?"
Narcissa's lips parted, her expression softening before she read aloud.
Dear Mother and Father,
I've just come from the Sorting Ceremony, and I wanted to write to you immediately.
I've been sorted into Slytherin.
Bellatrix let out a bark of laughter. "Of course, it's Slytherin. Anything but Gryffindor would have been fine."
Harry, who had just taken a sip of firewhisky,choked mid-swallow. He coughed into his sleeve before turning toward Bellatrix,brows raised. "What was that?"
Bellatrix smirked but looked entirely unrepentant. "Nothing, dear," she said sweetly.
Narcissa shot her sister a look before continuing to read.
The Sorting Hat took its time deciding. It considered Ravenclaw for a moment, but in the end, it said Slytherin suited me best.
My dormitory is nice, and the older students have already welcomed me. Some even knew who I was before I introduced myself. They're treating me well, and I promise I'll be on my best behaviour. Most of the time.
Bellatrix grinned proudly at that part. "That's my boy."
Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's eleven, Bella. Can we not encourage 'selective mischief' just yet?"
She waved him off, amused. "It's tradition."
Narcissa ignored them both, her smile growing fonder as she continued.
The food is good, the castle is even bigger than I imagined, and my classes start tomorrow. I'll write again soon.
Love, Hadrian
She lowered the letter, holding it close to her heart for a moment before looking at Harry. "Slytherin. Just like me."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Like you and Bella both. And his grandfather, I suppose."
Narcissa gazed down at the letter again, her fingers brushing over the ink. "He sounds happy."
Harry nodded, his expression softening. "That's all that matters."
Bellatrix sighed dramatically, stretching out her arms. "Well, I suppose we'll have to go watch all his Quidditch matches now, won't we?"
"You just want an excuse to return to the castle," Harry accused,smirking.
"Obviously."
Narcissa set the letter down carefully before lifting her gaze to them both. "We should write him back tonight. He'll be expecting a response."
Harry leaned over, pressing agentle kiss to her temple. "Then let's do it."
And so, beneath the warm glow of candlelight, the three of them sat together, penning a letter filled with pride, encouragement, and a touch of gentle mischief from Bellatrix—because after all, their eldest was a Slytherin now.
O -o – o - o
The years continued to pass, and Woodcroft Manor became more than just a home—it became a symbol of hope, prosperity, and unity. The war was long over, but the echoes of its battles remained in the changes they had fought so hard to make. Wizards and witches from across the world visited, eager to learn from its history, drawn by the stories ofthe legendary Lord Woodcroft and his two powerful wives.
But for Harry, Bellatrix, and Narcissa, the true victory lay in the life they built together.
Bellatrixhad never been one to sit idly by. She thrived on challenge, on battle—whether with a wand in her hand or in the hallowed halls of the Wizengamot. She continued toduel her way to the top, both in the political arena and in the international duelling circuit, where she claimed multiple championship titles. Even after she stepped away from competition, young witches and wizards flocked to her for training, eager to learn from one of the greatest duelists of the age.
"You're not getting soft on me, are you?" Harry teased her once, after she decided to retire from the circuit.
Bellatrix had simply smirked, twirling her wand. "You and I both know I'm still the best. I just have better things to do now."
Narcissa had given Harry five children before she declared, in no uncertain terms, that she was finished.
"No more," she had said firmly, after cradling their youngest in her arms. "This one is the last."
Harry had only smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Whatever you want, love."
With her role as a mother settled, she returned to her original dream—finishing her mediwitch training. It was no small feat, balancing motherhood, society, and her studies, but Narcissa thrived. She earned her certification with distinction, becoming one of the most sought-after healers in their world. But she never stopped being the heart of Woodcroft Manor, hosting the grandest parties, including the annual celebration on the eve of the final battle—a night dedicated not just to remembrance, but to celebrating life, love, and the future they had secured.
"Every year, it gets grander," Harry had mused once, watching the chandeliers glow above the laughing guests.
Narcissa had smiled, slipping her hand into his. "Because every year, there's more to celebrate."
Harry's businesses flourished, growing beyond even what he had once envisioned. He expanded into international markets, built new partnerships, and ensured that the wizarding economy thrived. His alliances with goblins, centaurs, and giants held strong, reinforcing the unity between magical beings that Voldemort had once tried to tear apart.
The sound of children's laughter echoed through Woodcroft vast gardens on a regular basis as the next generation grew strong. Their children, bold and brilliant, inherited their parents strength, wit, and ambition.
Harry often found himself watching them—marveling at how different his life had become, at how different it could have been. If Fate hadn't intervened, if he had never taken that second chance, he could have been alone. Lost to the same cycle of war that had plagued him since childhood.
Instead, he had this. A home filled with love and laughter. A world worth living in.
One evening, as he stood on the balcony of Woodcroft Manor, Bellatrix and Narcissa at his side, he let out a long breath.
"You're thinking too much," Bellatrix said, nudging his arm.
Harry chuckled, glancing at her. "Just… reflecting."
Narcissa smiled, her hand resting over his heart. "Are you happy?"
He looked at them—his fierce warrior and his graceful queen—before gazing at their children playing below. At the world they had saved.
"Yes," he said, voice filled with certainty. "I truly am."
And so, as the sunset over Woodcroft Manor, the legend of Lord Woodcroft and his wives lived on—not just in history books, but in the hearts of those who remembered.
Their story wasn't just one of war.
It was one of love , resilience, and a future they had fought for—together.