Disclaimer: Just about everyone has a disclaimer that says they don't want to be sued, or they don't own the story or any sort of copyright in anyway relating to the story and its characters. So, at instead of repeating someone else's statement, I will just say that you're an idiot if you don't get it already. Got it?
Summary: Post-Hogwarts fic. Harry/Narcissa. After Harry has fought his final battle and become a legend he finds solace in no one, that is until a certain manipulative woman turns up and pulls him from his downward spiral that was his life.
Note: I just needed to write this. Dedicated to icemanlegend who helped me with nearly every chapter that was written and to the mrsrobinsonhp LiveJournal community which he introduced me to.
• Mehetabelo •
• Seduction •
Platinum blonde hair fell across his chest silkily, slippery and comforting. He could smell the faint scent of vanilla coming from it, a smell that intoxicated him.
Slowly, Harry Potter opened his jade green eyes, blinking at the harsh light from the window. One of the house-elves had opened the curtains already. He groaned quietly, wishing they weren't so damned energetic.
Since their old master had died several years ago they seemed to have regained their liveliness. They absolutely adored Harry, as if he were their savior, which was true in a twisted sort of way.
Turning from the window, Harry stared for a long minute at the slack face of his lover, wondering whether to wake her. He decided against it, but couldn't help reaching out to touch her gently. Beautiful in her own right, he couldn't imagine sleeping with any other woman, even though sometimes he refused to believe his choice of partners.
Carefully he slipped from the bed, donning the robes that had once belonged to her husband, before he'd died by Harry's hand. But, that had been a long time ago, something he tried not to think about anymore. Right now he needed to get showered and leave before her son arrived, because even though they had been lovers for a long time only three people knew, and her son was not one of them.
Collecting his clothing, he moved into the adjoining bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He sighed and leaned over the sink, splashing water on his face. Then he looked up again, staring right into his emerald eyes. I shouldn't be doing this, he told himself, like he did nearly every morning when he woke in her bed.
It was like an addiction, coming to her bed. The more he tried to stay away, the less he could think about anything else. He had finally given in to it a long time ago, coming almost every day to find comfort, and help her find comfort. He had traded one addiction for another, and every morning he thought about it. It was never anything else, he came and night and left in the morning, that was all this relationship was. They did other things, and were together, but it was as if they were two completely different people during the day.
Turning off the water, Harry dried his face and then froze as a door creaked. He spun quickly, looking to see if it was a house-elf, but shocked to see her son, Draco, entering into the room. His gaze was shifting across the room, making its way towards the bathroom door. Harry slipped out of sight before the man was able to see him. Automatically he reached for his wand, wanting to have it in his hands, as much for comfort as for safety. However, it was not there in his pocket or with his clothing. After a minutes wait he risked a glance to find that it was lying on the bed, slipped under the pillow next to Narcissa's sleeping body.
Harry drew back once more, seeing that Draco was staring at his mother, his face filled with rage. He slipped down to the floor, avoiding his reflection being seen in the mirror. Unsure what to do, Harry stared at the marble cabinet across from him. He could wait until Draco left, but he was sure that Draco was there early for a reason. Yes, always interfering where he didn't belong.
He sighed quietly, closing his eyes, trying to remember how he had ended up in this position, sleeping with the mother of the one enemy that wasn't dead. It had all begun after the war, after he'd become the most famous person in the world. It was when he had hated being around people.
"Order of Merlin, first class," a voice said. Harry blinked and looked around, trying to remember where he was, he had a tendency to forget lately. Next to him, Luna gave him a gentle tap and Harry rocked forward, standing up. He blinked again and focused on walking forward. He always told himself not to drink until after the presentations and speeches, but really, he didn't give a damn.
Dumbledore had practically begged him to go to this ceremony, he'd promised it would be quick and simple. Harry hated himself for listening now, he wasn't even sure if Dumbledore knew the meaning of simple. Somehow the old man couldn't get it through his head that Harry wanted to be alone.
Harry took another step forward and cursed the wizarding world. Yes, he was Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, harbinger-of-peace. He was the myth, the legend, everything that was good. He was the hero he couldn't save his friends, the man who had lost everything. And, he was drunk.
Two more steps forward and he was standing at the podium, he smiled, businesslike, at the crowd below him. His eyes scanned the crowd below, but stayed unfocused. He noticed how brightly colored the walls were, alive with colors… clean, probably washed by some poor house-elf. He smiled in amusement, wondering if Dobby had enough socks now wherever-the-hell he'd gone.
Then, he opened his mouth and words came out, a prepared speech, something some of them had probably heard before. However, he hadn't come to give a speech, he had come because Luna had asked him to. If she wasn't still around he would have left the wizarding world altogether, maybe even left the world as a whole. She was the last string that held him, the thing that kept him holding on to something.
Of everyone that survived, it was strange it was her, the dreamy, somewhat abnormal and dotty girl. It wasn't Hermione, the woman that could do anything. It wasn't Ron, the brash man who had the heart of a lion and never ever stood down. Neville, the once shy boy, who turned into the greatest partner any Auror could have. Everyone but Luna, and Dumbledore, the miserable old coot had more lives than a phoenix.
However, the war had taken its toll on her as well, Luna was different now. She wasn't the same Luna he'd known at Hogwarts, the one that wandered around with a dreamy look in her eye. The dreamy look was faded, and now she looked dazed, confused sometimes. She didn't talk, not unless she had to. She didn't smile, she couldn't smile like Harry could. Sometimes, when they were alone he could see her staring in the darkness, lost in a memory, or maybe seeing something that he couldn't.
The speech ended, they clapped, and Harry turned around. The smiled faded immediately. It was a lie, all of it, every word that came out of his mouth, every smile they saw. Luna brushed her hand against his as he sat down. Without a word he slipped his hand over hers and squeezed gently. He knew what it felt like, they were the only two that could understand.
Her name was called and she stood to accept her own Order of the Merlin. When she spoke the dreamy tone was gone. There was no lack of confidence, only lack of emotion. Her words were like his, although, he seemed to always elicit a better reaction. He fingered the prize they had given him, knowing exactly what he was going to do with it.
Finishing, Harry could hear clapping as his head started to clear. It had been almost too long since he'd had a drink, he was starting to sober up.
"I'm leaving," Luna said a few minutes later, as soon as the dancing began. Harry nodded, not interfering, he knew where she was going and he also knew that she needed to do it alone. Somehow in the six years she'd known Ron, things had changed between the two. She'd have married him if he survived, but he hadn't, and now she had her last goodbye gift for him, something he'd always talked about after school ended.
When the festivities got into full swing Harry stood, his mind had cleared too much to not see the looks that people gave him. He turned and moved into the shadows, effortlessly disappearing from the rest of the crowd. He was good at it, and even though he'd given up his Auror status he didn't forget their tricks.
With a flick of his hand he summoned a bottle of Firewhisky from the table. Then he left the entertainment behind, finding a quiet, empty room to slip into. He moved into the back corner and slumped to the ground, bottle in hand. He hated it when he was sober, he started to remember them, started to remember names. Cho, Dean, Seamus, all dead. The DA hadn't gone down without a fight, and what a battle it had been! However, against those numbers there was no chance of winning, and they had died, every last one of them.
Taking a long swig from the bottle, he ignored the tears that slid down his face. It was inevitable, the tears. They came at odd times anymore, but generally happened when he wasn't drinking, and always when he was alone. There was never any real warning, and he never had control over them. The easiest thing to do was let them come and go. He raised the bottle again, gulping until his throat burned.
Alone, in the dark, he sat there, thinking about his power. Love.He snickered to the shadows that danced around the room. As if love could destroy Voldemort. No, it wasn't love, it was sacrifice and friendship and a whole lot of luck. Something the self anointed dark lord could not understand and something Harry hated to remember.
Again he raised the bottle, guzzling the drink as fast as he could, until the fire in his stomach made it too painful to continue. He lowered the bottle and stared at the floor, finally feeling the first effects of the alcohol in his system again. He'd built up such immunity to everything, that now he could drink it as freely as water and it wouldn't kill him.
The door opened to his room, spreading light around, banishing the nearby shadows that were taunting him. Then, the light disappeared and the shadows returned. He closed his eyes, not even wanting to look up to see who had invaded his private time. He found it was easier to go unnoticed if you didn't notice them. Something else Auror training had taught him.
The footsteps approached and a delicate white hand, with a glass appeared. "Share a drink with me?" a soft female voice asked and Harry looked up slowly into the blank face of Narcissa Malfoy.
"It's the least you could do," she said as she slid down next to him. "…since you've taken my hiding spot away from me."
"Not your husband?" Harry asked sarcastically, pouring some of his Firewhisky into the glass and looking into her eyes. She smiled maliciously and he suddenly wished she would do whatever it was she meant to do and leave. He didn't like being around other people, he hated looking at people who didn't deserve to be alive, the one's that wouldn't fight when they could have, or that hid from the fight.
"My husband died because his loyalties were not where they should have been," she said. Then she brought the cup to her lips and tipped it back, letting the liquid poor down her throat. Harry watched, partially suspicious, but not really caring anymore. The alcohol had finally worked its way all the way through his system.
"And where exactly are your loyalties?" he asked, before raising the bottle to pour her more, then taking another swig himself. He could see a smile flash across her face, then disappear again. He shook his head, wondering if it was just the alcohol, or if he'd actually seen it. Sometimes he saw things when he drank too much, but he was pretty sure he hadn't gotten that far yet.
Gently she reached out and touched his arm. Immediately Harry jerked away, repulsed by the touch, he hadn't allowed himself to be touched since Tonks had died. He had forced any thoughts of any woman out of his mind, he simply wouldn't allow himself to dishonor her memory that way. Besides, Narcissa was a Malfoy, and he hated Malfoys.
"My loyalties are to myself and my family," she said curtly. Harry didn't even look up at her, because he didn't want to see what she looked like. He'd seen her earlier wearing her tight, immodest robes. She certainly didn't look as if she was in mourning, even if it had been a long while Harry still thought that she was acting completely wrong.
The problem was, no matter how much he hated her, he found her attractive. The widow must have been using some sort of potion to keep up her looks, because at 40 she didn't look a day over 28. The problem was that she was always there, standing nearby every time he made any sort of public appearance.
"To your son then?" he asked, trying to concentrate on the floor, but loosing focus. He tipped back the bottle again, his head bumping the wall behind him. He closed his eyes, knowing it was the only way he'd be able to keep them from wandering.
He felt her touch him again and he jerked from the touch, toppling to the floor. He rescued the bottle first, standing it up before he righted himself. He could see her next to him staring, almost confused, almost hateful. He didn't know or understand, nor did he care anymore.
"My loyalties lie where they need to be, and that's with me first. My son, of course, is included in those I would protect, but he does not rule me, I am his mother.
"Good," Harry nodded, growling. "Then you'll hate me for putting him into Azkaban for a few dozen years."
Of course, he was lying, about it. Not that he couldn't put the bastard into Azkaban, but with all the information he had on Draco, he'd end up in far worse trouble. Apparently someone had learned from their mistakes, and this time around Death Eaters weren't shown leniency so that they could return or be rescued later. No, being a Death Eater was punishable by a Dementors kiss or death, no questions asked. Harry had more than enough proof that Draco had been one, even if the man was a sniveling coward.
Still, the war was over. Voldemort was dead, for good this time. There had been enough killing. Draco was spared because he hadn't been there, at the last battle. The simpering little brat had been hiding, doing his best to stay safe.
"You're not going to do that," Narcissa said after a prolonged silence that Harry used to finish off the Firewhisky.
Feeling haughty, and tired of listening to the snooty woman, Harry grabbed a nearby chair and hoisted himself to his feet. He glanced at the door, even took a few stumbling attempts towards it, then fell flat on his face. Even now he could swear he'd heard her say something after that, but it was so quiet that he couldn't make out the words.
The next thing he remembered, he was laying in a comfortable bed with sheets of silk covering him. Next to him he could feel a warm, soft body next to him.
Cautiously, he raised his arm and touched the person. They were breathing regularly, and their heartbeat was stable. Such a keen sense of other people was one of Harry's many talents. His hand slipped over the back, snaking forward until he found breasts, confirming it was a woman.
Without thinking he slipped forward, pressing up against her, breathing in the scent of her skin. He couldn't remember why he was there, or who she was, the alcohol confused the memories, but it only heightened the physical feelings. Somewhere in the back of his mind, shoved down by the amount of alcohol in his system, Harry knew he shouldn't be doing this. However, the moment he touched her again his inhibitions vanished, and he found he didn't even care who it was with him or how he'd ended up naked in a bed with her.
He kissed her neck first, using his free hand to part the hair. His eyes weren't working right when he tried to open them, so he decided to keep them shut instead, so he didn't get sick. It brought a response, a small one, he could feel her heart start beating faster, but only just a bit.
His right hand slipped forward again, at first gently touching her firm breasts, massaging them lightly, but then slowly slipping down across her firm stomach and into her nether regions. He found her warm spot and kissed her neck again, fingers manipulating themselves expertly to get her excited.
There was a moan of pleasure, and her heart beat quickened again, and there was a short gasp of breath as she awoke. She didn't say anything, didn't even turn her head, but she moaned with pleasure. Her legs locked around his hand, effectively preventing him from pulling away. His groin tightened against her backside, slipping into the curve of her buttocks.
Now that she was awake he grew slightly more confident, teasing her more with his hands and bringing another groan of pleasure. He wasn't inexperienced, he was in fact far from it, but he hadn't been with a woman in a long time and he found himself wondering why he had ever stopped. The answer was Tonks, the stumbling Auror. She had died, leaving him with a broken heart and no one to confess his love to. She'd been the woman that had first initiated him, taught him things that he'd only imagined, then helped get him with other woman, sometimes joining him in the flings. He'd fallen in love with her, and never even known it, not until it was too late.
The woman pressed against him, curling slightly and rubbing her legs together. His attentions had wandered for a minute and she hadn't liked it when he quit teasing her. It brought him from his thoughts of Tonks, and he returned to manipulating his fingers to bring pleasure. He kissed her neck again, trailing slowly down her back, soft butterfly kisses that caused her to shiver.
She rolled a little, until she was lying on top of him instead of beside him. He groaned with pleasure as her ass slipped back and forth along his member, bringing pleasure he hadn't felt in a very long time. Finding his left hand free from her weight he immediately reached up to touch her breasts again, tweaking her nipples until she moaned with pleasure.
After several minutes, as both of them neared an orgasm from the contact, she pulled away completely. Laying there, unsure what was going on he opened his eyes, but all he could make out was strands of blonde hair that was covering his face. It brushed away and red lips descended to his mouth. He could feel her body straddle him below, carefully slipping down on him, but not letting him inside her.
Her kiss was vigorous, searching, and he let himself fall into it, enjoying the small ripples of pleasure that the lips sent through his body. It was warm at first, and he could taste butterbeer on her lips. He tongue slowly slipped through them, tracing his lips and leaving an even sweeter taste. He didn't open his mouth immediately, but she bucked slightly against him, sending jolts through his body as his erection rubbed up against her stomach, and his mouth opened. Her tongue, delighted for the opening, slipped in, stimulating him enough that another set of shivers passed through him.
His hands wandered along her back, feeling the curve of her body. He pulled her closer, caressing her. She shuddered with delight, and he could hear a rumbling from her throat, almost like a purr. Her legs intertwined with his and then locked against him, giving him another jolt of pleasure as she slid along his erection again, bringing him closer to ecstasy.
The woman had been Narcissa.
Hours later, after he'd been with her a fourth time, he'd gotten up and stumbled around until he found his glasses. When he'd put them on he'd found himself in a bedroom he did not recognize, in a place that seemed far too lavishly decorated. Then he looked down at the woman. When he saw her there, spread out naked on the bedspread, he looked away quickly, hating himself already. He found his clothing folded neatly in a pile with a note attached.
Once he'd dressed, he opened the note and read it. It said some things that he knew shouldn't have been said, then asked him not to send Draco to his death. It even offered things, money, power, sex, anything he could want. Harry, angry, had torn the note to shreds and left the house to find refuge in a nearby tavern where he drank away the memories.