Work Text:
~
It was late at night and Harry, sitting in his Auror office, with his boots still covered in mud, was attempting to fill out this evening's incident report. It wasn't going very well. He was trying to keep it detached and clinical, like he hadn't just a few hours ago stood dripping and furious in Narcissa Malfoy's drawing room and demanded her arse in return for his troubles. Literally. And like she hadn't indulged him and ultimately purred her way through the pounding. Literally.
His face didn't even have the decency to color red at the memory. Really, how would he ever explain to anyone (including Ron and Hermione—or Kingsley Shacklebolt, his boss) that he was, on the regular, as part of his visits to Malfoy Manor, fucking Draco Malfoy's mother? Lucius Malfoy's wife? Harry was an Auror, for Merlin's sake. Voldemort or not, he was still the Chosen One. He was… The Chosen Auror.
This was all very unbecoming of the Chosen Auror.
He knew this very well; and he could not care. Sometimes he wished he could. But with his and Ginny's breakup four months prior and just how boring being an Auror had turned out to be, it was… difficult not to enjoy the situation a little, when it kept presenting itself to him on a silver platter. A very sensual and keen and soft platter. Harry had imagined his workdays would consist of hunting down the bastards that had killed so many of his friends; in reality, his workdays consisted of paperwork, false alarms, and… occasionally, now, on a weekly basis, getting his cock cared for at Malfoy Manor by its sole female resident.
Groaning internally, Harry leaned back in his squeaky office chair and thought back to how this whole bonanza had started four weeks prior.
~
That morning, the Manor gates evaporated, and Harry, together with three other Aurors, stepped through the mist with their wands in hand. He took the lead, ruffling his fringe, while behind him, Ron was complaining about the portable diagnostics kit he'd slung over his shoulder; and behind Ron, Ford and Brown were talking loudly.
"Nice place," the former said. "Shame about the history."
"Someone told me there's a room on the third floor where the wallpaper screams at you if you insult the decor," the latter quipped in.
"I'll just test that later," Ron grimly said.
Harry was quiet; he hated being here. Stupid house. Stupid raid. The place still gave him the creeps. But then his thoughts stalled, because the huge front doors opened before any of them could knock, revealing Narcissa Malfoy greeting them… in her own way. Eight o'clock in the morning, yet her blonde strands were already worked into a perfect knot, and her silver, low-cut robes were somehow even more perfect than her hair. Harry swallowed; it was always a little strange to see her, considering the events of the Forest. She took in each one of the men, like she was evaluating them from head to toe for their physical merits. Her wheels turning. Assessing. Deciding something. And then her eyes settled, at last, on Harry.
"Gentlemen," she said coolly, "I suppose someone's misplaced their calendar. Routine inspections are due to be conducted in a fortnight from now."
"This isn't a routine inspection," Harry offered as the Head Auror. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has scheduled a full-sweep raid of your premises."
Narcissa frowned at the four of them, but then she graciously, though with an audible sigh, stepped aside. "Then by all means, come in," she said. "Do however try not to hex any of the wallpaper. Even if it gets a tad loud."
Ron grunted something that might've been thanks. They all followed her through the grey entrance hall, where their footsteps echoed way too loudly and the paintings watched them with scorn as they walked, until they arrived at a study that Harry guessed was Draco's.
"Your command post," Narcissa said dryly, holding her arm out in invitation. "Do make yourselves comfortable."
Harry gave her a tight smile as he entered the room. "It'll do. Thank you."
When they all began their preparations and setting up their gear, Narcissa turned and just disappeared without another word.
Brown let out a low whistle. "Still the Ice Queen."
"Still drop-dead gorgeous," Ford muttered.
"Still married to that git," Ron chimed in.
"Let's just get on with it so that we can get out of here as fast as humanly possible," Harry said, already unrolling a detailed map of the estate onto Draco's mahogany desk.
"Yes please," Brown agreed, gesturing toward the map. Behind him, Ford rolled his eyes, casting a look in the direction Narcissa had gone.
"So, we've logged three suspect areas so far," Brown continued. "Sub-basement, the Lady's old potions lab, and then there's something vaguely residual up in the attic. If it's cursed or sentient, I'm claiming extra pay though."
"Ron, you take the east wing," Harry ordered. "Ford, take west, and Brown, take the attic and basement levels. Whoever finishes first takes the grounds and the annex. And don't touch anything cursed, or explosive, or anything that's a little toodecorative. Just pack it up without touching."
Ron rolled his eyes. "But that takes all the fun out of it."
Harry gave him serious a look; he was in no mood for any of this. "And let's all just leave each of the residents to whatever they're up to. Especially the peacocks. We don't want any problems."
"I… well… yeah, alright then," Ron mumbled, turning to go. "We'll just… be off then."
The three of them disappeared out the door while Harry stayed behind to oversee the raid, as was his job. The parchment scrolls began unfolding themselves across the desk, flaring to life as Ron's, Ford's and Brown's reports started trickling in by magic. Not two minutes and one was already glowing with several lines, including the find Unlabeled vial, possible blood agent, tagged for St. Mungo's.
Harry exhaled heavily.
This bloody house.
But fifteen minutes later, Narcissa suddenly reappeared. Harry had just finished logging the second false positive (an enchanted heirloom silver mirror that, according to Ron, reflected your greatest liability) when she returned, and she was carrying a small porcelain cup and saucer in one hand.
"I thought you might have stayed behind," she said, lightly.
"Someone has to keep an eye on the reports as they roll in," Harry explained amicably, pointing to the parchment scrolls.
"I thought you might like some tea." Not bothering to wait for his permission in her own home, she crossed the study in smooth strides in her high heels and placed the cup before him.
He blinked at the cup. "That's… actually, that's… great. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." She had brought him tea; he could at least try to be civil, even if he despised being back here.
"Milk," she smiled. "No sugar."
"That's… Just the way I like it. Thanks," he smiled back, then picked up the cup. The tea was delicious and the perfect temperature.
Narcissa folded her hands behind her back. But when she didn't move to leave, Harry looked up at her. Yet, she didn't say anything, and they just stood there with the desk between them while the magic quill scratched away. It was a peculiar feeling. He'd seen her often in the society pages (because part of being an Auror was to keep up with 'the talk'), but being around her, or alone with her, was something he'd never done before. Even though he was the rightful heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black, Harry had no idea how to behave around another… Black.
"Are you… concerned?" he asked, just to say something.
Narcissa tilted her head with a little smile. "Whatever about?"
"Oh, I don't know… Four Aurors scouring your home for illegal artifacts?"
"Three, seeing as I currently have eyes on the fourth and can therefore confirm that he is, in fact, not scouring," she corrected. "And not at all. I've nothing serious to hide." She paused, then frowned. "Well. I suppose there is the house itself to be concerned for. It's survived several wars and generations of mad men. After all that, I'd rather hate to lose it to just clumsy boots and bad instincts." Then she took a step forward and placed her fingertips on the edge of the desk. "You do know, of course, Mr. Potter, that no one scheduled this inspection. Not officially."
Harry kept his gaze steady on her. "Well, it came in, so someone must have. Someone with a hunch, I suppose."
"Mmm. And you're a very intuitive man."
Harry scoffed. "It wasn't me. Plus, I doubt I strike you as someone who needs a signed form to follow up on a hunch."
"No." She licked her lips. "But you do strike me as someone who knows exactly when to press an advantage."
Harry blinked; he could have sworn she was pressing her very obvious (and generous) cleavage together as she leaned forward onto the desk. But then he cleared his throat, professional, and held his palms out to the scrolls. "Is… that what I'm doing?"
Narcissa's deep blue eyes flashed down to the scribbles, then rose back up to look intently into his green ones. But they did it slowly, starting at his belt, then traveling up his chest, before meeting his gaze again. "… Isn't it?"
Harry moved his weight from foot to foot. Her eyes were looking at him the way he was more than used to women looking at him, especially after the war. But this was Narcissa Malfoy.
What the hell was going on?
"While I may not be harboring anything dangerous, I would appreciate it if you could keep your men out of my bedroom," she suddenly went on, "though you are of course free to inspect it yourself. And… should you require anything other than tea during your time here…"
The back of Harry's neck suddenly went hot at the change in her tone.
"…I'm always happy to accommodate," she finished.
~
(Future Harry really, really couldn't explain what happened right after that. He'd seen these things in muggle movies and soaps on television and he'd always thought the directors just chose to skip the hassle-part in order to get to the main event. There would be a build-up of sexual tension on screen, and then someone would say something, and then one of the partners would move, and then that tension would turn passionately physical with teeth clashing together and clothing flying about. No dallying. It was just something that happened—on screen.
Not in real life.
Except.
Maybe it did. Because in real life, Harry couldn't remember who had moved first or how their positions had ended up the way they'd ended up. All he knew was that one second she was eyeing his belt again, and the next, she was already gagging on his cock from underneath the desk and he was watching the mesmerizing bob of her head—before a disruptive sound rang from down the hall and the door to Draco's office slammed open with the force of Malfoy indignation honed over a decade.)
We don't want any problems Harry recalled himself saying—while conveniently keeping one hand buried in Narcissa's undone hair, the other casually fiddling with a piece of active parchment. His cock was half-sheathed in her warm mouth, twitching against her tongue when she made an annoyed little mmphf noise at the interruption.
"Stay right there," he quickly murmured.
She made the sound again. He took a slow breath and looked up at Lucius Malfoy himself entering the study.
"Why, of course it's you, Potter."
Narcissa froze; she must have thought it was Draco. Now she went fully still like she'd been hit by a Petrificus, while Harry relaxed back into the chair and schooled his face into his professional mask. Which wasn't all that great (and certainly not easy in his current position), but it would have to do; there was no way he was going to let Lucius Malfoy ruin a blowjob.
"I see the Ministry has done away with courtesy entirely," Lucius continued, his voice seething with fury. "Shall I assume this invasion is legal?"
"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," Harry forced out and picked up another scroll. "It's just standard compliance protocol. Happens sometimes. Random inspections for restricted artifacts in flagged households."
Narcissa's breath hitched around Harry's cock. He glanced down at her watery, alarmed gaze, then merely tightened his grip on her hair and gave a single, shallow thrust, nudging the back of her throat. She whimpered, then acquiesced with a low nnnh when he pushed on.
"Flagged?" Lucius barked. "We've been cleared for years."
"Mr. Malfoy, it's been 28 months," Harry corrected. "Not quite what one thinks of when hearing years."
Lucius huffed and came further into the study, his serpent cane ticking against the floor. Harry looked down to Narcissa's red face, then eased her off his cock a couple of inches to let her breathe. Her glamor had already slipped, her make-up had run down her flushed cheeks. She looked exquisite, with her wet, wide eyes, cherry-red lips stretched around his girth, and her own husband in the room.
"Tell me," Lucius sneered, "which department handles these… protocols?"
"The DMLE," Harry smiled overly politely, looking up. From where Malfoy Senior was standing, it would have looked like Harry was simply studying the scrolls. "That's the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He gripped Narcissa's hair tightly as he spoke and forced her down his length until her nose almost brushed his shirt, then kept her in place and subtly yanked on her head to create more delicious friction. She gave a garbled sound, but Lucius didn't appear to hear. His eyes were set on Harry, his upper lip twitching in apparent disdain.
"And which fool," he hissed, "in this… DMLE assigned you?"
Harry pulled her off for breath again; spit drooled down her chin as she stared up at him.
"I volunteered," he declared, then cleared his throat and pulled her further onto his cock again. She resisted a little this time, but her lips and her tongue were satin-smooth, and he needed more contact. Still looking at Lucius, he slid his hand to the back of her head and pushed. She made a pathetic little gagging noise, but she had instigated this. Might as well deal with the consequences of her own actions. Plus, it had been months since Harry'd had anything except his own fist. Now the soft, hot feel of her mouth had his toes curling in his boots.
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Why, of course you did."
Narcissa convulsed, pressing against Harry's thighs, but he was going to keep her right where she was, choking on him while he stared her husband down. The soft pop of a detection spell went off that second, and the quill in front of Harry loudly scratched out another line on the parchment, Unregistered wand fragment, drawing room floorboards.
Lucius's face turned surprised. "You're cataloguing as you go."
Harry softened his hold on Narcissa's head but subtly moved his hips, up-down-up-down, just a bit at a time, hitting the back of her throat with each thrust. He wondered if this excited her—if she was wet—and if so, how much. Wondered what Lucius's presence was doing to her.
"Oh yes, we're very efficient these days," Harry smiled widely, remembering that it was his turn to speak.
Lucius's jaw twitched. Below the desk, Narcissa's tongue fought against his cock, eliciting a low groan from Harry's throat. He pushed on her head, angling it right, and slid deeper.
Narcissa gagged loudly.
Lucius frowned. "What's that? What's the matter with you, Potter?"
"Just a bit of congestion," Harry said, tapping his stomach and pretending to cough. "Must be the air in here. I'm sure it will… resolve itself soon."
Lucius made a noncommittal sound. Harry dared a glance down again, to find Narcissa's eyes and nose running. Struggling. Mouth and throat full, her red lips brushing his base.
Sucked off by Lucius Malfoy's wife. In front of the man himself.
Harry gave low, pleased groan and bit the inside of his cheek. Never in a million years (or even just twenty-one) had he expected to ever experience this.
"Well then," Lucius sneered, still looking at him as though he had Dragon Pox. "I trust that your little party will be gone well before nightfall."
"Oh, of course," Harry replied, although his voice came out strained. "I suspect we'll be finished within the hour. Well… two, at most."
Narcissa suddenly tensed, gasped through her nose, then shook against his legs. Harry clenched his teeth, wondering if she hadn't just come from the humiliation alone of having his throbbing cock in her mouth while her husband talked overhead.
"Two hours?" Lucius scoffed, sweeping his eyes over the room. "How ambitious. I'm afraid you once again underestimate the greatness of this estate. With all the Ministry's past… raids, one would think you'd know better by now."
Narcissa moaned quietly around Harry, raw and pitiful. He yanked on her hair again, forced himself right past her gag reflex, then nearly ended up having to grip the edge of the desk because Gods yes, she tried to swallow around him.
"Mmm," he agreed loudly, shifting in the chair, knowing he needed just a little more of her throat constricting to get there. "I suppose you're right. The estate is… quite large."
Narcissa struggled against his tensing thighs again, but Harry wasn't playing around anymore. She'd wanted this. His balls were tightening, getting ready to give her his morning load. He grunted low and worked her a little rougher, forced her to keep him fully lodged in her throat for a few more seconds…
"I don't suppose," Lucius said slowly, "you've crossed paths with my wife amidst all this… efficiency?"
Harry pulled his lips into his mouth to keep quiet, pretending to ponder at the ceiling—then he let go, pouring several shots of thick cum down her throat while he fought not to close his eyes and groan at the heavenly rush of it. Narcissa's back bent as she gagged, but she took it obediently, until he'd emptied himself down her throat and finally released her head.
"I suspect you'll find her with Auror Weasley," he concluded hoarsely and leaned back in the chair, finally looking Lucius in the eye again.
Lucius went very still. Then he asked, "In which part of the house?"
Harry pulled his softening cock from Narcissa's mouth; she immediately collapsed onto his right thigh. "Not sure," he shrugged. "Could be anywhere, really. I suppose you'll have to conduct your own search."
Lucius's nostrils flared, and Harry simply couldn't resist.
"She can be quite slippery, I hear," he added as he wandlessly cast a quick Scourgify and discreetly tucked himself in. "Best of luck locating her."
Lucius scoffed, then turned on his heel and left with a muttered by Merlin, this bloody witch. Behind him, the door slammed so hard one of the unrolled scrolls fell of the desk.
Harry grinned in relief, finally letting himself breathe the deep gulps he'd been suppressing, and looked down at his lap. There, Narcissa was a gorgeous mess of disheveled strands, dried tears, and ruined make-up. Glassy, pleased blue eyes staring up at him from under thick, dark lashes. Swollen lips and rosy cheeks and her chin glistening and coated in thick strings of saliva.
And she didn't look like she was going anywhere now.
Fuck.
~
By the time the door banged open next, Narcissa had already slunk out of the study with her hair-do and face back in perfect order after strongly urging Harry to use her mouth one more time (just to make sure she was being a really good hostess—and that the other Aurors would indeed be leaving her bedroom alone, which Harry ensured by scribbling the order onto the parchment while she nuzzled his hardening prick for round two). His colleagues entered one by one, all three looking hassled in different ways.
"Contents of a locked cabinet in the conservatory," muttered Brown, dropping a charmed satchel and a huge case onto the desk. He had soot on his chin. "Also found two wands. Also a suspicious number of vials labeled for educational use only."
"Good old Auntie Bella was clearly a teacher at heart," said Ron, strolling in with his robes slightly askew. "Found a box of fingernails in a drawer. Fingernails! Still moving and all! Merlin's saggy socks…"
"Lovely," Harry grimaced. "Erm. Yeah. We'll flag that one for disposals. I suspect that the vials though have something to do with Mrs. Malfoy's potions mastery. We'll know soon enough."
Ford followed last, his blond hair ruffed, his eyebrows arched in judgment as he levitated a see-through bag full of cracked glass, a broken opal pendant, and numerous other items Harry couldn't identify by sight alone. "I do love a wholesome family raid. So cozy." He dropped the bag with a clatter.
Ron brushed his hands off theatrically. "Also ran into our hostess on the way back. She was... in fine spirits. Didn't even offer me tea, though. Thirsty work, this, innit?"
Ford snorted.
"Alright," said Harry, sharply. "We're professionals."
Brown added innocently, "Yes, of course. Like, how you stayed all safe in here while the rest of us were elbow-deep in cursed silverware."
"I was… coordinating," Harry shrugged.
"Coordinating?" Ford scoffed. "Merlin, is that what they're calling it now? I see you got yourself some tea, as opposed to poor Weasley here. Guess you took care of that stick up her arse."
Harry looked at Ford pointedly. "I will hex you."
Ford raised his hands in defeat. Harry took a slow, steadying breath, ignoring the images that his brain brought to the forefront of his mind and immediately stirred his twice-spent cock.
That stick up her arse.
What a missed opportunity. And here she'd said he was a man who knew how to work advantageously.
Perhaps next time.
No.
Absolutely not.
He wouldn't be doing this again. No matter how exciting or thrilling or hot or satisfactory the entire experience had been, now that he'd had his endorphins released and his balls conveniently emptied twice, the weight of what he'd done was slowly gathering onto his shoulders, and really, this had been most stupid. Just because she was a bored stay-at-home wife didn't mean Harry had to abandon his professional faculties.
Still, as he turned back to snag the last scroll off the table, he heard Ford whisper, "Bet he got the full Malfoy experience", and Harry thought that between slipping it to Narcissa and cuckolding Lucius and getting to finish down his schooltime bully's throat… perhaps he had indeed.
~
Regardless of his post-nut-clarity-slash-shame and his convictions that he would not be going back to Malfoy Manor, he'd caved about a week later and returned under the pretext of inspecting whatever it was that she hadn't wanted the others to find. Turned out the item in question had been a curse-charmed chest that illegally kept her make-up from ever running out, and Harry had begrudgingly let her keep it. Then somehow that inspection had ended with her flat on her back on the bed, with her heels pointed at the canopied ceiling and Harry's face between her toned thighs. And then the inspection after that had found her bent over the arm of a couch. And then the one after that, with her on her knees in the cellar.
He should have known better. But at the end of the day, he was just a man. And she was beautiful and bored and undeniably sexy when she wrapped her legs around him or knelt with her mouth open or bent over for him and practically begged him to go harder, and Harry… didn't have much else going on in his life. It was challenging not to see doing Draco Malfoy's mother as a positive addition to the grindstone.
Yet, curiously, neither one of them ever referred to any of it out loud. In fact, Narcissa still insisted on keeping up some sort of ridiculous charade, feigning annoyance at his visits and turning her nose up in the air. Pretending that the Forest didn't matter, and now, he was just inconveniencing her by volunteering for the inspections that were suddenly (for reasons Harry chose not to investigate) coming in at an increasing rate as compared to the previous years. But that was fine; Harry had come to secretly enjoy knocking her down peg by peg, melting away her icy facade and turning her frostiness into hot putty in his hands. She was, contrary to what he imagined people thought her to be, exceptionally warm and thorough in her… seeing to him. And it was—generally—entertaining to watch her act like she wasn't welcoming him into the house with the full expectancy of getting properly fucked on whatever surface they ended up closest to.
But tonight… tonight had distinctly not been just 'entertaining'. And the report wasn't coming along at all. But at least he was warm now, and now longer drenched from head to toe.
~
The doomsday storm had been brewing all afternoon, and once Harry reached the gates of the Manor, it was in full performance mode, with howling wind and rain lashing sideways. To make matters worse, he'd had twelve (!) reports to sort through at the Ministry. Then two Floo calls with the Auror Office in Montreal. Then a minor duel in the Department of Magical Accidents that had ended with an intern vomiting slugs. And now, this.
This was not a good day.
The Ministry had received an anonymous tip-off about suspicious aerial activity over the eastern gardens of the Manor, and technically he could've left it for the morning. He could even have left it for someone else, probably, but (angry) hormones were complex things, and here he was now, standing ankle-deep in water at nine in the evening, his cloak wrapped around his form like seaweed. The Manor's windows were smugly lit in warm gold behind the rain.
They knew exactly how stupid he looked as he fought his way forward.
Then Narcissa was standing in the doorframe, backlit by candlelight, wearing a long, snow-colored dressing gown.
"Mr. Potter," she said.
Still insisting on formalities despite her regularly sucking him dry; Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead took in her appearance. The first strands of her hair were… loosely pulled back. Her skin was… too vibrant. Her lashes were… too long.
She looked every bit like a woman who'd had a luxurious bath, poured a sizeable glass of wine, and would not, under any circumstances, be stepping out into the rain.
"Mrs. Malfoy," he said, clipped but playing his part. "Sorry to intrude."
She arched an eyebrow and quickly glanced down—at herself, not him. "Are you?"
He met her gaze and felt that familiar hot and sharp pull coiling in his gut, warming up… before remembering the rain and the tip-off and what awaited him.
"Sort of," he responded, honestly.
Narcissa glanced over the state of him next, then moved aside to let him into the foyer. Her robe shifted against her body, flashing him a glimpse of the bare skin of her chest.
"There's been a report," he continued, stepping inside and trying to focus on the reason for his visit, "of a suspicious flying object sighted over your gardens."
She shut the door. "How exciting."
Now Harry did roll his eyes. "I need to investigate."
"You're welcome to." Her gaze flicked down to the puddle already forming on her pristine foyer floor. "But you'll be doing it alone. I've just had my hair done."
Harry swallowed hard against the wet chill rapidly bleeding into his skin. "And your husband?"
"Is asleep. And not nearly as charming when woken."
"And your son?"
Narcissa gave an elegant shrug. "Sulking."
Harry muttered a curse under his breath, then cast a drying charm. The foyer was warm, the floors were heated. The house and not just its Mistress, for once, was a place he wanted to stay inside. But he had a job to do so he stalked past her, already annoyed, her rich, warm scent hitting him like a second slap in addition to the storm rampaging outside. When he opened the front door, it was like the mouth of a Kraken screaming at him. He pressed his eyes closed for a few deep breaths, stepped out without looking at Narcissa, and then the door swung shut behind him.
~
Forty-five minutes later, Harry was still knee-deep in wet hedges, soaked through despite the dozen charms he'd muttered along the way. His slick wand kept slipping from his grip. There was mud caking his boots. The rain was pelting him sideways, furiously. Deeper in the gardens, a pair of peacocks shrieked into the dark like his presence was offending their entire bloodline. But he gritted his teeth and shoved his way forward with a Lumos Maxima, heart pounding harder than it should have been for a routine sweep.
Then he found something.
The something being a large crumpled mess of blackened materials and twisted wires half-buried in the muck, with magical scorch marks along one side of a bigger piece. He stared down at it, rain coursing down the back of his neck. Then he lifted his gaze to the stormy sky, cold water dripping from his chin, and swore it all to hell.
~
The drawing room fire was crackling like it was laughing at him. Narcissa herself was lying stretched on one of the plush loungers like a lazy lioness, one leg over the other, a glass of red wine dangling from one hand. The other was toying idly with the hem of what barely counted as a nightdress. It was burgundy, nearly sheer, and very visible beneath her loosely-tied robe. Harry stared as he stood dripping at the top of the stairs, soaked to the bone. Then he stepped properly inside the drawing room and his findings clattered onto the carpet as he all but threw them at Narcissa's feet.
She didn't even flinch. She just stretched out, like the storm and the investigation and his temper meant nothing at all. But she did look up at him, the faintest smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
"Mr. Potter," she said drowsily. "You're back."
"This," Harry said, pointing at the mangled plastic and aluminum on her carpet, "is what I found."
She raised her brows as if peering at a stray leaf he'd dragged into her palace. "Oh," she said after a moment. "That dreadful buzzing contraption."
Harry went fifty more shades of cold, then searing hot. "You… Wait, you knew about it?"
"Yes." She took a delicate sip of her wine, slowly enough to grind against whatever little patience he had left. "I shot it down with a Bombarda."
"You…" Harry grit his teeth, then forced through them, "You might have mentioned it when I arrived."
"Mmm. Must have slipped my mind."
Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, then stepped closer, not caring that his muddy boots were soaking into the expensive carpet (undoubtedly there to cover the floorboard scratches from that one night years ago). "You know the Ministry logs every report of Muggle interference, don't you?"
"And yet they sent you," she said mildly, as if he were the punchline to a private joke, "rather than Arthur Weasley."
"I was on call."
She tilted her head again, narrowing her eyes. "Were you?"
"Yes," he bit out. "And it's been a very long day."
"I can tell."
"This wasn't just any dreadful buzzing contraption, Narcissa. This was a Muggle-Ministry-of-Defense prototype. Probably classified to hell and back."
She raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Muggles can't just buy things that fly," he explained. "Other than airplanes and… I don't know, kites. Other than that, things don't fly without magic. And yes, it shouldn't have been anywhere near Wiltshire, let alone in your airspace. But you brought it down. You as good as broke the Statute of Secrecy."
She lifted one shoulder in a bored approximation of a shrug. "It was loud."
Harry blinked several times. "Are you… Narcissa, do you understand what that means? That was Muggle government surveillance technology. They're going to notice when it doesn't return, if they haven't already. They're going to ask questions."
She flicked her wrist. "So let them ask. They never like the answers anyway."
He stared at her, growing more frustrated by the second. "You… you don't understand. This could trigger interdepartmental escalation. As in Magical-Muggle overlap. They'll pull in Unspeakables. You know the Muggle Prime Minister gets briefed on things like this."
At that, Narcissa turned, offering him an amused sidelong glance. "Then I suppose you'd better come up with a convincing lie, Mr. Potter. Like I myself once did."
Harry's jaw clenched at the memory. It pulled in his chest, where she'd touched him that night in the Forest. But another thing, a darker thing, also awoke, behind his eyes. He recognized it. It was the old, deep exasperation of trying to reason with someone who already knew she was untouchable. It was clear from the way she looked back at him like the sight of him dripping all over her carpet was a private little gift she intended to savor, because at the end of the day, it was all good fun.
"I imagine you'd like to file your report and leave then," she said, placing her wine on the side table.
Harry didn't move; the heat from the fire had finally reached his legs through his wet trousers. "It's storming outside."
"So I hear."
"Your grounds are flooding."
"They do that," she said, flippantly.
One of the muscles in Harry's cheek ticked. His voice dropped to an almost-growl as he said, "I'm soaked."
She smiled, wickedly. "Mmm. Unfortunate." With that, Narcissa reclined deeper into the cushions, her dressing gown parting a little more over her thigh. "Of course," she added, "you're welcome to dry off in the foyer. There are towels. Somewhere."
Harry didn't so much as glance toward the staircase. His gaze stayed locked on her, as if sheer willpower might transfer the warmth off her skin. "And yet I ended up here."
"Did you?" she muttered with another stretch. "I don't recall inviting you up."
"No," he said quietly. "You just came to the door in that."
Her gown, as if in answer, slipped a little lower, and Harry took another step closer, deliberately stepping onto the shell of the drone that cracked under his boot.
"This was a waste of my time," he hissed.
"Mm-hmm," she smiled.
"You wasted my time."
Her smile only grew. Harry stared at her some more, now increasingly irritated in a way that had very little to do with the weather anymore and everything to do with her.
"I think you might just owe me for this."
His thoughts had turned into words before he'd thought it through—but really, what he'd said was exactly what he thought. She looked up at him with a frown. Then, she drew her bare legs in and swung them off the edge of the lounger. Her spine uncurled next, sinuously, until she was sitting upright, then she crossed her legs again.
"Is that so?" she murmured.
"Yes," Harry argued, his voice scraping roughly, because he was still soaked and she was all heat and smug fucking grace. And while he'd normally enjoy this part, now his patience had gone up the chimney, and he didn't give a damn which ethical lines he might cross. "I think you owe me something... compensatory."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Compensatory," she echoed, like she was tasting a word she'd never said herself. "For a prototype?"
"For my time," Harry argued.
"Five minutes, surely."
"For the inspection."
She reached for her glass. "A brief walk."
"In a storm."
"Aurors are issued cloaks, are they not?" she said, sipping her wine.
Said cloak was clinging to him, sodden through, still dripping steadily onto the carpet. "Doesn't do much good in weather like that."
She looked him over, dispassionately. "I see. So weather beat the Chosen One. My, how fragile legends become once wet."
He stepped closer again, kicking some of the plastic aside. "Not like I asked for the weather," he replied. "Or the nickname."
Narcissa gave him an intrigued look, at that. "What kind of compensation are you asking for then, Mr. Potter?"
Harry kept quiet, watching the motion of her fingers tracing the rim of the glass like she had all the time in the world. He couldn't say it, could he? They never did.
"Let me guess," Narcissa continued, with a new gleam in her eyes. "A written recommendation? A piece in the Prophet on your gallantry? Or perhaps something more... imaginative?"
He had several things at the front of his mind, and none of them included recommendations or Rita Skeeter. Still, he kept quiet, half-unwilling to ask outright and half-fascinated to listen to the raspy, seductive sound of Narcissa's voice.
"Perhaps you'd like to inspect me," she tried next, smiling like she knew every ugly thought climbing through his head and stirring his cock. "Make sure I'm not harboring any more illicit contraptions."
Harry stepped right up to the lounger, cold water dripping in maddening rivulets from his hair, down the side of his neck, soaking into his shirt below. Freezing. He looked down and saw Narcissa's bare toes peeking out from the hem of the robe.
"You think this is funny, don't you?" he stated. "You think talking in circles will get you off the hook with this?"
"No," she smirked. "I think you want me to say it first."
Harry's hands closed into fists at his sides. Her outrageous cleavage was pulling at his gaze as he stood over her. For a second, he imagined what it would feel like to drag her off that lounger and… No. Not yet. Because she was watching him now, like she knew exactly how close he was to snapping and was daring him to do it. And he wouldn't give her the pleasure.
"Well, why don't you?" he asked instead. "Say what you think I want."
Narcissa craned her neck, the glass resting idly on her knee like she didn't feel the charge vibrating between them, and said, sweetly, "I think if you really wanted a towel, you'd have found one by now."
Harry's knuckles went white as tension crawled up his arms and locked into his shoulders. "I think," he ground out, two beats away from throttling her, "that if I'm going to save your arse, then you'd best offer it to me first in return."
He saw her swallow. But the next second, she looked up at him, lashes heavy over her dark-blue eyes, and said, coolly, "How tragically transactional. And here I thought Gryffindors preferred heroism without compensation. Or has the market changed?"
His fingers reached out at last, brushing her jaw. Her chin lifted under the touch, like in muscle memory, baring her throat. But not without defiance, tonight.
"Maybe I'm done handing out free rescues to people who think they're above needing them," Harry murmured, leaning down, close enough to feel her breath against his mouth. "And you don't strike me as someone who's ever done anything without expecting something in return."
"Mr. Potter," she smiled without warmth. "If I were in the habit of offering myself to anyone with wet boots and a temper, I'd have been buried in a shallow grave by now. So, if that's how you want to…"
"All right, enough of this now," he cut her off, tightening his fingers under her jaw. Screw not giving her the pleasure. Without warning, he shoved, and Narcissa let out a high gasp as the glass fell off her lap and her back hit the plush brocade of the lounger. Then his body followed, hands at her neck and shoulder, holding her down with true, non-negotiable pressure.
"Guess the market's changed after all," he murmured, hovering over her.
She stared up at him, stunned, but Harry could feel the answering pull, the thrill shivering beneath her composure. Her palms pushed against his chest, but her bare legs shifted under him, reflexively. Still playing her game, though. Still pretending to object to being manhandled.
"Not so untouchable now, are you?" he asked.
"You confuse strength with victory, Mr. Potter," Narcissa replied evenly, but breathing harder, her chest heaving against the fabric of her gown pulled tight by his weight on her.
He smirked, then shrugged one shoulder back, tugging at the fastening of his soaked cloak. It slipped off of him wetly, landing behind him. He tugged open the top two buttons of his uniform, then peeled it back. She followed all his movements, eyeing every inch he revealed as he was now left in only a thin, soaked t-shirt. He leaned forward again, closer now, storm-wrung, and his eyes dropped to the loose knot of her gown. He reached down, fingers grazing the sash, but she caught his wrist.
"Don't you dare," she said.
He knew it was just the echo of a protest and a game already lost, so he pulled his hand free and plucked his wand off the floor. With a flick and a murmured Ligatura, a shimmering golden cord looped itself tightly around her wrists, binding them neatly and locking them against the backrest above her head.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "What are you… Oh, you primitive…"
Harry leaned in, smirking as he shoved the wand's handle into his back pocket. "I prefer efficient. As I told your husband."
She stared daggers up at him, speechless for a heartbeat as furious color rose high in her cheeks. "You… you absolute… you are intolerable."
He only smiled, slow and the most satisfied he'd been all day. "I've been called worse."
Then he undid the robe's knot with a single tug. Beneath it, that damned burgundy slip was glued to her curves, obscenely low, enough to make his mouth water. He stared at her full breasts rising with each breath, the tear waiting. So he did just that. Curled his fingers into the neckline and tore. The fabric gave easily, ripping down her front with a soft sound.
"That was Vérité Noire," she hissed.
Harry licked his lips, taking in the swell of her heavy breasts, pale and perfect, nipples faintly peaked in the air. He leaned down, until his breath brushed the underside of her right breast.
"You should've thought of that while I was out in the storm."
Then he kissed it open-mouthedly, slipping his tongue against her nipple, teasing it. She made a half-protesting gasp, but her arms and spine strained for him. Then, finally, she moaned, and he smiled filthily against her breast as his hands moved, dragging what remained of Vérité Noire until it was bunched at her waist. He spread her thighs next and unzipped his trousers, pulling the soaked fabric down and his boxers down well enough to free himself.
She glanced between his face and his hard cock, her breath hitching again. Then, like flipping a switch, her lustful gaze sharpened.
"Harry," she breathed. "The room."
Rather than replying, he grabbed her legs with a smooth pull, lifting and throwing them over his shoulders. Her spine arched, stretching to follow the shift. He bent over her, hands braced on either side, caging her in, and their breaths collided, hers quicker, his low and steady.
"Don't worry. I'll keep you quiet."
Then his hand covered her mouth.
Her eyes widened from shock, from the sheer audacity. She shifted beneath him with half-hearted resistance in her hips, but he just gave her a dark, boyish grin, then kissed along her breasts again, hand still firmly in place over her lips.
"Game over," he murmured into her skin. "Now stop pretending and give me your arse, before I go back to the Ministry and let it slip that you broke the Statute of Secrecy."
She blinked up at him, disbelieving, brows knitting. She tugged at her bound wrists, like she wanted him to see her supposedly objecting. And he, grinning, watched her squirm, then leaned back and reached for his wand again with his free hand. Two whispered spells and a warmth spread over his palm, another aimed inside her. She twitched, giving a muffled, indignant, outraged sound, and glared at him like she might curse him on the spot. He coated his cock in lubricant slowly, then his slick fingers drifted between them.
Her eyes flared.
"What's the matter, Lady Malfoy?" he murmured, sliding two fingers over her (drenched) cunt, bypassing it. "You want to say something?"
She groaned, but the ties and his hand held.
"Oh wait…" Harry grinned. "You can't."
He slipped a finger into her lubed-up hole. With her spread like this, it was easy. Her head fell back against the cushion with an affronted noise, but he only huffed out a laugh, then added another finger, enjoying the tight feel even just around his digits. Below his other palm, she hissed between her teeth.
"You'll take my cock like this," Harry said, darkly. "Looking at me. The more you glare, the harder I'll fuck you. Make a proper mess of your couch."
Narcissa gave him a look that could've flayed him alive, but her hips rolled, unmistakably, into his hand, seeking more. He grinned, scissoring his fingers inside her arse, priming her open for him. Her breath stuttered when he twisted them, her hips jerking once he pulled out.
"No one's ever fucked you back here, have they?"
She scowled at him, trying to say something against his palm.
"Yeah. I'm going to enjoy this." He stroked his prick a few times, painfully hard, and rubbed the head against her wet cunt just for good measure. Then he lined up a little lower, and pushed the tip into her arse.
"Mmpfh!"
Despite the heat, Harry's gaze snapped up to her eyes. They, as well as her fists, were tightly closed, but her thighs stayed open.
Then—barely, but there—he felt a forward tilt of her hips, taking the whole blunt head of his cock, and Harry knew instinctively that she wanted it to sting a little. She wanted the stretch, the ache, the burn of him.
"Fuck," he gasped, feeling her clench tightly around just the head of his cock. The thought that she'd never had it there before… He doubted it was true, but this hole was unbearably constricting, and he slowly sank the rest of his shaft in, inch by inch, deeper, until Narcissa's breaths hitched into a shrill sob. When he bottomed out with a relieved sigh, she was flushed from her throat to the tops of her breasts and shaking. He shifted over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other still on her mouth.
"Imagine I kept you like this all night," he threatened, keeping still. "Gagged with your hands tied. Your prim arse stuffed with my cock."
Her moan was hot against his palm. He felt her hips wriggle restlessly beneath him. Needy. He started to pull out, immediately dragging a broken, dissenting yelp from her throat.
"Yeah," he smirked. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
She made another choked sound into his hand. He slammed back inside, roughly but sliding smooth, gaining a high, desperate whimper. Her wrists strained against the bindings, lashes fluttering, looking up at him with her eyes wide, her cheeks pink. Pleading. He really would have loved to keep her like this, but he didn't have all night. But he still took his time, stretching her whole body, all that prim pride unraveling beneath him. Every thrust he gave her made her breasts bounce and mangled moans vibrate against his palm. The spells made the slide seamless, but not numb. He knew she felt the burn of every inch he gave her.
He leaned forward suddenly, folding her nearly in half, making her cry out. "Keep looking at me," he ordered.
Narcissa did, eyes pleading with him through tears, begging for more.
"You wanted this," Harry growled, his thrusts almost grinding now. "Got a taste for punishment, I think."
She squirmed beneath him.
"You wanted me to do this," he groaned. "Didn't you? Needed me angry enough to do this to you."
Narcissa only blinked; not like she could answer in words. He clicked his tongue, then lodged himself fully inside her and thrust shallowly—instantly feeling her beginning to squeeze around him like she was about to come.
She gave a frustrated moan the second he halted his hips and stayed still.
"There you are," Harry whispered against her ear, although it took most of his concentration to not give into the velvety feel of her arse and just pound away. "You can drop the act now. I can tell you're about to come."
She whimpered. And then she nodded once under his hand.
"Mmm," he grinned, kissing her temple. "You want me to move?"
She nodded harder, her thighs trembling over his shoulders.
"Ask for it," he breathed, thrusting only shallowly to drive it home, and eased the pressure on her mouth.
"I… please…" she choked out.
"Please what?" he growled, barely holding on himself. The thought of where he'd stuck his cock—where she'd let him stick his cock—was making his brain spin and his thighs tense up.
"Please… don't stop…" she sobbed just under his palm. "Please make me come…"
Harry groaned; her pleading always drove him half-out of his mind. He pushed himself up, picking up his thrusts, faster, harder, and her eyes rolled back, fluttering shut. Her spine went taut beneath him, her mouth moaning helplessly under his palm. He tried to say more, but it was useless against the way she looked and sounded and how she gripped his entire length. A high cry vibrated against his hand, and then she convulsed, her muscles clenching tight around him, shaking in shivers, nearly forcing him out.
"Oh fuck, Narcissa…"
Her orgasm tipped him over. With a shout, he let loose and came inside her, filling her arse as it milked his cock and wrung half-wrecked groans from his chest, intense in a way he'd never had her before, until he finally gave the last spirt and collapsed onto her.
"You..." He leaned up to brush his lips to her damp hairline as the aftershocks shuddered through both their bodies. "Fucking hell..."
Narcissa, breathing hard, smiled under his palm. He laughed breathlessly, then lifted his hand off her mouth and rose to look at her. And that smile. That half-dazed, fully-satisfied smile that lifted the corners of her mouth like she'd won a particularly indulgent bet… Harry was defenseless against it.
He took in her messy hair and dreamy eyes and said, fondly, "Not too bad for someone with wet boots and a temper, don't you think? No shallow grave in sight."
She gave a low, throaty laugh. Like a purr. "Well, you wanted compensation. I'd say you took interest with plenty to spare."
"Interest's a fair price for risk. And you're high risk, Narcissa."
She rolled her eyes, amused. But the look barely held before it broke into furrowed brows and a regretful gasp, because he'd started to pull out, and now her whole body tensed in startled protest. Not that she'd ever admit to it out loud. Harry couldn't help but revel in the pride this evoked. Even more so when him extracting himself was followed by a torrent of his cum trickling from the gape, down her cleft and onto the lounger. He cast a wandless cleaning charm under his breath, but just for him, not for her. She liked it messy.
Her binds vanished next with a snap. She brought her wrists forward, rotating them slowly, then stretched like a cat, arching her neck, lengthening her spine, pulling one leg up and folding it over the other. Vanished the torn Verité Noire.Tied her robe. Kneaded at her own shoulder. Toyed with a loose strand of hair. Reached for her wine glass. Harry watched all of it as he dressed slowly.
The storm had eased. Or maybe the room was just too warm for him to care anymore. His skin steamed in light sweat under his shirt. In front of him, Narcissa refilled her wine with a snap of her fingers. She was fully her composed self again, although there was a looseness to her now, a slight slackness in her limbs. Satisfaction.
Harry walked over on wobbly legs to lean against the mantle and watch the fire for a bit. The post-Narcissa clarity was a heady thing. Half of him always began repeating the mantra this was the last time so memorize it and the other half fought tooth and nail not to grab her and spread her and sink into her again.
Neither of them spoke for a minute. But then she broke the silence, her voice throaty.
"You should dry your hair. You'll catch cold."
Harry looked at her and said the only thing he could say in order to not return to the lounger and peel her robe off. "You knew it wasn't hostile. The device."
She shrugged. "Of course."
"And you still hexed it," he pushed, but he wasn't angry with her anymore.
"I didn't like the sound it made." Her fingers smoothed over the marks on her wrists like they were nothing more than impressions left by bracelets of her choosing. "And, truly. If you're going to spy on someone, one assumes you'd prefer not to announce it with all the grace of a drunken dirigible." She glanced at him. "The noise was atrocious. Like a mosquito with a Sonorus. And don't get me started on the blinking light. Amateur."
Harry stared. She took a sip of her wine, then continued.
"If your Muggle Ministry is going to use whatever little funds they possess to develop surveillance tools, they could at least invest in something with proper acoustic dampening. Or, Merlin forbid, subtlety." She took another sip. "I did the nation a favor, really."
Her words rattled around in his brain like the loose parts of the drone remains on the carpet. She'd spoken every single one of them with the confidence of a seasoned Ministry engineer and the disdain of a woman who would hex Madam Malkin for sticking her with a pin.
Harry scoffed through his nose. "You are…" Insane. Adorable. Infuriatingly divine. "… impossible."
She smiled into her glass. "Mm. That makes two of us."
Harry looked away, but he couldn't deny it. In his peripheral vision, she set her glass down, then uncrossed her legs and ran a hand through her messy hair.
"So?" she asked, slowly. "Now that you've got your compensation… what will you write in your report?"
Harry had no clue how to sum up the evening's events, so he didn't answer her. All he did was cross the room in silence, pick up her crystal glass, and finish the last of her wine while memorizing her lush afterglow.
~
And here he was now, tasked with said report. His muscles were already a little sore from his visit tonight. But he had to write something, so he picked up the quill, and started with the basics.
FIELD REPORT
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Confidential Internal Document.
17 June 2001, followed by his name, the case number, and the location.
Reason for Visit: Anonymous tip-off. Reported sighting of unidentified aerial device over privately warded grounds. Suspected magical interference.
Weather Conditions: Severe electrical storm active over region from approx. 17:20 to 22:40.
Residents Present:
Narcissa Malfoy, née Black (primary contact).
No sign of Lucius Malfoy or Draco Malfoy.
House-elves unaccounted for/not encountered.
Findings: Recovered remains of large, non-magical apparatus on grounds (near eastern garden perimeter). Upon closer review of debris collected on-site, object identified as a high-altitude surveillance device, origin consistent with classified Muggle government technology (see MI5/MI6 Joint Ops registry). Apparatus was forcibly downed mid-flight via long-range spell. Impact consistent with targeted magical strike, likely a Bombardment spell. No defensive wards triggered during device entry or Auror arrival. No additional magical traces detected beyond primary resident's wand signature.
Interview Notes: Subject was overtly dismissive but cooperative. Acknowledged device presence. Admitted to neutralizing it personally. Declined to accompany field sweep. Remained in residence throughout inspection.
He stared at the page for a moment, knowing what he had to write next. But…
All right.
The woman might have been infuriating. Might have been evasive and impossible. But she wasn't a liar. He'd watched her face, and her face had been arched eyebrows and the calm of having absolutely no idea just what kind of fire she'd poked.
He sighed, then wrote down, Displayed no awareness of the device's provenance or classification. Justified its destruction based on "aesthetic disturbance." No indication subject understood the implications of disabling classified Muggle surveillance equipment.
The rest of the report flowed more easily then, now that he'd gotten that part over with.
Additional Observations: Auror experienced moderate fatigue due to severe storm exposure. No support team deployed due to perceived simplicity of task.
Conclusion: Requires follow-up with Muggle liaison unit. Recommend escalation to Department of Mysteries for magical-muggle technology intersection review.
He paused there to debate briefly whether anything crucial was missing. Then he felt his mouth move into a smile, despite himself. Because he wondered if Narcissa had taken another bath after he'd left, or if she'd gone to bed without cleaning up. He wondered if she liked the feeling of being in bed—perhaps next to her husband—while still holding Harry's cum between her cheeks.
He grunted and forced himself to continue his work.
No disciplinary action recommended. Subject poses no immediate risk to national security or the Statute of Secrecy. Incident appears to stem from ignorance rather than malice. Caution advised in future interactions. Subject demonstrates a pattern of selective cooperation and calculated provocation. Strongly suggest no further Ministry involvement unless additional interference occurs.
(Unofficially: she's mine to deal with, so leave her to me.)
He wondered what Narcissa would have written if she kept a diary. It was probably emerald-velvet-bound, or silver. Probably warded to combust if Draco ever even glanced at the cover. Probably contained something like:
Thursday.
Rain.
Blew up flying muggle machine.
Depleted wine cellar, order more Grand Cru.
Scandalized in situ by Potter.
Passable evening.
… Passable evening.
Harry took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair, and scrubbed his hand over his tired face.
"She's absolutely going to pull another one of these, isn't she?" he muttered under his breath.
As though that was the problem. As though it wasn't the fact that he knew he'd be going back the very second he got the call. And that up until then, he'd be imagining all the ways he hadn't yet touched her and all the sounds he'd yet to elicit from her throat.
And really… could anyone actually blame him for that?
~