"I… I won't be able to join you in France," Septima rasped out, but even as she said it, she felt the words sticking in her throat. She had prepared for it—the excuse, and she had even practiced it. However, now that she was here, it felt hollow and fragile, and as she saw the look on his face, she felt her composure shatter.
Narcissa's face drew in a frown of disappointment, and she did not shy away in conveying it to the other woman, albeit silently, and Septima could only glance at her with a frown.
Meanwhile, Harry's smile faltered and he studied her, his brows furrowing just a little. "You won't?" He asked, his voice carrying a tinge of disappointment. "I thought you were eager to witness the tournament to its fullest, not to mention the fact that it would help you out to get away from your practices over here, which, frankly, is all you've been doing for weeks now."
His words tugged at her resolve, almost making her reconsider her decision, but just one reminder of what she knew her decision meant was enough to keep her grounded.
She nodded, quickly pulling herself together. "I… I am," she stammered slightly. "But I've got to be fully prepared for my role here first. There will be more tournaments in the future, but if I don't get to my best here and somehow screw up right as my job here begins, that would be a massive loss that I won't be able to make up for so easily," she said, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling. "It's my first year as the Runes professor, and… I feel I still have a lot of preparation to do. There's so much more to cover, so much more I want to perfect before I feel… truly confident in my ability to teach."
Narcissa had kept listening on with a growing frown until now and by the time Septima finished her so-called explanation, her lips had set in a thin line. She gave her a thin smile though, her eyes holding the disappointment she felt.
"Ah," she said smoothly, folding her hands beneath her breasts. "Well, your dedication to your new profession is commendable, of course. Hogwarts does need some capable shoes to fill the void left behind by our dear outgoing Professor. I suppose France can wait, when you look at it like that."
The sarcasm, or the disappointment in Narcissa's voice was unmistakable to Septima whose lips merely pursed, but she did not retort. Meanwhile, Harry's gaze lingered on her, and she struggled to meet his eyes. A part of her was indignant about her behavior right now. After all, it was not as if she owed Harry or anyone else anything, so she should not be feeling this sense of disappointment in herself. However, the reality was something different, and she could not shake this feeling even if she tried.
As she gazed into Harry's eyes, she could tell that he knew. He knew something was up, and he was not fooled by her excuse. After all, he had told her numerous times that she was ready, having praised her time and again for both her thoughtfulness and talent as a rune mistress, and she had already proven herself more than capable when it came to teaching. The doubt she saw in his eyes gnawed at her but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
"Septima," Harry said, his voice a touch lower, almost coaxing. "You already know my thoughts on how prepared you are for this role. Your knowledge is flawless, and you have proven that you can teach both beginners and advanced level students in your subject. Trust me when I say that not only I, but everyone sees it. You know you don't need to worry about being 'ready.' You already are."
His words felt like a balm and a wound both at once, and the sheer fact that he was so sincere in his admission hit her squarely in the heart. She felt her flimsy excuse crumbling, something within her calling for her to give in, but she firmed herself and maintained her composure. She cast another glance at Narcissa who watched her with an expression that was unreadable but still patient, as though she were waiting for something… waiting for Septima to falter.
Even though a part of her wanted to falter as well, Septima refused to give them both the sense of satisfaction. She steeled herself, turning back to Harry and meeting his gaze with as much calm and confidence as she could muster.
"Thank you, Harry. You know how much I appreciate everything you've done to help me prepare for the lessons, and your words mean a lot to me. But… this is something I cannot take even one chance with. I need this time here. To settle into this role as much as I can. To fully find my footing. My former professor recommended me for this role. I can't let her down. There will be more opportunities to go abroad in the future, but if I screw this up here, it'd stay with me for life."
Harry regarded her for a long while, his expression shifting to one of contemplation. Septima could almost hear him thinking, and see the unspoken question in his eyes.
'What are you hiding?'His eyes seemed to ask, and she could not give him an answer.
His eyes flashed briefly but he said nothing more to coax her into joining them in France. All he did was nod in understanding with such gentleness in his eyes that it almost made her give up all pretenses and agree to whatever he asked of her.
"All right," he finally said, offering her a small, understanding smile. "I guess the plan's to be postponed then. I would've liked you there, Tima. But I understand."
"You'll have me cheering you on from here. Don't you worry about that," she replied, trying to lighten the situation with a chuckle, but all it did was make Harry smile politely at her and nod.
"Perhaps you will be ready next time," Narcissa murmured, her voice soft but with an edge to it. "There's no harm in waiting until one feels truly prepared, after all."
Septima's gaze shifted to the blonde who gave her a cool, serene smile that expertly hid the true feelings she carried. She swallowed slightly, her throat bobbing tightly as she nodded, forcing another smile. "Yes… perhaps the next time…"
There was a long moment of pause as they gazed at each other, and not for the first time, Septima felt as though she was standing on a precipice—teetering between relief that she had somehow gone through with it, and regret because deep down, she knew what she truly wanted but was not brave enough to go for it.
She was taken by surprise when she saw Harry move toward her, and for a moment, her breath caught. She gazed up at him, feeling his intense stare bore deep within, and wondered just what he was going to do.
Her apprehension was for naught though, as Harry merely reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. The gesture was simple, almost platonic, but as she gazed deep into his eyes, she could not help but feel that it carried with it a much deeper meaning. It almost made her reconsider. Almost.
"Take care until then, Tima," he said softly. "I'll be counting on you to cheer for me."
"And you as well," she managed, her voice barely steady.
Smiling, he stepped back and moved away to depart, and Septima found herself with Narcissa who turned to her with pursed lips.
"You look disappointed," Septima muttered loudly enough so that only the other woman could hear.
"Do I?" Narcissa asked with a hint of amusement in her voice, and as Septima gazed at her, she found a faint glint of something triumphant in the blonde's gaze. "You have time, Septima. No need to worry," Narcissa continued, her eyes shifting to Harry who turned around and gave her a cordial nod. "But I can't say how much."
Narcissa turned away and joined Harry. As Septima watched them vanish, she felt as though her heart was being pulled in two directions, torn between the craven refuge of her choice and the terrifying allure of the path that her heart truly desired for her—the one she had just turned away from.
-Break-
The atrium of the British Ministry of Magic was a display of splendid grandeur, with its golden fountain sparkling under the enchanted lighting and the buzz of witches and wizards that filled it. Garbed in their finest robes set aside for work, they either walked around or stood near the fountain, awaiting the man who would represent Wizarding Britain in this year's European Dueling Championship.
The floo flared and out stepped none other than Harry Peverell, and the mere sight of the wizard seemed to bring the entire gathering to a quiet. They watched, reverent and calculating in equal measure, as he stepped to the side and waited for a moment. Surprised whispers broke out when none other than Narcissa Black emerged from the same floo. The daughter of House Black was wearing elegant yet traditional robes appropriate for the daughter of a respectable pureblood house with a hint of makeup and her hair done up neatly, pinned back.
She turned to Harry and the man extended an arm. She gave him a polite smile, although it was anything but, and rested her hand on the back of his palm, allowing him to escort her.
The pair walked with confidence radiating off them, and everyone could see how the lord of the most revered house in the entirety of Britain strode forward, commanding both immense power and respect.
Meanwhile, the witch by his side carried herself with poise, her icy blue eyes scanning her surroundings with practiced indifference. Her presence elicited confused whispers amongst the crowd. For all they knew, she was betrothed to the heir of the Malfoys, so it naturally served as the newest piece of gossip. It did not take long for speculations to fill the air, with most naturally assuming that something spicy was up in the pureblood circles.
A delegation awaited the newcomers by the fountain, and Harry smiled as he approached them.
Richard Greengrass stood at the forefront, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation stepping forward to greet Harry with a firm yet respectful handshake.
"Lord Peverell, a pleasure as always," Richard said with a cordial smile practiced for the public setting. "Britain is both fortunate and honored to have someone of your caliber representing us in Europe."
"Thank you, Mr. Greengrass," Harry replied smoothly, shaking his hand. He kept his tone strictly formal, so as not to give away the familiarity he now shared with the man. "I'll do my best to ensure Britain's honor is upheld."
"I have no doubt that you would," Richard smiled, his gaze flicking to Narcissa. "And Miss Black, a pleasure to meet you again. Madam Pomfrey speaks highly of your aptitude and potential."
Narcissa inclined her head gracefully. "I'm grateful for the opportunity, Mr. Greengrass. Observing Lord Peverell in action would undoubtedly be an invaluable experience, and practicing my healer skills in such a high pressure environment is a challenge I'm very much looking forward to."
"Eager to see me get hurt, are you, Miss Black?" Harry asked with a hint of amusement in his tone, although his eyes bore into hers suggestively.
"You offend me, Lord Peverell. I don't think it'd be you who'll get even slightly hurt when you're in action. Quite the opposite, actually," Narcissa replied, and the innuendo was lost on everyone but Harry whose lips quirked even more.
Their little moment of mutual eye-fucking was cut off when a voice cut through the air.
"Lord Peverell!"
The crowd that had gathered around them parted at the call, and Harry's gaze shifted to the incoming figure of none other than Millicent Bagnold, the Minister for Magic. She walked toward them with her head held high, her robes embroidered with gold trim declaring her status as much as her brisk demeanor did. Her eyes were warm as they locked with his, but he was not born yesterday. He could've seen the practiced diplomacy of a quintessential politician in her smile from a mile away, let alone a few feet out.
"Minister Bagnold," Harry greeted with a small incline of his head, conveying his respect in a manner that also told the woman what his rank was in the British Wizarding Society. His tone was also respectful but similarly reserved.
"You honor Britain with your participation, Lord Peverell," Bagnold said as she reached out, clasping his hand with both of hers. Narcissa's brow shifted slightly, her eyes trained on the hands, and out of several thoughts that ran through her head, only one mattered in a… particular context. She was almost forty—shy of her parents' generation—and thus, a decade and a half older, which meant she was not worth their time in thatcontext. Had she been younger… there were avenues that could've been pursued, but it was perhaps a bit too late for her now. Still, it was not her place to decide, and she was sure Harry would have some thoughts of his own.
Harry indeed had thoughts, but only rudimentary. It was hard not to. Bagnold was, after all, an attractive witch even if she was older. It was a thought—one that needed more consideration.
Unbeknownst to any of those thoughts, Bagnold continued, "A Peverell representing us at the European Dueling Championships—why, it's a statement as much as it is a consequence of your victory in the qualifiers. I'm confident you'll bring the championship home."
"I appreciate your confidence, Minister," Harry gave the woman a polite smile. "I'll strive to meet those expectations."
"I have no doubt that you will," Bagnold nodded before she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice but making sure he could still hear. "A Peverell's presence alone carries weight, politically and otherwise. Britain stands tall on your shoulders, Lord Peverell. If there's anything you need—resources, support, favors—don't hesitate to reach out."
Harry's lips quirked slightly into a faint smile as he gazed at her, her ploy evident to him. She was either trying to align herself to him, or at least remain in his good books. It was a calculated move on her part to bolster her own influence—something Harry knew she would have none of in a few years.
He saw no reason to alienate her, and gave her a polite nod, giving nothing away. "I appreciate it, Minister. I'll keep that in mind."
Bagnold gave him a small smile, and with a final squeeze of his hand, she pulled back and promptly walked away. As she did so, however, both Harry and Narcissa did not miss how she put a purposeful sway to her hips. At least it seemed like it did. They exchanged a glance before turning back to Richard when he spoke.
"Do allow me to apologize once again, Lord Peverell, for our healer issue. It's—"
"Do not worry about it, Mr. Greengrass," Harry waved his hand dismissively, interrupting the man. "I'm sure the man must've had his reasons. I have full faith in Ms. Black's skills. I know she won't let me down."
Narcissa smiled politely, inclining her head in respect.
The crowd's murmurs had long since shifted when it was revealed that Narcissa was joining Harry as his healer, and there was nothing nefarious or spicy at play there.
"That is generous of you, truly," Richard smiled. "Now, I believe it is time we got moving. This way please."
Harry nodded and held his arm out for Narcissa who joined him once again as they walked behind Richard to the portkey room where international travel was handled.
A small crowd awaited them as they entered, and Harry's eyes widened slightly when they fell on a certain individual standing by the wall.
Amelia Bones met his surprised gaze with a mischievous one, boldly daring to wink at him from her spot. She had her auror uniform on, and her eyes did not miss Narcissa's hand on his arm. She raised an eyebrow, and with a smirk, she shifted her gaze.
"As the representative of Wizarding Britain, you will have a squadron of aurors who will accompany you, Lord Peverell," Richard informed.
Harry nodded. He had been told about this already, but he had not expected Amelia to be one of the aurors who would be accompanying him to France.
"I understand you have already made an acquaintance of Auror Bones during your qualifiers," Richard continued. "She has been assigned to be the one to coordinate with you throughout your stay outside the British soil."
Harry nodded absently, regarding her. "I'm sure Auror Bones is as capable in other matters as she is with her wand."
Amelia's eyes widened slightly at his remark, and it was now Harry's turn to smirk. He felt Narcissa shift beside him and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his little blonde vixen was cooking something in that devious brain of hers. He had truly corrupted the prim and proper Narcissa Black, hadn't he?
He stared at Amelia who remained surprised for a few seconds before a confident smirk overtook her features, and the expression stirred a certain part of his body.
"I assure you, Lord Peverell," the redhead began, stepping forward. "I'd be more than ready to make you sweat in our next encounter, should you desire, and should we get the opportunity to have a go at it."
Yeah, that did it. He could feel himself getting worked up, all right. Confident women did that to him, and right now, Amelia was blazing even though she was wearing some of the most unflattering clothes that existed out there. Beside him, Narcissa was no better, and the mere touch she had on his hand was enough to tell him everything. The thought did nothing to stifle his arousal, instead, it intensified it even more.
"Oh well, let's not get sidetracked here, shall we? Lord Peverell is supposed to compete in the European Championships. I'm pretty sure you and he can cross wands later, should you two desire."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Harry heard Narcissa mutter loudly enough so that only he could hear, and he had to concur. Amelia had come wand blazing here, and he had not expected this much forwardness from her. He did think that she would be more upfront about things between them after reading that letter he'd received from her, but this was another level.
"When are we supposed to leave, Mr. Greengrass?" Harry asked.
"Fifteen minutes until the portkey, Lord Peverell," Richard replied. Harry nodded, and with Narcissa, he made his way over to the aurors where Amelia also stood, her lips quirked up just a bit.
He took some time to introduce himself to the aurors who would be coming with them, learning a little about them as well. There were three in total, with Amelia being the only female auror among them. The other two—Charles and George—seemed nice enough, if somewhat stuck up and over-professional. Harry could ignore it easily. They were on their job, and they most certainly did not share the dynamic he shared with Amelia.
"I heard about that healer," she remarked. "Pathetic showing. Couldn't be more obvious if he tried."
Harry shrugged, and he was about to speak when the door suddenly banged open. He whirled around, his wand out in a blink and trained at the newcomers, the tip glowing a steady red. The sight of the three wizards did not make him relax in the slightest, and with a sneer on his face, Harry stared down the pale and poncy peacock that was Lucius Malfoy.
He buried the surge of disgust that erupted within him at the mere sight of the man and watched as his eyes zeroed in on Narcissa who stood by his side. The ponce's lips curled in a sneer as he observed them while the rest of the room observed them, and slowly, he came in with his little posse.
The cordial atmosphere in the room had shifted right at the arrival of Lucius and his two pals—Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange who gazed at Harry and Amelia menacingly, although there was something else in their eyes when their eyes were trained on the latter. It did not take a genius to figure out what they might be thinking, and Harry subtly shifted so that he was blocking their line of sight. The two idiots seemed to notice, and their eyes shifted back to him, their hatred for him evident.
"Lord Peverell," Lucius drawled, his voice as smooth as silk but carrying that unmistakable hint of venom. "It is an honor to make the acquaintance of Britain's champion. After you seemed rather… reluctant to grace us with your presence, it fell on me to come and have a little talk."
"I seem to recall receiving a letter from you—a huge lapse in decorum on your part, I must add," Harry said curtly, finding great amusement in seeing how his face twitched. "Matters of manners and decorum have been getting less forthcoming in our society. Surely the old pureblood houses are expected to do better."
People watched Harry in shock, or glee in the case of a pair of ladies, as he publicly dressed down Lucius Malfoy who stood there looking undecided for a few moments before another sneer curled his lips.
Narcissa could see him doing a lot of that today, and all she did was stand there in growing amusement. It felt cathartic to see Harry putting the idiot in place and in public at that.
"It is also rather… unbecoming of a pureblood scion such as you to show up here uninvited or approach me without preamble. I would've thought your father would've chastised you properly after your severe lapse in judgment," Harry continued, and everyone present saw it for what it was—a proud, pureblood lord putting the heir of a lower house in his place when said heir tried to overreach and skip appropriate steps in pureblood dealings.
Abraxas Malfoy was highly regarded in pureblood circles, having worked for decades, first alongside his father and then on his own, to bring House Malfoy the repute it commanded today in the British Wizarding Society, and in less than a minute, Harry Peverell had brought it all down, crumbling.
Lucius recognized as such, and it took all he had not to give in to his rage and pull his wand out. He forced himself to calm down, knowing that stooping to Peverell's level right now was not in his best interests. He was, as he accepted begrudgingly, from a house of lower standing, and thus, it was indeed his father's place to engage Peverell in a conversation first.
"I came here for a specific purpose, Lord Peverell," Lucius began in a deferential tone that Harry saw right through. "You have my apologies for my previous transgression. It was indeed a lapse in judgment on my part to skip decorum like that. I should have known better. Rest assured, I shall strive to conduct myself befitting my station from now on."
Harry gazed at Lucius with a knowing look on his face. He was pleasantly surprised to notice, however, that the Lestrange brothers had not broken their masks yet. Lucius, he could understand. The man was as slimy as they came, but those two were brutes, and politics was not their strongest suit.
"Oh, if it is a personal apology you came here for, then I guess I cannot fault you for it," Harry said with a condescending smile. "Good on your part, I say. I indeed accept your apology. If that is all?"
Lucius' jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he smoothed over the crack with a sardonic smile. Knowing he could not get one over Peverell right now, he turned his attention to Narcissa, shifting his tone to one of feigned concern. "Miss Black, you can imagine my surprise when I learned that you were accompanying Lord Peverell to France. Surely, as your betrothed, I should've been consulted?"
Now, Narcissa had two choices as she regarded Malfoy, and it was obvious what she chose to do. She smiled, sharply enough to cut through Malfoy's concerned one, vanishing it off his face. "Your concern is misplaced, Heir Malfoy. My mentor and my father have both approved this course of action. I'd go as far to say that your opinion on this matter is completely irrelevant."
Lucius' composure almost shattered here as he gawked at Narcissa. He could not believe someone as proper and respectful as she was dismissing him like this in public. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him and he quickly composed himself, although inside, he was seething at the daring the woman was showing.
"Irrelevant?" He asked with a forced smile. "Miss Black, I think you forget—"
"What I forget," Narcissa interjected swiftly in a cool tone, cutting him off, "is why you believe your preferences outweigh those of my healer's training or my father's wishes. I do not recall ever giving you the right to give me permission for anything I have to do. Still, if you have any concerns, I suggest you take them up with them directly."
Harry had been standing with Richard as they watched the proceedings, and as he gazed at the Lestrange brothers, he had to stifle a chuckle. Those two brutes were having fun at Lucius' expense, their amusement poorly concealed as they exchanged glances. It gave Harry some insight as to what their relationship was like. For all their togetherness as Death Eaters, they were not truly friends and thus, they took immense pleasure when the other was brought down.
Rabastan leaned over and whispered something to Rudolphus whose smirk widened as he nodded.
Meanwhile, Lucius' pale face flushed, perhaps in embarrassment or anger, or perhaps both, but he still forced a tight smile. Harry had to give it to him. He knew how to keep his wits about himself in public, even if barely.
"I did not know you had such a sharp tongue, Miss Black," he said tightly, and that was the only bit of anger he had shown until now.
Narcissa's eyes hardened at his tone, but before she escalated the matter even more—something Harry was certain she was itching to do—he decided to intervene.
"Everything okay over here?" He asked with a jovial smile. Turning to Narcissa, he nodded. "The portkey is ready, Miss Black. We'll be leaving shortly."
Lucius did not grace Harry with a glance, his hard gaze trained on Narcissa who looked like she could not care less about what the man was thinking.
"I'm sure people would like this new trait of yours a lot, Miss Black," Lucius continued with a hint of scorn in his voice, and Harry could read between the lines well enough to conclude that the man was insulting Narcissa's conduct and character as the daughter of a pureblood house. The asshole wanted her to remain demure and deferential to him, never questioning a word he said or raising her voice to him, no matter what. Well, life did not work that way, and his dear Cissa was not like that either.
With a barely audible sigh, Harry intervened once again, giving Narcissa a pointed look. It was not the time.
"Miss Black is indeed a capable hand, Heir Malfoy," he smiled. "And I'm sure she has many traits that would make people like her, her tongue included."
Narcissa almost rolled her eyes at that remark. Her lover was taking his share of pleasure from this encounter as well. Washing his hands in flowing water, as they said. She merely glanced at him with well-concealed amusement.
Meanwhile, Harry continued, eyeing Lucius with the same smile. "I believe that's all the time we have right now. If you're ready, Miss Black?"
"I am, my Lord Peverell," Narcissa replied.
Lucius' lips quirked slightly, but his eyes remained on Narcissa who stared back, unimpressed. His nostrils flared, but he inclined his head. "Of course, Lord Peverell. I wish you all the best in the tournament. May you bring glory to Wizarding Britain."
Harry nodded evenly, and together with Narcissa and Amelia, with the other two aurors falling in step with them at the front, he made his way over to the portkey—a simple silk rope that shone silver in the light.
He caught Narcissa's smirk as they came to a stop, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucius give them a final glare before he and his two thugs turned on their heels and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
Richard shook his head as he turned around, and Harry took the opportunity to lean closer to Narcissa and speak lowly, "You enjoyed that."
"Very much so," she admitted readily in a whisper, her tone laced with both mischief and satisfaction. "I've been wanting to humiliate that ponce for too long now. His dressing down will become the talk of the pureblood circles in no time now."
"Rarely has someone deserved it more than him," Amelia whispered from his other side, and both Harry and Narcissa glanced at the amused redhead. "Quite a show you put there, Black. Didn't think you had it in you."
"You barely know anything about me, Bones," Narcissa replied.
"Hmm… true," Amelia murmured as they reached out to grasp the portkey. "But I can take a guess or two."
Her eyes shifted from her to Harry and back again, and in that moment, all three somehow knew that they didn't share a secret anymore.
"Is that so?" Narcissa asked lightly, her gaze amused as it scanned the other woman's face. "I wonder what you're gonna do about those guesses then."
"I guess we'll see soon," Amelia replied instantly, and Harry watched how the two women gazed at each other meaningfully. He had no idea what silent communication they were having, but if there was something he was sure of, it was that his stay in France would be quite eventful, and not only because of the European Dueling Championship.
TBC.
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