Darker Days

"So you say that you just… found him?"

Harry stared at the man sitting across from him. They were both inside of his living room, the man in the same chair that Narcissa had used just days earlier. With his pail, slightly-too-long face and greasy hair, he made for a much less enticing sight. His green Auror robes he wore were styled for easy movement. When the ministry fell, red had been done away with as the color of choice, replaced by the kind of forest-green any Slytherin could be proud of.

The longer Harry went without speaking, the more the man fidgeted. He started adding to his notes, despite no more answers having been given, just so he could look busy.

"Yes," Harry said.

The man — Dolohov — looked up grudgingly. "You stumbled across Severus Snape, only one day after writing to me saying you had no idea about his whereabouts?"

Again, Harry didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Are you doubting me, Auror Dolohov?"

"No, not at all— I mean it's just that— Well… your animosity was well known."

"Animosity does not kill men, Auror. Wands do."

Harry raised his wand between him. At the sight of its point, Dolohov dropped his notes. One of his hands reached for his own wand, while his other arm shielded his chest, as if such a thing could fend off a curse.

When nothing happened, Dolohov dropped the arm, staring at Harry. Harry raised one eyebrow.

"Well?" he said. "Are you going to check my wand?"

Clearing his throat, Dolohov attempted to save face by standing up as quickly as possible. He paced over to Harry, hesitating for a moment. Finally, he reached out and took Harry's wand from the extended hand.

Harry didn't resist. Dolohov casted the proper incantation, drawing out the traces of every recent spell the wand had used.

It began with simple levitation and cleaning charms, the sort one might use across a morning of chores. Next came a single piercing curse, the spell that bored through the dead Auror's head. It was followed by a succession of illusions, all easily-dispelled parlor tricks only good for conjuring a mimicry of a person or thing. Dolohov frowned, continuing his spell, drawing out more and more, further back in time. The more spells appeared, the deeper his frown became.

Finally, after hundreds of spells had been shown, the Auror cut off the Prior Incantato, looking utterly bemused. Harry's fingers gently parsed his wand from the man's fingers, returning it to his own grip.

"What was Severus Snape's cause of death?" Harry asked.

"The killing curse," Dolohov muttered.

"How interesting. Now, do you still insist on this pointless questioning?"

Harry stood up, slipping past Dolohov to his fireplace. He popped open the jar of Floo powder, ready to send the man on his way. Instead, Dolohov continued to stand in the center of the room, frowning.

"But that's not possible!" he said. "That cannot be your wand's history!"

Harry sighed. "And why might that be, o' deductive Auror?"

"There wasn't a single dark spell! You fought in that time! So how do you expect me to believe—"

Dolohov froze. His eyes drifted slowly to his cheek, where a thin bleeding cut had formed. Harry's wand was raised again.

"Do you know what spell I just used?" Harry asked. "No, I don't imagine you do. It's a simple one, really. A minor severing charm known to anyone who sews. Most pureblood witches can cast it. It's just perfect for slicing fabric or threads, while its simple nature ensures it's easy to perform. With a bit of practice, it can even be cast silently. Do you know what else it cuts, Auror?"

Dolohov didn't answer, but he did mouth something that looked suspiciously like 'Me?'

"It cuts people, Auror. Just a little bit of their skin, no more than a sliver. Nothing life-threatening… until someone is hit with it over, and over, and over again, on every part of their body."

Dolohov touched his cheek, which had already stopped bleeding. Harry didn't need Legilimency to see that he was imagining that same stinging sensation, hundreds of times over, on every portion of him.

Harry sighed, stowing his wand and breaking eye-contact, allowing the Auror to relax slightly.

"I do not cast dark curses because I do not like them. They're too easy. You don't have to think about anything, simply point, and hate, and watch your enemy writhe. But you can kill a wizard with a schoolyard jinx, and break a grown man with a spell meant for thread, if you use them well. Cruelty is like anything else in life. It should be earned, Auror."

The two of them stood in silence after this declaration. Dolohov seemed frightened about staying, but equally frightened about trying to leave. 

"You may go," Harry said.

The man bolted. Harry stepped aside, letting him plunge his hand into the open jar of Floo powder.

"If you have any further suspicions, you're welcome to return anytime."

Dolohov nodded, barely pausing before he sprinkled the powder and called out, "Auror's office." After saying a very standard-procedure compliment about Harry's willingness to cooperate, he disappeared, leaving Harry alone in his living room again.

It felt very quiet in the wake of the questioning. Harry rubbed his face, collecting his thoughts, before meandering back toward his couch. 

He was looking forward to having a moment to relax, so he felt it a great shame when the flames turned back to green just moments after Dolohov's departure.

"Harry?" Narcissa's head asked. "Is now a good time?"

Her voice sounded timid. Harry thought her eyes looked a bit puffy, though it was hard to tell. Narcissa Malfoy was exceptionally skilled when it came to keeping up appearances, especially if that included masking her true thoughts.

"Dolohov just left. This is as good a time as any," Harry admitted.

He walked back to the fireplace instead of settling on the couch like he planned. Narcissa did not step all the way out, but rather left just her head sticking through.

"How are you doing?" Narcissa asked first.

"Quite well," Harry said. "This was hardly something to upset me."

"Oh stop!" Narcissa urged. "I know that the two of you didn't always see eye-to-eye, but you never would've wished something like this onto Severus."

Harry accepted her words in silence. Even if they were true — which he was not sure that they were — he certainly wouldn't mourn such a thing, either.

"Lucius is devastated," Narcissa admitted. "He hasn't even tried to hide it. He and Severus went through school together, you know. Even in the war we never lost a member of the Inner Circle, but somehow now, after everything was supposed to be over…!"

Narcissa sniffed. Harry allowed her a moment to collect herself, watching in stoney silence.

"It's… This will sound silly now but, you really didn't do it, right?"

Harry couldn't help but cock his head. "I thought I 'would've never wished something like this onto Severus?'"

Narcissa lowered her voice, although it lost nothing in terms of emotion.

"I know I'm contradicting myself. But I just have to know, now, if you did it?"

"And what will you do if I say yes?"

Narcissa paused. Not for long, but as a woman who seemed to have every answer always at the tip of her tongue, even a minor hesitation became noticeable.

"You wouldn't be able to get away with it alone," she said finally.

Even Harry himself couldn't decipher if that was a warning, or an offer. He sensed the conversation growing heavy. Perhaps it was Narcissa's voice, or the way she was looking at him…

"I didn't do it," he said firmly. "You know me. If I did do it, nobody would ever have found a body… least of all because I provided it myself."

"I suppose so." Narcissa sighed. "You said that the Aurors were there. Did they give you problems?"

Harry shrugged. "Dolohov serves our master to the best of his abilities."

"That can't have been easy. If there's any way that I can help…"

Her soft tone, as well as the position of her head — below him, poking out of his fireplace — gave him a sudden and somewhat crazy idea.

"You know, perhaps there is something," he said.

Narcissa looked down. She watched as Harry's robes bulged between his legs, pushing out slowly. When she looked back up, Harry saw a mischievous spark in her eyes of the kind you might expect to see on a much younger woman.

"I suppose I've got enough of me in the room," she said eagerly.

Harry pulled his robes apart, opening them down the middle, revealing his pants that had been hidden beneath. Narcissa's disembodied head bounced as she repositioned. Leaning forward, she used her tongue to push his button through its flap, loosening his trousers, before taking the zipper in her teeth. Her head slid down, opening the flap. When his boxers poked out, protruding because of the appendage straining inside, Narcissa bit their flap the same as his zipper, pulling them all the way down beneath his balls.

Harry could've helped her, but she seemed to be enjoying the challenge. There was a grin on her face as his cock stood at attention in front of her. 

"Well?" Harry said. "Are you willing to help me, or not?"

"Willing… and eager," Narcissa admitted, before spreading her lips and pushing them around his length.

Harry grunted, looking up toward the ceiling while he felt her tongue lap at him inside her mouth. She pushed about a third of the way down his cock, as much as would fit inside of her mouth, before beginning to bob, sucking at him.

The wet popping sounds of her lips mixed with the crackle of the fireplace. Harry kept his hands at his sides, content to watch Narcissa puzzle out the intricacies of this new, experimental act.

She began to alternate, going back and forth between wrapping her lips around him and hovering beside his cock, giving long hearty licks. She did not look up into his eyes, as she usually did during oral sex, but instead stared just at his cock, puzzling out the best ways she could give it pleasure.

Her head dropped down to his balls momentarily, planting kisses to ensure they didn't feel forgotten, before she trailed her tongue directly up the entirety of his shaft. Harry wondered idly what anyone on the other side would be able to see, with her chest falling and rising seemingly (to them) without any reason.

Narcissa began turning her head sideways as she worked, as far as a forty-five degree angle, while she planted her kisses and licks on him. Harry's cock was already glistening as the green light from the flames reflected off the spit and lipstick Narcissa dutifully coated him with. She hadn't had time to tie up her hair, and also lacked the hands to do it, causing pale strands to get stuck in the corner of her mouth, scraping Harry with a coarser sensation. Such messiness was so unlike her that it made Harry groan out loud again, taking a stuttery breath.

Sensing that she had him close, Narcissa forgot herself with excitement. She jerked her head back up to the top of his cock, then shoved it down. It was a motion she had done tens of times in the past, but there had been an awfully good reason she avoided it so far today. While she might have lacked a gag reflex, allowing her to use her throat to fit Harry's excessive inches, that throat was not in the room with them right now.

Floo travel was one of the most disorienting sensations the wizarding world had to offer. Often, Harry himself likened it to being flushed down a massive drain— one which was spinning incredibly quick in ways bodies weren't meant to move. The first time Harry tried it he'd fallen flat on his face. He'd fallen the second time too, as well as the third. It took specific practice for him to be able to acclimate, and even now it wasn't a feeling he ever enjoyed.

But now all of that spinning — and all of that twisting and jerking that came with it — was focused down onto one specific, and very sensitive, part of his body.

As Narcissa crammed him inside of her, the front half of his dick made the trip all the way to the throat it was being shoved into, far across the country in Malfoy Manor. Harry's neck and shoulders tensed, while he shouted a noise partway between fear and pleasure.

It was almost like a splinching accident in the most unfortunate place a wizard could face, except that there was no pain, and his dick was still attached, only being subjected to sensations he'd never be able to replicate any other way.

For the first (and likely only) time in his life, Harry discovered what it was like to orgasm across a span of miles.

As he came Narcissa appeared to realize what she had done, pulling her head back and allowing him to slide cleanly back into her mouth. As he was cumming when he was on the other end, and was still cumming when he arrived back on this end, a small part of Harry's brain couldn't help but wonder of he had just spread a bit of his own jizz across the liminal space through which all witches and wizards traveled. Or would it have just splattered out of some stranger's fireplace?

He forgot such useless thoughts the moment Narcissa finally released him. The last part of his orgasm had been inside of her mouth, and now, when she looked up at him, Harry could see his seed, pooled below her lower lip.

"I should be going now," Narcissa said, opening her mouth unnecessarily wide as she spoke, just to make sure Harry caught sight of what he had left her with. "As always… it's been a pleasure to be at your service."

She tilted her head back, allowing his cum to flow naturally down her throat, before winking and pulling her head back through the flames. Harry was left a tad dazed. 

In the end, after that, he chose to pace back across the room, dropping onto the couch and laying his head back, desperate for a nap.

O-O-O

Fleur had a new hobby: eavesdropping.

It wasn't as if she could practice any of her old hobbies. It was a bit hard to paint or read without brushes or books. For all the freedom she was allowed in her jailor's home, it was frightfully bare, leaving little to amuse herself with.

That was fine. Fleur preferred it, even, or at least she told herself as much. To be comfortable felt like giving in. Boredom, at least, kept her mind sharp.

It also made her pay specific attention to her surroundings. She had not seen that frightening redhead that inhabited the home with them since the night before, which she was fine with. So when she heard voices coming from the living room, she just chose to stand outside and listen.

Through this, she learned some very important things. Severus Snape was dead. Fleur remembered the dour spy from Order meetings, and although she couldn't say he was pleasant, his death did make her wonder if perhaps his allegiances had truly been with them the whole time. She also learned that her captor was suspected of causing his death. And finally, most importantly, the conversations reminded her why the name Harry Potter felt so familiar.

Fleur would never say she was among the Order's most important members. She joined through her late fiance, Bill Weasley, may his soul rest in peace. While good in a duel, she didn't have enough time to win their complete trust before everything began falling apart. But even members like her received the same stern warning before undertaking their first mission.

If you encounter Death Eaters, fight only if necessary. But if the Death Eaters had any of three people with them, you were to flee immediately, whatever it took. The first of the three was Lord Voldemort himself, and he needed no explanation. The second was Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's most devoted, insane, and ruthless follower, who tortured multiple Order members into a state worse than death. And the third was Harry Potter.

In contrast to the other two, little was known about him. He was Voldemort's direct disciple taught personally by the Dark Lord, more than a mere servant. He had shocking green eyes and moved with a limp. The instructions had been simple: if you met him, trust nothing, least of all your eyes.

Fleur remembered all of this, but as she stood in front of the couch he slept on, she had difficulty seeing the fearsome Dark Wizard she had heard about. It did not help that he was younger than her, or that he slept with his mouth open, or that she was pretty sure she had just listened to him receive oral sex from a disembodied head.

"Can I help you?"

Harry's eyes did not open as he asked the question. Fleur wondered if that were really the case, or merely another illusion.

"You are Harry Potter," she said.

"I told you that myself, when we first met. You spat on me for it."

"Non," Fleur said, "I tried to spit on you. I missed. And though you said that you were Harry Potter… I have only recently recalled what that meant."

His eyes cracked open. "And what does it mean?"

"That you are dangerous, and important, and that to kill you would be doing the world a great favor."

Harry sighed and stood up. For a moment Fleur wondered if he would strike her, be it with a hand or a spell, but he walked straight past instead.

"It's late now," he said. "We should eat."

"Wait."

Almost to Fleur's surprise, he listened. In the doorway, he turned to look back at her, expectant.

"I was there," Fleur said. "At the final battle, when Dumbledore fell, that is when I was captured. All of Voldemort's forces were there… All of them except for you."

She remembered it clearly now. The entire battle, the Order had been looking over their shoulders, awaiting when Harry Potter might arrive. But it never happened. Not that the small blessing changed their fates that day.

"You're right," he said. "I wasn't there. But do not mistake that for inactivity. I did more that day for my master's cause than any other Death Eater." He paused, before adding, "Do not look for sympathetic qualities in me. You will only be disappointed."

He left the room, walking sharply. With nothing else to do, Fleur followed.

At the end of a narrow hallway they entered what must be the dining room. Thus far, meals had appeared for her in the room she had picked, delivered by a house elf while she wasn't looking. But it appeared there were proper meals sometimes, even in a house like this.

By the time they got there the redhead was already at the table, sitting with a dinner of beef and vegetables on her plate. Harry sat down opposite her, looking back at Fleur.

"This is Susan Bones," he said. "Susan, this is Fleur."

The introduction was done tonelessly, as a complete formality. Fleur chose one of two empty seats and sat.

As soon as she sat down a plate appeared in front of her, filling with food moments later. Even by house elf standards, it was done incredibly efficiently. Fleur lifted her fork and knife without taking her eyes off the other two, glancing between them, before slowly cutting the meat on her plate.

The atmosphere was stiff enough that Fleur felt her knife would've cut it as easily as the meat. No one spoke. The sounds of silverware clinking against plates seemed suddenly to be incredibly loud.

"How was your day?" Harry asked after more than five minutes of borderline-untolerable quiet.

Fleur nearly gaped, but it was not her that the incongruously inane question was directed toward. Susan chewed her bite, swallowing slowly, before barking a cold laugh.

"You want to know how my day was?"

Harry waited in silence.

"Well, it was pretty good. You know, other than the fact that I lead a soulless existence as a pet to some damn lunatic."

She stood up, planting her hands on the table and leaning forward, her eyes glistening. "You think you get the right to ask me that? You think that you can just sit there, silently, judging me even now? You of all people! So yes, it was a good day, other than how I wished a dozen times that you would drop dead, and yet here you sit. So if that's too much to ask, then I at least wish you would FINALLY GROW A PAIR AND OFF ME LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE AGES AGO!"

"Could you pass the salt?" Harry asked.

Susan sat down, picking up the shaker and handing it over, where Harry took it from her hand, pouring a bit onto his vegetables.

"Thank you."

Susan leaned back in her seat, picking up her utensils and returning to her meal. They both continued eating as if nothing happened. Fleur felt a desperate need for a fourth person in the room, just so she could know for certain that they were the insane ones here, not her.

Somehow, her wish was answered. A knock eched down the hall from the front door, the fist striking quickly and relentlessly.

Harry rose. "I'll get that."

He left the room. Fleur strained her ears, picking up the sound of a door opening and her jailor asking, "Yes?"

"Trouble, my Lord!" cried a voice. "Big trouble! Men and women in cloaks appeared, and they're causing havoc all over the village! Please, Lord, we need your help!"

"Lord?" Fleur mumbled.

"Don't you know?" Susan said. "It's how the Death Eaters have divided the country. Wizarding settlements all belong to one pureblood or another."

"And what village is this?" Fleur asked quietly.

"Godric's Hollow."

As they talked, the sound of shuffling echoed down the hall. Now they heard Harry's voice, speaking in its usual monotone. "Let's go."

"Thank you, Lord! Oh thank you so much!"

The door shut.

Fleur was left alone again with Susan. She focused on her food, much as Susan was doing, and did her best not to feel stifled.

She had only taken two bites when the fireplace roared in the other room. Somewhere down the hall, the boarhound that Harry brought home began to bark. Heavy footsteps trampled closer.

Fleur was just slipping the hand gripping her steak knife under the table when he appeared in the entryway.

Peter Pettigrew.

O-O-O

Harry watched the man hurry ahead of him, taking quick steps before pausing so that Harry could catch up. He looked only slightly older than Harry, somewhere in his early twenties with mousy hair and Muggle clothing. Godric's Hollow was a mixed village, housing both magicals and muggles, making such secrecy necessary.

Though that didn't seem nearly as important with armed wizards running amok through its streets.

Down the hill ahead of them, across the slick grass, Harry could see flashes of spellfire between the homes. There was also traditional fire. At least one house was up in flames, lighting the dark sky.

"We didn't know what to do!" said the boy leading him. "I just had to come to you. I knew you'd help, Lord! You always help!"

"Did the attackers say what they want?" Harry asked.

"Just to cause pain!" spat the boy. "They used us like playthings! My sister… My poor, poor sister…"

He sobbed, lost in some memory, while Harry hobbled forward. Reaching the base of the hill, Harry caught his first glimpses of the attackers themselves. It was just like the boy told him. They wore long cloaks and masks, the traditional garb of Death Eaters on a raid, casting spells at anything they laid eyes on. In a couple more steps, Harry would be able to reach them with curses or words, whichever he chose.

Faster than a blink, he spun toward the boy who led him here.

His robes fanned out, while his movements were just a blur. Yet the boy was equally quick, turning sideways himself, his own hand shooting up to press a wand to Harry's throat exactly as Harry's was pressed to his.

Slowly, a glamor faded away, revealing handsome features at least two decades older than his initial appearance, complete with messy hair that swayed in the wind.

"Say, Harry," said Barty Crouch Jr. "We can do this peacefully, can't we?"

Harry kept his wand raised.