The crisp winter air seeped through the tall windows of the classroom. It was December 5th, and the excitement buzzed quietly among the students—Christmas holidays were coming up.
Harry stood at the front with Professors Thorne, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore with expectant eyes. The higher years had already completed their assessments with flying colors; now it was time for the first years to prove themselves.
Harry raised his voice. "The test is simple. Each professor has set up a challenge. You will rotate through the stations one by one. The catch: no wand movements. Just your focus and intent."
A murmur rippled through the group, nervous but eager.
Professor Thorne stepped forward and gestured toward a sturdy training dummy. "At my station, you'll cast the Knockback Jinx—Flipendo—wandlessly. Aim at the dummy."
Near him, Professor McGonagall held a matchstick. "My station requires transfiguration. You will turn this matchstick into a needle. Without wand movement."
Professor Flitwick smiled, holding a delicate feather. "And here, you will levitate this feather. No wand flicks allowed."
Snape's sharp eyes scanned the students. "Expect no leniency. Precision is key."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "Remember, true magic flows from within, not just the wand."
One by one, names were called. The students moved from station to station. All of them passed with flying colors, some even managed to cast without incantation at all coupled with no wand movements.
As the last student cast their spells and exited, a satisfied silence settled over the room. Harry stepped forward and addressed the group.
"Great work today, everyone. We'll pick up again after the holidays. For the next two weeks no classes. Enjoy!"
The students filed out, their chatter fading down the corridor. Harry turned to the professors, his expression expectant.
Professor Thorne nodded approvingly. "I must say, Potter, these first years are hardly recognizable. Their control and wandless ability are remarkable for their age."
McGonagall's eyes sparkled with rare praise. "Indeed. Never before have I witnessed such progress this early. Their focus is impressive."
Snape's usual scowl softened into a grudging nod. "Unusual. They've grasped advanced techniques I've only seen in older students."
Flitwick chuckled, clearly pleased. "They float the feathers as if born to do it!"
Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Harry, your guidance has clearly made a profound impact on all of our students."
Harry bowed his head slightly. "Thank you all. Given their progress, I plan to conclude my classes within the next month. They've mastered the basics, and it wouldn't make sense to continue beyond this point."
Dumbledore's gaze was thoughtful. "And what of next year's arrangements?"
Harry considered briefly. "Next year, the classes will be shorter — only for the first few months, and only for the first years. The older students won't need to attend since they've already learned these fundamentals. This should be the only ongoing training required."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, his eyes twinkling. "A sensible plan, Harry. Your dedication is appreciated by all."
Harry nodded with a smile, "I am happy to help sir."
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The chill of a late December evening crept through the dimly lit corridors of the Manor. Narcissa Malfoy's footsteps echoed softly as she approached the polished door of an influential pureblood ally—a name whispered often in circles she hoped might provide refuge.
Her knock was hesitant but measured.
The door swung open just enough for a cold, assessing gaze to peer out. "Narcissa," the voice was sharp, edged with thinly veiled disdain. "To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"
She forced calm into her voice. "I need assistance. It's urgent."
A bitter laugh escaped the threshold. "Assistance? With what? A husband's whims? You've always known the risks."
Narcissa's heart clenched. "It's not as simple as that. I'm seeking a divorce."
The door shut abruptly before she could say more, the cold click reverberating like a verdict. She had been to over twenty different people who could have helped her, but no one was willing to. Alone once more in the shadowed hallway, Narcissa's thoughts churned. If not here, then where? Who could possibly understand—or dare to help? Was her wish to grant Draco a normal life futile? Will she never be able to protect her child?
Narcissa's footsteps slowed, the cold rejection lingering like a bitter aftertaste. She pulled her cloak tighter, her breath visible in the frosty air as she considered her dwindling options. Only one name surfaced in her mind—Sirius Black.
He was the only one who would listen to her, at the very least. Her resolve hardened. There was no time for pride. Draco's future was much more important. With quiet determination, she apparated to Grimmauld Place.
Narcissa landed on the front steps of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with a soft crack. The townhouse looked nothing like she remembered. The old, rotting door was now a deep mahogany with polished brass fixtures. Warmth spilled faintly through the curtained windows, hinting at life inside.
She hesitated for a moment before raising her hand to knock. The door opened not to Sirius, but to Kreacher. "Mistress Narcissa," Kreacher said, inclining his head slightly. "Master is in the drawing room. Shall I inform him of your arrival?"
"Yes… please," she said, still absorbing the fact that the house-elf sounded neither bitter nor begrudging. Kreacher returned within moments. "Master says you may enter."
Narcissa stepped inside. The oppressive gloom of her memory was gone, replaced with rich greens and golds. The air smelled of cinnamon and fresh wood polish—the kind of lived-in warmth that made a house feel like a home.
Sirius appeared at the far end of the hall. His hair was still wild, his expression curious but guarded. "Well, this is a surprise," he said, his voice carrying both amusement and the slightest edge. "I can't say you've ever graced this place willingly before."
"I haven't," she admitted, keeping her chin high. "But circumstances have… changed. I need to speak with you."
Sirius leaned against the doorway, his gaze never leaving her. "Forgive me if I'm not exactly jumping at the chance to play family confessional," he said, the sharp edge of old grudges undercutting his light tone.
"I wouldn't have come if there were any other way," she replied, her voice quieter now, almost brittle.
"Really? Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that," he said, tilting his head. "You've spent a lifetime avoiding me. And now you show up on my doorstep, unannounced, in December, of all times. Why?"
Her mouth opened, but the words tangled in her throat. The facade was cracking. Sirius caught the flicker in her expression—the shimmer of unshed tears, the tight line of her jaw—and something in his posture shifted. His arms uncrossed.
"Alright," he said finally, gesturing toward the room. "Come in. You can talk. No promises I'll agree to whatever this is, but... I'll hear you out."
Narcissa walked in and took a seat, her composure barely holding. For the first time in years, the unshakeable Narcissa Malfoy looked small. She spoke of her isolation, the rejection she'd faced from every pureblood family, of doors closed in her face. Sirius listened in silence.
Then her tone faltered. Her gaze dropped to the fire. "It… it wasn't just words, Sirius."
Something in her voice made him lean forward.
"He—he used the Cruciatus Curse," she whispered, her voice trembling. "On me. On Draco. Multiple times. Because we… we didn't listen."
The fire popped sharply. Sirius's jaw clenched. She swiped at her eyes quickly. "You think I'm weak? I used to think so too. But the first time he cast it on Draco… I couldn't even shield him. I couldn't stop it."
Sirius forced a deep breath. "On a Black," he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. "He cast an Unforgivable on a Black. On my blood." The words came out like a vow.
Her hands gripped the edge of her seat. "I want a divorce, Sirius. I want to get Draco away from him before it's too late. Lucius's ideals are starting to shift—darker, more erratic—and if Draco ever returns to him, I know he won't just… punish us. He'll torture us until we bend."
Sirius leaned forward, his expression shifting from barely restrained rage to something more calculating. "You're incredibly lucky you came to me today."
Narcissa frowned. "Why?"
"Because it's Saturday," Sirius said, as if that explained everything. "Which means he is home."
She blinked, momentarily thrown off. "He?"
"You'll see," Sirius said, standing and reaching for his cloak. He stepped closer and put an arm around her shoulders, a gesture that startled her. "You've endured a lot," he said quietly. "Too much. But that changes now. If I'm right, he will help you. No, he'll make sure you get out."
Still confused, Narcissa followed as he steered her toward the hearth. "And where exactly are we going?"
"Dursley Mansion," Sirius replied.
Her steps faltered. "Dursley? You mean… Vernon Dursley?" she asked, incredulous. "Do you truly think he'd help me?"
Sirius gave her a strange look, almost amused despite the gravity of the situation. "Vernon? I have no idea what he'd do. But him? I have no doubt."
"Who is him?" she pressed, a note of impatience in her voice.
"You'll see soon enough," Sirius said with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. Before she could protest further, Sirius tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fire. Emerald flames roared to life, and with a firm hand at her back, he guided her forward.
"Dursley Mansion," Sirius called, stepping in beside her. The two vanished in a whirl of green fire.
The emerald swirl of Floo fire spat Sirius and Narcissa out into a living room that was almost offensively warm and welcoming. Soft cream walls reflected the golden glow of the crackling fireplace. The scent of spiced cinnamon and cloves lingered.
Her eyes swept the space and froze. Harry Potter lay sprawled on a couch, a book balanced over his face, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Beside him, a younger girl with auburn hair sat cross-legged, tinkering with some tiny, intricate contraption. Across from them, a man and a woman sat together on a deep green loveseat, speaking animatedly.
The sight jarred Narcissa. Hogwarts students home on a Saturday? Her lips parted in quiet surprise.
Sirius didn't hesitate. "Oi! Look who decided to grace us with their presence!"
The conversation on the loveseat faltered. Petunia's head snapped up, her brows knitting in surprise. Vernon's eyes widened before flicking sharply to the elegant blonde standing beside Sirius. "Narcissa," Vernon said slowly. Petunia's gaze followed, cool but clearly taken aback.
Harry stirred at Sirius's voice, the book slipping from his face. The girl beside him—Abigail—immediately reached to catch it before it fell. She leaned closer to whisper something to her brother.
"Abby," Harry said evenly, "go to the Weasleys for a few hours. Tell Percy to get you some treats while you're there."
She frowned instantly. "Why? I'm not leaving you with—"
"Go," Harry said again, softer this time, with a small smile that held just enough warmth to cut through her protest.
She sighed dramatically. "Always missing the interesting bits," she muttered, and with a sharp, precise motion, vanished from the room in a clean Apparition.
Narcissa's eyes widened. A child barely in her teens Apparated silently. That level of control… it was something even seasoned duelists struggled to match.
Sirius gestured for Narcissa to sit. She obeyed, though her posture was stiff. He moved toward Petunia and Vernon, his voice low but firm as he explained what had happened, leaving the harsher details unsaid. Their faces darkened.
Across from them, Harry broke the brittle silence. A pot of steaming tea and a tray of delicate cakes appeared on the low table between them. He slid the tray toward Narcissa. "How can I help you, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked evenly, his voice polite but absent of warmth.
Her eyes darted to Sirius, who gave her the smallest of nods. And so she began. For thirty long minutes, she spoke of fear and cruelty. By the time she reached the part about the Cruciatus, her voice had cracked entirely. Petunia moved to her side, her arm around her shoulders, murmuring quiet reassurances as Narcissa broke down into quiet sobs.
Vernon's jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on Sirius. "You'd better explain all of this in detail," he growled.
But Harry sat perfectly still. No flinch. No flicker of emotion. Just a steady, unreadable gaze on Narcissa, like a man weighing every word and every silence.
Between shuddering breaths, she whispered, "Thank you… for what you've done at Hogwarts. For treating everyone equally. It's changed Draco… just a little. Enough to make me hope again."
Still, Harry said nothing. He only studied her until the quiet pressed against the walls.
Finally, he spoke. "So. The help you want… is with a divorce?"
She nodded quickly, eyes searching his face for any hint of his answer. He exhaled slowly, then asked something that made every person in the room stiffen. "If I were to help you, what could you offer in return?"
Narcissa froze. Pride—that old, familiar shield—reared up for a heartbeat before she forced it down. "Anything," she said, her voice trembling. "I'd even be your slave—"
"No." Harry's interruption was sharp, final. "No one is a slave to anyone."
His gaze held hers, unwavering. "If you get your divorce, would you be willing to use your talents—as a Potions Master, and as a businesswoman if you have that skill—for ventures and ideas I present to you?"
Her lips parted, surprise flickering through the tear-streaked exhaustion. "Yes… I would. But I won't get anything out of the divorce. Lucius will see to that. I'll be lucky if I can afford to eat." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Still… I can't stay in that hell any longer."
Harry sighed. "You can go home, Mrs. Black. Lucius will no longer harm you or Draco, in any way or form."
She frowned at him, confusion deepening.
"From today, you will find him changed completely, beyond your recognition."
Her head tilted, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Changed? Mr. Potter, if you're afraid to offend the Malfoy name, I can give you leverage over him. Enough to—"
Harry's eyes closed briefly in something that looked almost like weariness. Then he turned to the others. "I'd like a private word with her."
Vernon's eyes narrowed, reading the undercurrent instantly. He rose without a word, ushering Petunia and Sirius out, closing the door behind them.
The moment the latch clicked, Harry snapped his fingers. The air shimmered faintly—the silencing ward sealing the room off from the rest of the world.
He turned back to Narcissa. "I am not afraid of the Malfoy name in any way. I was telling you the truth. The alternative is… different."
He leaned forward, voice calm but unyielding. "I could get you divorced from Lucius. Easier than breathing. And I could ensure that all his wealth, all his influence, all of it, shifts to you. But understand—without them, Lucius Malfoy becomes worthless to me. Which means…" His tone didn't change, but the weight of the words made the air feel colder. "…I will kill him."
Narcissa's face went pale, the reality of his words settling in.
"I didn't want to go through that option," Harry continued evenly, "because it would leave Draco without a father. And I would erase your memory of this conversation so, for you and Draco, it would be as if Lucius simply disappeared after the divorce. Nowhere to be found." His gaze sharpened. "But make no mistake—it would still break something in him."
He sat back slightly. "That's why I told you to go back. Because from today, Lucius will be… changed. Completely. Beyond your recognition. He will sell Malfoy Manor, and you will move to a new home. No harm will come to you or Draco."
Narcissa's blood ran cold. The way he spoke—casually describing ending a man's life, or worse, altering him—made her stomach twist. She swallowed. "How… how would you make sure he changes?"
Harry's eyes didn't waver. "I will."
She shook her head slightly. "That's not an answer—"
"It's the only one you'll get," he said, cutting her off. "Trust me… or don't. If you find it hard to, take Sirius with you tonight. He can keep you safe."
Harry's gaze softened just a fraction. "And, Mrs. Black... should Lucius not change in the way I've told you he will, you may come here. Any day. Any hour. You will be safe under this roof. No matter what."
Something in his tone told her that this was not an offer—it was an oath.
She rose slowly, smoothing the front of her robes, though her fingers trembled. Sirius reappeared at the door when Harry called for him, his eyes flicking between them in suspicion. Narcissa offered no explanation. She wasn't sure she could.
As the other's stepped back into the room, Harry's last words echoed in her mind: Lucius will be changed.
The simplicity of the statement unsettled her more than any threat could have. It hadn't been bluster. It hadn't even been anger. It had been certainty.
Harry got up from his seat and turned to her. "Stay here tonight—at least for dinner. Go back with Sirius afterward," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It'll help you settle down. You're wound too tight right now."
"I'm fine," Narcissa began, but the slight shake in her voice betrayed her.
"You're not fine," Harry cut in gently. "But you will be. Lucius will never even raise his voice at you again, Mrs. Black. Stop worrying about it."
Her lips pressed together, torn between disbelief and wanting—desperately—to believe him.
Harry offered her the faintest smile, then glanced toward the sitting room. "I should check on Abby." Without another word, he disapparated right in front of her—silent as shadow.
Narcissa blinked, unsettled by how effortless it was.
She filled in the others about what Harry had told her—though carefully omitting the part about Lucius's potential death. She kept it simple: Harry had assured her Lucius would change, and there was no need for a divorce.
Petunia's brow furrowed. "That's… ambitious."
Sirius snorted. "Ambitious? Try impossible."
Vernon, however, leaned back in his chair and nodded once, as if the matter was already settled. "If Harry says it'll be done, it will be done."
Petunia and Sirius turned to stare at him, both wearing the same incredulous look. "You can't seriously believe that," Sirius said, incredulity dripping from his voice. "We're talking about Lucius Malfoy."
Vernon only repeated, slower this time, "If Harry says it'll be done… it will be done."
Petunia exchanged a glance with Sirius that clearly said we'll see. Sirius, for his part, looked more than ready to take Narcissa back personally. Not because he trusted Harry's words—but because the thought of Lucius trying anything tonight made him almost hope the man would.
Narcissa stayed. She told herself it was only because Sirius insisted, but the truth was she wasn't ready to step back into Malfoy Manor—not until she knew what Harry meant.
She sat quietly as Vernon and Petunia moved about, her mind running in circles. What could Harry possibly do to make Lucius change? She had seen her husband bend for no one, not even the Dark Lord himself. Power, fear, influence—Lucius wielded them, not submitted to them.
And yet, Harry's certainty still lingered in her ears, heavy as iron. From today, he will be changed.
There had been no bluff in his eyes. No empty promise. Just quiet inevitability.
For the first time in years, Narcissa found herself afraid—not of Lucius,but of what Harry Potter might truly be capable of.
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The emerald flames spat them out into the grand drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Sirius stepped forward first, wand already in hand, his eyes sweeping for any sign of danger.
Lucius sat on the couch, a half-empty glass of whiskey in hand. He looked up—not at Sirius, as though the man were no more than an inconvenient shadow—but at Narcissa.
"Cissa," he breathed, rising. For a heartbeat his voice carried the familiar cool authority, but then it softened in a way that made her blink. He crossed the room in quick, almost restless steps, and took her hands before she could react. "I… owe you and Draco an apology. For a great many things." The words felt strange in his mouth, as though he wasn't sure how to shape them. "I've been… blind. Arrogant. Cruel. I can't undo it, but I can change. I will change."
Narcissa's lips parted, but her voice didn't come.
Lucius hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder and reached for a leather folder on the side table. "I've already made a start." He handed her the top page with a faint flicker of pride that was more familiar. "The manor—sold. Today."
Her eyes widened, but before she could speak, he continued, his tone quickening with something almost like enthusiasm. "I was waiting for you to come back so we could choose our new home together. Somewhere… different. Better."
He spread documents across the table—photos and listings of country estates, coastal manors, and cottages in quiet villages. "Here, this one by the cliffs—Draco would love it. Or this in Wiltshire, smaller, more private. Good for keeping the riff—" He stopped abruptly, lips pressing thin before forcing a smoother tone. "For keeping certain distractions away. Somewhere peaceful."
Sirius stepped closer, still holding his wand low but ready, his eyes darting between Lucius and Narcissa.
Narcissa's fingers drifted over one parchment, her expression unreadable. The sudden change in him was dizzying, but the old Lucius was still there in fragments—the tilt of his chin when he spoke, the guarded pride in his voice, the sharp glint in his eyes before he caught himself.
Lucius's gaze flicked to Sirius. "You… can stay the night, if you wish." The offer was stiff, as if dragged from him, but he didn't retract it. "Perhaps you know of a place worth considering for the family?"
Sirius said nothing, but his wand hand didn't lower.
Lucius hesitated over one parchment before sliding it toward her.
"This one... smaller than the manor, of course. Only two floors—three, if you count the ground—and eight bedrooms."
Sirius snorted. "Only eight."
Lucius shot him a sharp look before turning back to Narcissa. "It's… well, not about the size. The rooms are bright, the garden is well-kept, and the grounds are… manageable. It feels warmer. More… livable." He seemed to wrestle with the word. "It's not designed to impress the entire county—just to… suit us."
He reached for another listing and then stopped, almost embarrassed. "I've also looked at one near the coast. Still a proper home—stone façade, spacious rooms—but the focus is on light, air, and privacy."
Narcissa's gaze softened slightly. He was trying—awkwardly, haltingly—but trying nonetheless. And for Lucius, choosing warmth over prestige was no small step.
For her, the dissonance was unsettling. This was her husband, and yet not. His warmth was real, his attempts genuine, but he spoke like a man walking on new ground, careful with each step, fighting to stop old habits from creeping back in.
She needed to be certain.
"I want a kiss," she said suddenly.
Lucius blinked, and there—just for a moment—was the flicker of surprise, almost discomfort. But he recovered quickly, setting the parchment aside and cupping her face. His hands were cool, his touch deliberate but awkward, as if unsure of the exact shape of the gesture. The kiss was soft, even hesitant, before he pulled back.
Her pulse quickened. He hadn't touched her like this since before Draco's birth.
Sirius's jaw tightened, the chill crawling along his spine.
Narcissa sat back slightly, the unease settling deeper in her bones. Lucius was changing—there was no denying it—but the man before her was still a work in progress. There were cracks in this newfound gentleness, brief flashes of the old arrogance and superiority, each one smoothed over a moment too late.
And in the quiet that followed, both she and Sirius heard Harry's voice in their minds like a whisper in the dark.
From today, you will find him to be changed completely, beyond your recognition.