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"Coming," Harry called back to Rosmerta, stretching as he stood from his seat by the fire. The embers cast a warm glow across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the dangerous glint in his green eyes. "Can't leave a beauty waiting, can I?"
Rosmerta leaned against the bar, her curves accentuated by the fitted bodice of her dress. At twenty-three, she carried herself with a confidence that belied her relatively short time running the Three Broomsticks. Her blonde hair tumbled in loose curls past her shoulders, and her blue eyes danced with mischief as she watched him approach.
"Beauty, is it?" she teased, uncorking a bottle of aged firewhiskey. "You've got quite the silver tongue for a man who just killed the most feared werewolf in Britain."
Harry moved behind the bar, his body close enough to hers that she could feel the heat radiating from him. "The silver tongue's just one of my many talents," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear as he reached past her for two crystal glasses.
Rosmerta's breath caught, a flush creeping up her neck. "Is that so? And what other talents are you hiding, Mr. New Defender?"
He poured amber liquid into both glasses. "I could tell you..." His fingers brushed hers as he handed her a glass. "Or I could show you."
Rosmerta took a sip, her eyes never leaving his over the rim. The firewhiskey burned a path down her throat, warming her from the inside out—though she suspected the heat flooding her body had more to do with the man standing before her than the alcohol.
"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully, setting down her glass. "I've always preferred demonstrations over explanations."
Harry's lips curved into a slow, charming smile. He took his time drinking, savoring both the liquor and the way her eyes tracked the movement of his throat as he swallowed. When he set his glass down, he stepped closer, eliminating what little space remained between them.
"Lock the door," he suggested, voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Rosmerta arched an eyebrow. "Already did," she replied, a smirk playing at her lips. "I wasn't planning on letting you leave without giving me that... private audience you promised."
Harry chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. His hand came up to brush a stray curl from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek. "Confident. I like that."
"Running a pub teaches you to go after what you want," she said, leaning into his touch. "And right now, I want the man who's got all of Hogsmeade talking."
In one move, Harry closed the distance between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, exploratory—his lips soft but insistent against hers. Rosmerta melted into him, her hands finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
When her lips parted on a sigh, Harry deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a sensual dance that made her knees weak. He tasted of firewhiskey and danger, intoxicating in a way no drink could match. One of his hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to grant him better access, while the other slid down to the small of her back, pressing her body flush against his.
"Mmm," Rosmerta moaned against his mouth, feeling the hard planes of his chest against her soft curves. Her hands wandered up, fingers threading through his unruly dark hair, tugging gently.
Harry broke the kiss to trail his lips along her jawline, down the column of her throat. "You've been driving me mad all day," he confessed, his voice rough with desire. "Watching you work, smiling at customers, bending over to grab bottles..." His teeth grazed her pulse point, drawing a gasp from her lips.
"You weren't exactly subtle yourself," she retorted breathlessly, tilting her head to give him better access. "Coming in here, playing the mysterious hero..." Her words dissolved into a moan as he found a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear.
Harry's hands moved to her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the bar counter. He stepped between her parted thighs, his arousal evident against the fabric of his trousers. "Tell me what you want, Rosmerta," he murmured, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to hers.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. "I want you to stop teasing and start showing me these talents of yours."
A wicked grin spread across his face. "As the lady wishes." His hands slid up her thighs, bunching her skirt around her waist. His eyes darkened at the discovery of lace knickers beneath. "Pretty," he commented, tracing the edge with his fingertips.
Rosmerta shivered at his touch, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. "I didn't wear them for the customers, if that's what you're wondering."
"Good," Harry growled possessively, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss while his fingers continued their teasing exploration. He traced the damp fabric covering her center, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm but not enough to satisfy.
"Harry," she gasped against his lips, her hips bucking involuntarily. "Don't be cruel."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that stole her breath. "Trust me, love. I'm going to make this very, very good for you."
With that promise, Harry lowered himself to his knees. His hands pushed her thighs wider, and he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, working his way higher with maddening slowness.
"Oh gods," Rosmerta breathed, her head falling back as his mouth got closer to where she needed him most. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bar counter, knuckles turning white with anticipation.
Harry hooked his fingers in the waistband of her knickers, dragging them down her legs and pocketing them with a smirk. "Something to remember you by," he explained, before returning his attention to the treasure he'd uncovered.
He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him—her glistening folds, pink and swollen with desire. "Beautiful," he murmured, before leaning forward and giving her a long, slow lick from entrance to clit.
"Fuck!" Rosmerta cried out, her back arching sharply at the contact. Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, not sure whether to pull him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensation.
Harry chuckled, the vibration adding to her pleasure. "That's it, let me hear you," he encouraged, before diving back in with focused intent. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure to build her pleasure without pushing her over the edge too quickly.
Rosmerta couldn't contain her vocalizations as he worked her with his mouth. "Oh! Oh gods, Harry!" she gasped, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. He was methodical, observant—noting every reaction, every hitch in her breath, and adjusting his technique accordingly.
When he slid a finger inside her, curling it to find that special spot within, her moans grew louder, more desperate. "There! Right there!" she practically sobbed, her hips moving against his face, seeking more friction.
Harry added a second finger, stretching her deliciously while his tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. He established a rhythm, fingers thrusting in counterpoint to the movements of his tongue, gradually increasing the pace as her breathing became more erratic.
"I'm close," she warned, her voice high and strained. "So close, please don't stop!"
"Come for me, Rosmerta," he commanded against her flesh, the words vibrating through her core. He sucked her clit between his lips, applying firm pressure with his tongue while his fingers maintained their perfect rhythm inside her.
The combined sensations pushed her over the edge. Rosmerta screamed his name, her back arching dramatically as waves of pleasure crashed through her body. Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers as he worked her through the climax, gentling his touch but not stopping until the last tremor had passed through her.
When she finally slumped back, chest heaving with exertion, Harry rose to his feet, looking immensely satisfied with himself. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean.
"Sweet Merlin," Rosmerta breathed, watching him through half-lidded eyes. "That was... incredible."
Harry leaned in to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his lips. "We're just getting started," he promised, his voice husky.
Despite her recent orgasm, Rosmerta felt desire stirring anew at his words. She reached for him, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. "Too many clothes," she murmured against his mouth, pushing the fabric from his shoulders to reveal a torso marked with scars—evidence of battles fought and survived.
Her fingers traced a particularly nasty scar that curved around his ribs. "Werewolf?" she asked softly.
"No," Harry replied, his eyes momentarily distant. "Different fight, different time." He captured her wandering hand, bringing it to his lips. "But not important right now."
He pulled her closer to the edge of the counter, his hands sliding beneath her thighs. "Wrap your legs around me," he instructed, and when she complied, he lifted her effortlessly, supporting her weight as if she weighed nothing.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her arms looped around his neck.
"Somewhere more comfortable," he replied, carrying her toward the stairs that led to her quarters above the pub. "Unless you prefer doing this on the bar?"
Rosmerta laughed, a warm sound that lit up her features. "While that has its appeal, I'd rather not explain the splinters to customers tomorrow."
Harry navigated the stairs with her in his arms, stealing kisses along the way. When they reached her bedroom, he laid her on the bed with gentleness before straightening to remove the rest of his clothing.
Rosmerta propped herself up on her elbows to watch, her eyes widening appreciatively as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his trousers and underwear down. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls.
"Merlin's beard," she breathed, eyeing his impressive length. "You're... well-equipped."
Harry's lips quirked into a half-smile. "I aim to please," he said, climbing onto the bed and helping her out of her dress and undergarments until she was gloriously naked beneath him.
He took a moment to admire her body—full breasts tipped with rosy nipples, the gentle curve of her waist flaring to generous hips, long legs that had been wrapped around him minutes ago. "You're stunning," he murmured, genuine appreciation in his voice.
Rosmerta reached for him, pulling him down for a kiss. "Show me what else that talented mouth can do," she suggested between kisses, arching against him.
Harry was happy to oblige, trailing kisses down her neck to her collarbone, then lower to capture a nipple between his lips. He sucked gently, then with more pressure when she gasped her approval, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak while his hand massaged her other breast.
"Yes," she sighed, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her chest. "Just like that."
He lavished attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle sucking and teasing licks until she was squirming beneath him, her hips seeking friction against his hardness. When he finally pulled away, her nipples were wet and reddened from his ministrations, jutting proudly in the cool air of the bedroom.
Rosmerta's hand wandered between them, fingers wrapping around his thickness. "My turn," she purred, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip that made his breath hitch.
She pushed him onto his back, reversing their positions, and began a trail of kisses down his chest. Her tongue traced the defined muscles of his abdomen, dipping into his navel before continuing lower. She settled between his legs, her hair cascading around her face as she gazed up at him with mischievous eyes.
"What do you want, hero?" she asked, her breath ghosting over his engorged head.
Harry propped himself up on his elbows to watch her, his eyes dark with desire. "Your mouth," he answered simply. "I want to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my cock."
The bluntness of his request sent a thrill through her. Maintaining eye contact, Rosmerta lowered her head and gave the tip an experimental lick, gathering the drop of pre-come that had formed. "Mmm," she hummed, savoring the taste before taking the head into her mouth.
"Fuck," Harry groaned, his head falling back momentarily before he forced himself to look down again, unwilling to miss the erotic sight of her lips stretched around him.
Rosmerta worked him with enthusiasm, taking him deeper with each bob of her head. Her hand wrapped around what she couldn't fit, stroking in rhythm with her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks, creating suction that had him cursing under his breath.
"That's it," he encouraged, one hand gently gathering her hair to keep it out of her face. "Gods, your mouth feels amazing."
Emboldened by his praise, she relaxed her throat and took him deeper, suppressing her gag reflex as his considerable length pushed past the point of comfort. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but the sounds of pleasure he was making were worth the slight discomfort.
Harry's hand tightened in her hair, guiding her movements. "So good," he murmured, his voice strained. "Rosmerta, if you keep that up, I'm not going to last."
She pulled back with a wet pop, looking up at him with swollen lips and heated eyes. "Then don't," she challenged, diving back down to take him deep again.
Harry groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily. "Not yet," he managed to say, gently but firmly pulling her off him. "I want to be inside you when I come."
He pulled her up for a passionate kiss, rolling them over so she was beneath him again. His hand slid between her thighs, finding her still wet and ready for him. He stroked her gently, two fingers sliding easily into her heat while his thumb circled her clit.
"Harry!" she gasped, her hips bucking against his hand. "Please, I need you inside me."
"Patience," he murmured, continuing to work her with his fingers. He curled them just right, finding that spot that made her see stars. "I want you desperate for it first."
Rosmerta writhed beneath him, her legs falling wider open in invitation. "I am desperate," she insisted, clutching at his shoulders. "Please!"
Harry removed his fingers, positioning himself at her entrance. He teased her with just the tip, sliding it through her folds, coating himself in her wetness. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"Yes!" she cried, attempting to push her hips down to take him in, but he held her still.
"Tell me," he demanded, still teasing her entrance. "Tell me exactly what you want."
"I want your cock inside me," she said, her voice both desperate and commanding. "I want you to fuck me until I scream. Please, Harry!"
Satisfied with her answer, Harry pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was fully seated within her. They both groaned at the sensation—her tight heat enveloping him, his thickness stretching her deliciously.
"Fuck, you're tight," he growled, staying still for a moment to let her adjust to his size. "Feel so good around me."
Rosmerta wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back. "Move," she pleaded, rolling her hips experimentally.
Harry began to thrust, starting with slow, deep strokes that had her moaning with each press of his hips. He watched her face, noting how her lips parted on each exhale, how her eyes fluttered closed when he hit a particularly good spot.
"More," she demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Harder, Harry!"
He increased his pace, driving into her with more force, the bed creaking beneath them with each powerful thrust. The sounds of their coupling filled the room—skin slapping against skin, their mingled moans and gasps, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her slick heat.
"Like this?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.
"Yes!" she cried, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Oh gods, yes! Right there!"
Harry shifted slightly, changing the angle to hit that perfect spot with each thrust. His hand slid between them to rub her clit in tight circles, providing the additional stimulation he knew would push her over the edge.
"Come for me again," he commanded, his eyes locked on hers. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come."
Rosmerta screamed his name, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her inner walls clamped down on him rhythmically, almost painfully tight in her release.
Harry gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to follow her over the edge. "That's it," he encouraged, slowing his thrusts to help her ride out the climax. "So beautiful when you come."
When the last tremors subsided, he carefully withdrew, ignoring her whimper of protest. "Turn over," he instructed, his voice husky with need. "Hands and knees."
Still dazed from her orgasm, Rosmerta complied, rolling onto her stomach and pushing herself up. Harry positioned himself behind her, hands appreciatively caressing the curves of her ass before gripping her hips.
He entered her again in one smooth thrust, both of them groaning at the new angle. This position allowed him to go deeper, hitting spots that made her gasp and push back against him eagerly.
"So deep," she moaned, dropping to her forearms, changing the angle even further. "Fuck, Harry, you feel so good."
His hips slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust. One hand remained on her hip, guiding her movements, while the other slid up her spine to tangle in her hair. He pulled gently, arching her back in a beautiful curve.
"You take my cock so well," he praised, watching where they were joined, his thickness disappearing into her slick heat over and over. "Made for this, aren't you?"
"Yes!" she agreed breathlessly, pushing back to meet each thrust. "Made for your cock!"
The raw honesty in her voice nearly undid him. Harry's rhythm faltered momentarily before he redoubled his efforts, pounding into her with renewed vigor. The sounds she was making—high, desperate moans punctuated by gasps and cries of his name—were driving him closer to the edge.
"Touch yourself," he instructed, his voice tight with restraint. "Make yourself come again."
Rosmerta balanced on one arm, her other hand snaking beneath her to find her swollen clit. She circled it frantically, the dual stimulation quickly building her toward another climax. "I'm close," she warned, her voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust.
"Wait for me," Harry grunted, feeling his own release approaching. His movements became more erratic, more desperate. "Almost there."
He leaned over her back, one arm wrapping around to replace her hand with his own, rubbing her clit with practiced expertise. His chest pressed against her back, his lips finding her shoulder where he placed open-mouthed kisses between words of encouragement.
"Now," he growled into her ear when he could hold back no longer. "Come with me now, Rosmerta!"
Her third orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing with the force of it. She screamed his name, loud enough that if anyone had been passing by the pub, they surely would have heard. Her inner walls clamped down on him in rhythmic pulses, finally triggering his own release.
Harry thrust deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her with a guttural groan of her name. His hips jerked involuntarily as he rode out his climax, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave marks.
They collapsed together on the bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests. Harry had just enough presence of mind to roll to the side so he wouldn't crush her, though he kept her pulled close against him.
"Sweet Merlin," Rosmerta breathed when she could finally speak again. "That was... I don't even have words."
Harry chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should," she agreed, turning in his arms to face him. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. "The rumors about you don't do you justice."
"There are rumors?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, there will be now," she replied with a mischievous grin. "I might have been a bit... vocal."
Harry laughed, a genuine sound that lit up his features, momentarily erasing the hardness that seemed etched into his expression. "I like vocal," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Lets me know I'm doing something right."
Rosmerta hummed contentedly, her body pleasantly exhausted. "Trust me, you did everything right." She snuggled closer, her head resting on his chest. "Stay the night?"
Harry hesitated only briefly before nodding. "I'd like that."
As Rosmerta drifted toward sleep, sated and warm in his arms, Harry stared at the ceiling, his mind already racing ahead to what came next. Sex with her had been a tactical move, yes—part of building his new identity, establishing connections—but he couldn't deny the genuine pleasure it had brought them both.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new steps in his plan to reshape this timeline. But for tonight, he allowed himself this moment of connection, this brief respite from the burden he carried.
Just as Rosmerta's breathing evened out in sleep, Harry whispered, more to himself than to her, "Thank you."
Andromeda Black
The cold stone floors of the Slytherin dormitory greeted Andromeda Black's bare feet as she slipped from beneath emerald bed hangings. Dawn light filtered weakly through the lake-tinted windows, casting the room in a greenish glow that made her roommates look slightly ill in their sleep. She dressed quickly, securing her prefect badge, and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Dark waves framed a face that bore the aristocratic hallmarks of the Black family—high cheekbones, heavy-lidded eyes, and a certain haughty set to her jawline that came as naturally as breathing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.
Just another day of pretending, she thought, straightening her silver and green tie.
The common room hummed with early morning activity when she descended the stairs. Evan Rosier and Wilkes huddled near the fireplace, their voices too low to hear but their expressions serious enough to raise her suspicions.
"Look who finally decided to join the living," called a familiar voice.
Andromeda turned to see Lucinda Talkalot sprawled in her usual corner armchair, a half-finished Potions essay balanced precariously on her knee and ink smudged across her fingers.
"Some of us don't need to wake at dawn to finish our assignments," Andromeda replied, dropping into the seat opposite her friend.
Lucinda snorted, blowing a strand of caramel-colored hair from her eyes. "Not all of us can write perfect essays in our sleep, Black. Besides, I wasn't even working on this until you forced that Dreamless Sleep potion on me last night."
"You were pacing so loudly I thought a hippogriff had gotten into the dormitory," Andromeda said, reaching over to correct a misspelled ingredient on Lucinda's parchment. "Valerian root, not 'Valiant root.'"
"Same difference," Lucinda muttered, but made the correction. "Anyway, you missed the excitement after you went to bed. Mulciber tried to show off a new hex to impress Rosier, and somehow managed to give himself rabbit ears instead."
"Again?" Andromeda raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. "One would think after the tail incident last term..."
"I've come to the conclusion he actually fancies himself with animal parts. Very avant-garde." Lucinda set her essay aside. "Speaking of fancy, I saw you watching a certain Hufflepuff in the library yesterday."
Andromeda felt a traitorous warmth creep up her neck. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Please," Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Every time Tonks walks by, your book suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing in the world. It was upside down yesterday, by the way."
"It was not," Andromeda hissed, glancing around to ensure no one was listening.
"Was too. And he noticed." Lucinda's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Asked me in Herbology if you were feeling alright."
"He did not," Andromeda insisted, though her heart gave a peculiar little leap.
"Did too. Said, and I quote, 'Is Black alright? She seemed... intense.'"
"Intense is not a compliment, Lu."
"It is when a boy's pupils dilate saying it," Lucinda countered smugly. "Anyway, what are you going to do about our Transfiguration project? McGonagall will have both our wands if we don't have something spectacular by—"
"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite sister," a silky voice interrupted.
Andromeda turned to see Bellatrix gliding down the stairs, her wild black curls bouncing with each step. There was something different about her this morning—a certain gleam in her eye, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth that Andromeda recognized all too well.
"You're in a good mood," Andromeda observed, noting how Bella's fingers kept twitching toward her wand pocket. "Who's the poor soul that's annoyed you this time?"
Lucinda, knowing better than to get caught in the crossfire of a Black family conversation, muttered something about finishing her essay and discreetly retreated to another corner of the common room.
Bellatrix's laugh came out as a melodic giggle that sent several younger students scurrying away. "No one's annoyed me, Dromeda. Not yet, anyway." She leaned closer, her breath warm against Andromeda's ear. "I'll tell you later, but let's just say that kitchen elf—Lika, or Licka or whatever its name was—was very happy to be my training dummy for one of the better curses last night."
"Sounds... educational," she replied, arching one elegant eyebrow. "Always the studious one, aren't you, Bella?"
Out of all of them, Bellatrix was the one who truly loved reading and learning—though only when it came to curses, hexes, and the darkest corners of magical knowledge.
Andromeda, the middle sister of House Black, had never sought that kind of power. Sometimes, in the dead of night when even the Giant Squid slumbered, she wondered why the Sorting Hat had placed her in Slytherin at all. Not that I'd ever voice such treasonous thoughts aloud.
Bellatrix glanced around the common room, her dark eyes narrowing. "Where's our little Cissy? I don't see her anywhere."
"I saw her with the Malfoy boy again yesterday," Andromeda replied, gathering her books. "I imagine she's with him now."
Bellatrix made a sound of disgust, wrinkling her nose as if she'd smelled something foul. "That pasty-faced peacock? Really?"
"What's wrong with Lucius?" Andromeda asked, genuinely surprised. "He's pureblood, House Malfoy is richer than Midas, and isn't that the most important part?"
"Being pureblood is paramount, of course," Bellatrix agreed, lowering her voice as they made their way toward the common room exit. "But I don't understand why she's chasing after a loser like Lucius Malfoy when there are better options."
"Like who?" Andromeda prompted, curious despite herself.
Bellatrix ticked off names on her long, tapered fingers. "Nott has potential... Avery's family has connections in the Department of Mysteries... even Potter, despite his unfortunate choice in friends, comes from impeccable bloodlines and has real power."
"Potter?" Andromeda nearly choked. "James Potter? But he's Gryffindor, not Slytherin! And he's best friends with Sirius."
Bellatrix made a sound when the name Sirius was brought up, but quickly cleared her throat. She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "Houses aren't as important as blood purity, power, and family connections. Potter may be an insufferable blood traitor in the making, but even I can't deny his magical ability." A sly smile spread across her face. "Besides, proper guidance can change allegiances."
Merlin help us all if Bella decides to 'guide' James Potter, Andromeda thought with an inward grimace.
They passed through the hidden stone entrance and made their way up from the dungeons, Bellatrix occasionally hexing unsuspecting suits of armor to clank and clatter as younger students walked by, cackling at their startled jumps.
As they approached the Great Hall, Andromeda spotted Narcissa's silvery-blonde head bent close to Lucius Malfoy's at the far end of the Slytherin table. They were sitting slightly apart from the others, his hand occasionally brushing against hers.
"Ugh, look at them," Bellatrix sneered. "She could do so much better than that pompous, preening—"
"Wait," Andromeda interrupted, her attention drawn elsewhere. "Something's different today."
The Great Hall buzzed with unusual energy. Students huddled in tight groups, whispering animatedly, and—most shocking of all—a Hufflepuff boy sat at the Slytherin table, deep in conversation with a group of seventh years.
"What do you mean?" Bellatrix asked, following her gaze.
"Look," Andromeda pointed discreetly. "Jacob Bones is sitting at our table. And everyone seems... agitated. Like something's happened."
They made their way to the Slytherin table, where their cousin Regulus Black was holding court among a group of fourth-years. His resemblance to Sirius was striking, though his features were more refined.
"Morning, cousins," he greeted them, his gray eyes bright with excitement. "Have you heard the news?"
"What news?" Bellatrix demanded, helping herself to toast and marmalade.
Instead of answering, Regulus slid a copy of the Daily Prophet toward them. Andromeda's breath caught in her throat as she took in the front page.
The headline screamed: "NEW DEFENDER: MYSTERIOUS WIZARD SLAYS BRITAIN'S MOST FEARED WEREWOLF."
The first image showed a massive werewolf corpse, bloodied and broken on what appeared to be the Ministry's marble floor. But it was the second photo that made Andromeda's heart skip—a wizard with messy dark hair and intense green eyes, his face half-turned from the camera as if reluctant to be photographed.
It's him. The man from the Three Broomsticks.
"Greyback is dead?" Bellatrix whispered, an unusual note of awe in her voice as she traced a finger over the image of the mutilated werewolf. "Fenrir Greyback? The most feared werewolf in Britain?"
"Killed by some nobody named 'Harry'," Regulus confirmed, leaning forward eagerly. "No last name, no background—just walked into the Ministry yesterday and dropped the corpse at the DMLE desk. It's says that he killed three other werewolves besides him."
Andromeda stared at the photograph, remembering the strange encounter three days ago. The way his magic had felt when it brushed against hers.
"I've met him," she said quietly, drawing surprised looks from both Bellatrix and Regulus.
"You've what?" Bellatrix demanded, suddenly alert. "Where? When?"
"Three days ago, at the Three Broomsticks. He sat at my table." Andromeda kept her voice neutral, though her mind raced. "His magical signature was... unusual."
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed with sudden interest. "Unusual how? Dark? Powerful?"
"Both," Andromeda admitted. "But also... strange. Like nothing I've felt before." She hesitated, not mentioning her suspicion about temporal displacement—that would raise too many questions she wasn't prepared to answer.
"What did he say to you?" Regulus pressed, excitement coloring his voice.
"Not much," she replied truthfully. "He was guarded. But he moved like an Auror and knew things... about advanced transmutation theory that surprised me."
"Advanced magic, then," Bellatrix mused, a peculiar light entering her eyes that Andromeda recognized all too well. It was the same look she got when discovering a particularly nasty curse. "And now he's killed Britain's most wanted werewolf. How... fascinating."
The paper changed hands around them, exclamations rising as more students saw the grisly photos. From the staff table, Andromeda noticed Dumbledore watching the commotion with an unusually grave expression, while Professor McGonagall leaned close to whisper something in his ear.
"The Ministry's calling him 'The New Defender,'" a sixth-year Slytherin announced, reading further into the article. "Says he refused to give a last name or details about his methods, just collected the bounty."
Bellatrix's smile grew, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous light. "Someone who can kill Greyback like that... someone with dark magic and secrets... now that would be an interesting ally to have."
Andromeda shivered, remembering the stranger's—Harry's—final words to her: "Be careful with that sensitivity of yours, Miss Black. Some magical signatures are better left unexamined."
As the Great Hall buzzed around her, Andromeda couldn't shake the feeling that he would see Harry soon enough.
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