March 2024 Exclusive Poll Winner - Deceit - Harry/Mrs Francesca Zabini *Reupload*

AN: Sorry if this story is a bit of a mess. It might be the longest chapter I've ever written due to how much ended up on the cutting room floor. I partially wrote this story 3 times before settling on this interpretation because I just couldn't get it to work the way I wanted it to. This chapter is around 7,850 words, but my entire document is 16,519 words, lol. Hopefully I managed to edit it into something halfway decent; I can promise that the next one will be better.

All characters are above 19 years of age.

PAGE BREAK

Francesca Zabini rarely imagined herself marrying again, but these sorts of things just seemed to fall into her lap. Wherever she went, men flocked to her like vultures to carrion, seeking to help Francesca out of the grief of the demise of her last marriage. Of course, few of these men bothered to delve deeply into exactly why her marriages always ended so suddenly and violently, but then again, most men weren’t intelligent enough to parse through her lies anyways.

Seven men had come and gone from her life, and she’d truly only ever loved one. Her first husband, Alberto, had been a kind man she’d met just a couple years after graduating Hogwarts when she’d been spending time in Italy for her alchemy apprenticeship. He’d been sweet to her, and she’d been naive enough to assume that she could marry him and live out her days in peace with a wonderful husband at her side.

Then, barely a week after the birth of their son, Blaise, Alberto had been found dead on the street outside of their apartment in Florence.

As it turned out, an underground sect of dark witches and wizards who worshipped Grindelwald existed in Italy, and they’d taken issue with Alberto’s refusal to supply them with the gold necessary to take up arms against the Magical Italian Government. Alberto’s younger sister, Lucrezia, had been the one to kill him in the hopes that she’d inherit their family’s estate.

However, the birth of Blaise had secured the family’s fortunes in Francesca’s hands until her son came of age. Lucrezia had come after them then, but the Italian Aurors stopped her and her allies before they could hurt Francesca and Blaise.

In the grief of her husband’s death, Francesca had made a promise, one that she’d kept for all those years since: she would fight back against dark witches and wizards, wherever they might be.

It took two years before she found the man she’d been hunting for. Frederick Klein, a German wizard who had been the German liaison to the Italian Grindelwald group, enjoyed spending his days drinking and gambling and rubbing shoulders with the wealthy and powerful in Germany. Francesca had arrived at a fabulous gala dressed in her very best, and Frederick had been smitten with her. He’d taken her back to his room and fucked her for seven whole minutes before he came and passed out on the bed.

Francesca had nearly killed him then, but she was reminded about her husband’s death. If she simply killed Frederick, his gold would be funnelled to someone else who might use it for evil. If she wanted that gold to go to better uses, she had to marry him first.

And so she did. They were only together for three months before he proposed, and then they were married six weeks after that. She ensured that their marriage contract stipulated that in the event that either of them should die, the surviving spouse would inherit the other’s entire estate.

Frederick was dead three weeks later, having drunkenly fallen down a flight of stairs and broken his neck.

And so it went.

Francesca married five more times, each to foolish men who sought to destroy others for their own gain. It brought a sick sense of pleasure to Francesca knowing that she was doing to them what they wanted to do to others. Every night she fucked her husband was another night she further blinded him with her charms, ensuring that they died believing that she truly loved them.

Others did question such a thing, however. Relatives, friends, and even colleagues appeared and accused Francesca of plotting her husband’s demises.

Of course, Francesca denied it, and over the years, she’d gotten quite good at hiding her methods. Her preferred method was to egg her husband on to kill himself in some ludicrous way, such as Michael who didn’t take a challenge to his flying skills very well. His failed Wronski Feint saw his skull shatter upon impact with the cobblestone pathway beside their home. Others, like Aidan, required a more delicate hand, but Francesca’s alchemical training allowed her to subtly transform wine into poison and back into wine again before the coroner could examine the body.

While none had ever been able to prove that she was a murderer, it had become an open secret over the years. Francesca never once supported or gave life to any of the rumours, but people believed what they chose to believe. And in fact, they also chose to believe that she was secretly a dark witch herself given her choice of husbands.

This was why, after she settled herself back home in Britain so that her son could attend Hogwarts as she did, the former Death Eaters approached her. At first, it was simply introductions, but they quickly integrated Francesca into their network. She became a mainstay at their parties and events, flirting with everyone and making a grand spectacle of herself. It was all too easy to learn their secrets and leak them to the Ministry, thereby reducing their power in Britain.

But things changed when the Dark Lord returned.

Francesca, like many others, had dismissed Harry Potter’s claim that the Dark Lord had returned until the very first time she saw the man with her own eyes. Lucius Malfoy had hosted a ball with a very select guest list, and Francesca had been one of the names on it. There, she’d met the man who’d nearly brought Britain to its knees just a couple decades ago.

Unlike any other man she’d met, the Dark Lord hadn’t been wooed by Francesca’s charms. He was polite and charming and even a little flirtatious with her, but she’d seen in his eyes that he understood the game she was playing. She carefully kept her distance from him since then and even planned on leaving Britain entirely, but her son’s precarious position at Hogwarts, surrounded by the children of fellow Death Eaters, gave her pause. Above all else, she loved her son and desperately wanted to keep him safe. If they fled, the Death Eaters would be sure to follow her. They knew of her wealth and how desperately they needed it, and they knew that her son was her weak point.

Although it was never expressed in direct terms, Francesca came to understand that the Dark Lord expected charitable donations from her in exchange for her son remaining alive and well. These messages were delivered to her through Lucius Malfoy, who never failed to bring up his son’s close physical proximity to Blaise. Francesca understood, and though it grated her to do it, she gave the Death Eaters the funding they were looking for.

This, surprisingly, ingratiated herself even more with the Death Eaters. While a select few likely understood the blackmail that was going on, most truly believed that she was doing this out of sheer dedication to the cause.

She never hated herself more than those times.

It was several years before Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord, and Francesca promptly secured her son from Hogwarts and took him away. Britain was too dangerous, she decided, and they returned to Florence where she’d lived with Alberto.

All was well for six months until her home was broken into one night.

Francesca had awoken to bright lights and her son bound and gagged in front of her. Five masked Death Eaters stood at the foot of her bed and told her what she had to do: marry Harry Potter, become pregnant with his child to secure control of his wealth and estate, and then kill him. The Death Eaters had plans beyond that, she was sure, but they refused to tell her anything. They took her son hostage as insurance, promising that he’d been looked after until she succeeded in her goal. After that, they’d release him back to her. If she failed, however, he’d be tortured slowly and then killed, and she’d be next.

The fear that had filled her in that moment was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. That night, she’d been unable to sleep anymore than she already had as horrific memories of her first husband’s death repeated within her mind over and over. She couldn’t let anything like that happen to her son, even if it meant betraying her core values by working with the Death Eaters.

With all of her wealth and influence in Britain, it was quite easy to reintegrate herself back into society there. Many people were returning from fleeing the war, and no one batted an eye at her explanation that she and her son left in order to relax and get away from it all. Even if a few whispered false rumours that she fled because she was secretly a Death Eater, there weren’t many who took such things seriously when she didn’t have the Dark Mark branded on her arm.

Each day that passed, Francesca thought of her son. She hoped he was well and staying strong, but she knew that the world wasn’t kind enough to let that happen. More than likely, he was locked up in a cell somewhere, being fed meagre rations and left to languish. The faster she fulfilled the Death Eaters’ wishes, the sooner her son would be reunited with her.

It was Christmas a month after she returned to Britain, and the Ministry had hosted its annual Christmas ball. Dozens of important witches and wizards—and hundreds of unimportant ones—flocked to the Ministry for the grand event. And the special guests for the evening were none other than Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter.

Francesca spent hours getting ready. Thanks to magic’s natural ability to slow the ageing process, she only looked like she was in her late twenties as opposed to being forty. She dressed herself in an emerald-green silk gown. The bodice was tight, emphasising her chest and slim figure, while sheer sleeves and a sheer neckline highlighted her dark skin. The skirt of the dress flared out a bit but not as much as was common at events like these. The overall cut was much more modern than what many pure-blood witches chose to wear, and with that, she hoped to attract Harry’s attention.

Francesca had her long, brown hair pinned up with only a few stray hairs framing her face. Her makeup was subtle but deliberate in its desire to draw Harry’s attention to her face. All of her beauty was emphasised in a mostly natural-looking way, something she hoped he’d appreciate.

When she arrived at the ball, plenty of men fawned over her and gave her compliments. Francesca accepted them all with a gracious smile and accepted plenty of requests for dances. Each time she danced with a man, she made sure to make herself the highlight of the room. She caught plenty of people watching her as she moved gracefully along the dance floor, but she only cared about one man’s reaction.

She’d kept her eyes on Harry Potter since the moment he arrived, and it wasn’t long into her dancing that she noticed his eyes on her.

Francesca ensured that every dance took her close to Harry’s position. He seemed to be spending most of his time on the outskirts of the party talking to influential witches and wizards. He had come without a date, though it wouldn’t have been a problem even if he had. It wouldn’t be the first time that Francesca had stolen a man away from another woman.

Past the midpoint of the evening, just as Francesca finished another dance with a man she couldn’t remember the name of, she deliberately stumbled off of the dance floor right towards Harry. As expected, he caught her before she could fall and hurt herself. Francesca had smiled at him and thanked him, explaining that so much dancing had tired her out. He offered to get her a drink, and once he returned, he never left her side for the entire evening.

A part of Francesca felt bad that she was tricking such a sweet and kind man, but she needed her son back more than anything. She would face up to her wrongdoings if the time came, but until then, she wasn’t going to stop fighting for her son.

After the ball, it hadn’t taken more than a day for Harry to ask her out to supper. He didn’t seem bothered by their age gap and even joked that he’d been looking for someone more mature after his past few relationships had gone downhill.

Francesca had taken things in stride at first. She didn’t want to come across as too eager, but she kept her charm up the entire time, and Harry fell for her hard. It only took a month before he was introducing her to his friends and colleagues at the Auror Department. Some of them tried to warn him away from Francesca, having heard rumours about her, but Harry shut down all of them before it could get out of hand.

It was just one more example of his sweetness. He only seemed to see the best in her and refused to believe any of the negative rumours, even if some of them were true. She wondered how he’d react to her telling him that she actually did marry so many men just to kill them because they were evil, but she didn’t dare risk the relationship that she’d formed with him.

As the months passed by, Francesca watched Harry grow more and more in love with her. He would deliver flowers to her home, invite her over and cook for her, and take her out flying along the coast. And Francesca played her part as the doting girlfriend, always being there and supporting him and making him fall more in love with her.

And, somehow, she began to feel something for him too.

It was ridiculous, she knew. Her task was to have Harry Potter’s child, secure his estate under her control, and then kill him. This relationship was never going to end in anything more than tragedy. Other than her first husband, she could confidently say that she’d never loved a single person she’d been with until Harry came along.

And yet, she fell in love with him regardless. The realisation had struck her hard and fast ten months into their relationship, and she knew that she’d felt this way for a long time now, but she’d been lying to herself. She’d buried her feelings for him, knowing that she was going to have to kill him one day; she couldn’t deny those feelings anymore.

When he’d proposed to her on the first anniversary of the day they met, she’d sobbed into his chest after accepting the ring. She’d sobbed because she knew she was going to have to kill him, and she’d sobbed because she didn’t want to.

She loved him, and it hurt her more than anything to know that she was being forced between losing her son or her love.

PAGE BREAK

A week after the press learnt about their engagement, she’d received a letter in the mail from her son’s kidnappers. They’d applauded her for her excellent work, said that they were looking forward to her impending pregnancy, and reminded her that they expected Harry to be dead soon after.

Francesca had burnt the letter and went to burn the envelope too when she realised there was something else in it: a photo of her son. He looked skinnier than she remembered, with gaunt, hollow cheeks and scar on his cheek. He had a chain around his ankle, tying him to his bed.

“Blaise!” Francesca cried, dropping the photo to the table and sobbing into her hands.

She’d been a fool to go along with this whole thing in the first place. Of course the Death Eaters weren’t going to treat her son well; for all she knew, this wasn’t even a recent photo. If she had killed Harry, they were more likely to keep Blaise with them as a hostage to keep her quiet rather than releasing him like they promised.

“I can’t,” Francesca shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. They dripped from her chin down to the photograph of Blaise. She knew she must have looked like an absolute mess, but she was simply frozen by her fear for her son and the hopeless pit of despair she was in.

“Francesca?”

Her head snapped up, and she saw Harry standing there in the doorway. He looked so shocked and worried over her current state, but that only left her with a deep sense of shame. She’d tricked him for all this time, fully knowing that she was going to have to kill him one day. But then she’d seen what a good man he was and fallen in love with him as hard as she had with her first husband, and suddenly everything became so much more complicated.

How could she explain any of this to him?

She didn’t even see him cross the room, but his arms were suddenly encircling her. Their familiarity brought her a meagre amount of comfort, but they also reinforced the shame she was feeling. These were arms that, if she’d gone through with what the Death Eaters wanted, would have been cold instead of warm; they would have been stagnant in the dirt instead of full of life.

She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve his comfort, his love, his anything.

“What’s wrong—?” Harry asked before he sucked in a deep breath.

Francesca followed his gaze down to the photo of Blaise. She knew that her son and Harry had been schoolmates, but according to Harry, they never encountered each other much. They had classes together and saw each other in the corridors but nothing more. Even though they weren’t close though, it was never easy seeing someone you knew being hurt like this.

“Who sent this?” Harry asked her with a dangerous undercurrent lingering in his tone.

Francesca knew about his experiences during the war and just how willing he was to sacrifice himself to save his friends. He told her time and time again that he’d do it for her too, and she believed him. And now it seemed like he was gearing up to throw himself into danger to save her son.

But she couldn’t ask this of him after what she’d done.

“Harry, I…” Francesca wiped the tears away from her eyes. It was so hard even to form any words, let alone the ones she needed to tell him.

Harry was patient, giving her an encouraging smile even though his concern was still so evident. A part of her wanted to reach out and kiss him just one last time before she revealed everything, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d deceived him for too long, and she couldn’t do it for a single second longer.

“I was hired to murder you,” Francesca admitted in a voice so small that it reminded her of the way she used to own up to doing something wrong when she was a small child.

Confusion flickered through Harry’s eyes for a moment as Francesca’s words settled into his mind, and then came sorrow. It was like she’d just sucked the life out of him: his face sagged, his smile drooped down, and his eyes lost their shimmer. And then the tears came. They welled in Harry’s eyes silently as he stared at her, not moving a muscle.

Francesca wasn’t going to hold anything back now, no matter how painful it was. “After the war, the Death Eaters came to me and kidnapped my son. They said they’d kill him if I didn’t marry you and have your child before killing you. But I…”

Harry crumpled in front of her. The way his heart broke played out across his face with terrible accuracy, and Francesca’s heart tore itself in two.

She pulled out her wand from her robes, and Harry didn’t even try to stop her. He just stared at her with this terribly sad and resigned look on his face.

“I can’t do it,” Francesca blubbered out as she dropped her wand at his feet before breaking into a fresh set of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

The tears filling Harry’s eyes finally broke free, only silently. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he bent down and picked up her wand off of the floor.

“All this time?” He asked her as his eyes fell to the ground. “Did you ever even love me?”

“Of course I did!” Francesca exclaimed bitterly.

That was the worst part of it all. If he’d been a rotten man like almost all of her previous husbands, then she wouldn’t have had a problem going along with this. It was the fact that he was a genuinely good man that made her fall in love with him. He treated her like a princess, and after so many of their late-night discussions about his life, she knew perfectly well that he deserved a bit of happiness for once. And now she’d just torn that away from him again.

“I can’t kill you,” Francesca told him sincerely. “I love you, and I can’t imagine a world where I could find another man as wonderful as you. But Blaise is my son, my only child. I love him more than life itself, and I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“You could’ve told someone,” Harry murmured before he looked back up at her angrily. “You could’ve told me!”

It was something she’d been considering more and more as of late. How many nights had she stayed awake with a half-written letter on the table in front of her that revealed everything to Harry? But what could he do? Even though he was an Auror and had plenty of connections within his department, Francesca was sure that the Death Eaters did too. If there was so much of a rumour that Francesca or Harry were searching for her son, then her son would definitely be killed.

But that was what Harry did best, right? Beating the impossible odds set before him.

But she hadn’t wanted to gamble her son’s life on that.

“I’m sorry,” Francesca said quietly.

Harry got up and left then, and Francesca was sure that she’d just lost her love and son forever.

PAGE BREAK

It took two long days before Harry came back to see her. They both had dark bags under their eyes from their lack of sleep, and Harry looked like he’d just spent far too long next to a gang of Dementors.

Francesca had done little more than eat, cry, and try to sleep since Harry had left. Over and over again, she’d be replaying the past year in her mind and questioning her choices. She never came to a definitive answer as to whether she made the correct choices or not, but she did deeply regret the way she’d hurt Harry over all of this. She loved him, and she’d ruined the only real shot she’d had at true love since her first husband had been murdered.

When Harry walked into her home, Francesca had thought that her heart was going to rip itself out of her chest. It hurt so much to see him again, and she couldn’t imagine just how much he was hurting too. She wanted to run into his arms and have everything be alright, but she knew that wasn’t possible anymore.

But a glimmer of hope filled her chest when Harry sat down in the parlour with her.

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about us the last few days,” Harry told her. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn’t spoken in days. “All the time we spent together and how our relationship developed. I was your target from the start, right? You were already planning to kill me back at the Ministry ball?”

“Yes,” Francesca admitted, unable to mask the regret in her voice. “I came back to Britain not long before that, just after Blaise had been taken. Once I got my affairs in order, I sought you out.”

Harry nodded to himself. “And then you made me fall in love with you.”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Francesca said gently, trying not to start a fight. Tears welled up in her eyes. “What you felt for me was real, and I… I fell in love with you too.”

“You don’t need to lie to make me feel better,” Harry said sadly.

“I’m not!” Francesca exclaimed. “After my first husband died, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone I’d ever love again. And then I found you. Yes, I went into the relationship thinking that I was going to have to kill you to save my son, but you were so charming and compassionate from the first moment that we met that I didn’t know if I could go through with it. As we got to know each other, I started to fall in love with you, and that’s what made it all so hard.”

Harry mulled over her words as emotion played out across his visage: sadness, frustration, confusion, sympathy, and love.

“I just can’t believe you never told me everything once you knew that you loved me,” he sighed.

Francesca bit her lip. “I wanted to. There were days where I came close, but I never did until the other day. When I saw that picture of Blaise and saw how badly he’d been hurt, I didn’t want to hide it from you anymore.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you for this,” Harry admitted.

Francesca just nodded. She understood; she couldn’t forgive herself for this either.

“But I’d like to try,” Harry continued.

Francesca sucked in a deep breath and stared at him through her tears. Was he saying what she thought he was?

“I still love you, Francesca,” he told her sincerely. “But it’s going to take time to see if we can make this work.”

Francesca pulled her engagement ring off of her finger and handed it over to him. Harry seemed as conflicted about accepting it as Francesca did about handing it over.

“I don’t deserve this,” she told him. “But maybe one day I will again.”

Harry understood and pocketed the ring. “There’s a million things we need to talk about, but first, we need to save your son.”

PAGE BREAK

Francesca set down the glass of firewhiskey she’d been sipping on to settle her nerves the moment that she heard the front door to her manor open. It was well past eleven at night, over an hour after the meeting time she’d initially proposed. She’d seen the lights zooming by the windows as witches and wizards on broomsticks scanned the manor for any hint of deceit. Apparently, they were finally satisfied enough to make an appearance.

Pulling the shawl over her shoulders, Francesca got to her feet and walked out into the modest entry hall. There were five Death Eaters in front of her, dressed in dark cloaks and bone-white masks. If these were the same five who’d visited her over a year ago in her home in Italy, she didn’t know.

“You’re alone?” The lead one asked in a cold voice.

Francesca nodded her head. “Other than the body upstairs and…”

She laid her hand across her flat, unswollen belly lovingly. The gesture drew the gaze of the Death Eaters.

“You’re definitely pregnant?” The same one asked.

“The healers at St Mungo’s confirmed it,” Francesca replied, lying through her teeth.

The figure sniffed. “Strange that you suddenly reached out to us so soon after our letter. Even stranger that you claim to already be married to Potter even though the press thinks you’re only recently engaged.”

“Like I said in my letter, we married the night he proposed,” Francesca replied with a slightly exasperated tone. “He was so head over heels for me that he agreed to my request without a second thought. The only reason we haven’t told anyone else is because he still wanted to have a big ceremony with all of his friends and family around in the summer.”

“Guess that won’t be happening now,” one of the other Death Eaters in the back snickered.

“How’d you kill him?” The lead one asked again.

Francesca narrowed her eyes on the man. He was suspicious, as he ought to be. “The Killing Curse,” she answered. “I figured that the story of remnant Death Eaters wanting him dead wasn’t too far fetched, and I already tore down the wards like there was an attack here. I have an alibi for tonight thanks to Polyjuice potion, so no one will suspect me when I come around here again in the morning and find his body.”

Another Death Eater whistled lowly. “She’s good, just like you said, Macnair.”

The Lead Death Eater, Macnair, rounded on the man who’d spoken. Francesca did her best not to let her surprise show on her face. Walden Macnair was one of the Death Eaters who hadn’t been seen since the Battle of Hogwarts, but without so much as a credible whisper about his whereabouts, most people thought that he was either dead or hiding out somewhere far away from Britain.

There was an angry, hushed conversation between Macnair and the Death Eater who’d spoken out of turn for several moments before Macnair turned back to Francesca. His posture revealed his irritation with being identified, but he carried on regardless.

“We’ll be taking the body now,” Macnair told her.

“And my son?” Francesca asked expectantly.

There was a pause. “He’s outside. You can get him when we’re done.”

“That’s not good enough,” Francesca insisted as panic filled her chest. What had they done to him? Why weren’t they letting her see him? “I want to see him now.”

“It’s as good as it’s going to get. Now, get out of our way and let us do our work,” Macnair replied brusquely as he pushed past her.

Macnair and two others started climbing the stairs towards the upper levels while the last two Death Eaters stayed down below to watch Francesca. She forced her body to relax as she leaned casually against a nearby wall, lowering the guard of the two who’d been sent to watch her. With the help of her shawl masking the movements of her arms, neither of them noticed her hand moving underneath her shawl.

A yelp went up as the stairs suddenly turned into a slide, much like they did back at Hogwarts when a boy tried to sneak into the girl’s dormitory. Macnair and the two Death Eaters with him went tumbling end over end as they slid back down to the main floor.

The surprised yells distracted the two Death Eaters by Francesca, and she snapped off two quick Stunning Charms before either of them could react to her. They both dropped like sacks of potatoes, and Francesca immediately turned to face the three Death Eaters, who’d just crashed against the hardwood floor at the base of the stairs.

However, she realised that she didn’t need to do anything. Harry had thrown off his invisibility cloak, revealing his hidden position just around the corner from the bottom of the staircase, and he was already in the middle of incapacitating all three of them. The only one who even managed any sort of defence was Macnair, but his shield shattered underneath the onslaught of stunning, binding, and freezing charms that Harry sent his way. Macnair was eventually struck by a flurry of them and left unconscious.

As soon as the brief fighting ended, Francesca burst out the front door of her home.

“Blaise!” She cried out loudly.

A quiet groan directed her attention towards the hedgerow nearby. Francesca illuminated the tip of her wand and rushed forward to find her son alive and tied up. She dropped to her knees beside him and began tugging at the bonds with her hands as she sobbed.

“Oh, Blaise,” she cried painfully, feeling sick to her stomach at the state her son was in.

He looked malnourished, and he had several small scars on his face. She couldn’t begin to imagine what the rest of him looked like underneath his clothes.

With an almighty pull, Francesca tore the thin ropes in two, and Blaise sagged against her.

“Mum,” he murmured softly before he fell unconscious.

“Blaise? Blaise!” Francesca cried out.

“He’s okay,” Harry assured her.

She hadn’t even heard him come up behind her, but he crouched down next to her and placed his fingers on Blaise’s neck.

“He still has a pulse, but you should take him to St Mungo’s,” Harry told her. “I’ll handle bringing in the Death Eaters to the Ministry.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Francesca sniffled.

He wrapped an arm around her and gave her a hug. “Go take care of your son. I’ll come by to visit once I’m done with everything.”

Francesca scooped Blaise up into her arms; he was lighter than she remembered. She knew that it would have been easier to use magic to carry him around, but she needed to hold her son in her arms. The second she recomposed herself, she apparated away to St Mungo’s to get him the help he needed.

PAGE BREAK

Weeks passed, and Francesca and Harry slowly unravelled their history together. It began with little things like Harry asking about events in their past and Francesca explaining them from her perspective. He learnt that she had found him very handsome and charming from the start of their relationship, but she’d kept up an emotional barrier until it all grew to be too much for her and she admitted her feelings for him. In truth, she’d probably fallen in love with him only a few months into being together, but she didn’t come to terms with it until a month or two before her fiction had become unveiled to him.

Harry was slow and cautious at the start, but he grew more comfortable with her again over time. Their date nights rekindled their romance, and the quality time they spent together helped each other really understand the other.

Francesca was open and honest about everything in her life, promising to never hide anything from Harry ever again. She talked about the trauma from her first husband’s murder, the grief that had set in when she realised that she had to raise her son all alone, and the desire for vengeance that had led her to killing her next six husbands. Harry listened to it all without judgement, asking questions where appropriate and listening attentively the rest of the time. It felt good to finally get all of this off of her shoulders and have someone else know everything.

Harry was open too, telling her things that he’d kept hidden from her before. He told her about the time he’d seen his parents in the Forbidden Forest just before he’d killed Voldemort. He revealed everything to her about the Deathly Hallows, the hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes, and his abusive childhood at the hands of his relatives.

They found solace in each other through this bonding experience of sharing everything and baring their souls. It became a sort of nightly ritual where they’d talk about the serious things in their past.

On the two-year anniversary of their relationship, Harry proposed to Francesca again, and she happily accepted.

They were married beneath a massive Sycamore tree on the grounds of the manor they had bought together. Blaise, now healthy and recovered from his time in captivity, walked Francesca down the aisle between the hundreds of guests who’d come to watch the ceremony.

The entire ceremony was a blur for Francesca, but what she remembered most was Harry’s happy face beaming back at her the entire time.

That night, after they ate and celebrated with all of their friends and family, the two of them retired to their bedroom. It wasn’t the first time that they’d spent the night together like this, but it was the first time that they would as man and wife.

“You look beautiful,” Harry commented as Francesca gently closed the curtains. The windows had been streaming in beautiful moonlight, but there were still a few partiers outside, who she didn’t want to accidentally flash.

Francesca turned around and beamed at him. The wedding dress she’d had made for her was exceptionally stunning. It fit tight to her body, showing off her curves, without revealing much skin at all. The neckline was modest, but her back was partially exposed. The sleeves stopped just short of her shoulders, and the fabric of the skirt pooled around her feet. It was delightful to walk around in, but Francesca didn’t think that she’d be spending much more time in it tonight.

“I had to pull out all the stops to match up to your handsomeness,” Francesca grinned.

Truly, Harry was a sight to behold. His black robes were exquisitely done, and they highlighted his physique. His normally messy hair was mostly tamed but still retained that certain quality to it that made it ever so special, and his beautiful eyes were so full of expressive life that Francesca kept finding herself getting lost in them.

Harry’s wand flicked into his hand so fast that Francesca knew he was just showing off for her. He gave a gentle wave and lit more candles around the room, providing a gentle glow. Their bed was freshly made, clean, and tidy. It wouldn’t be for long.

“I think it’s time we finally consummated this marriage, don’t you?” Harry asked her.

“I’ve been dreaming about it all night,” Francesca replied.

They met at the edge of the bed, and Francesca nearly melted when Harry kissed her. His lips were so warm and divine; he even tucked one of his fingers beneath her chin to tilt her head up to the perfect angle. The heat between her thighs grew at that, and Francesca was half tempted to just tear her wedding dress off right now, regardless of how much damage she did to it.

Harry’s hands went around her back and started unbuttoning and unzipping her dress. Despite only seeing her in it for the first time today, his fingers just seemed to know right where to go.

The soft fabric of the dress started to fall away from her, and she had to pull her body back away from Harry just a bit to let it fall down past her waist. Harry helped pull it down eagerly and continued to kiss her needfully.

Francesca did her best to help Harry out of his clothes too, but his outfit couldn’t just slip off of his body like hers could. She managed to get his robes off of him, but that left his shirt and trousers left to go. As much as she didn’t want to stop kissing her love, she needed to so that she could get the rest of his clothes off.

Francesca dropped to her knees in front of Harry and went straight for his trousers. She could feel his hardness pushing against her palm as she unbuttoned him. She gave him a playful squeeze, and Harry groaned in reply. His hands went for his shirt, which he promptly stripped off of himself just as Francesca pulled his trousers and pants down in one go.

Harry’s cock leapt right up into Francesca’s face eagerly, smacking her cheek.

“Someone’s eager,” she laughed as she grabbed his cock and started to stroke it.

“He can wait,” Harry growled as he bent down and grabbed her by her armpits. He hoisted her into the air and tossed her onto the bed, following quickly.

Francesca ended up on her back, and Harry dove right in between her thighs eagerly. He loved getting her off like this; he always stared up at her face, drinking in her every expression as she moaned his name.

Her bare pussy was eager and ready for him, and his warm breath excited her even more than she already was.

“I had half a mind to call off the ceremony the moment I saw you,” Harry said with a joking smile. “I wanted everyone to leave so that I could get you up here and have my way with you.”

“Now you can,” Francesca told him. “Take me however you want.”

“And what about what you want?” Harry raised an eyebrow at her as his hands started to work down her thighs. “What do you want me to do to you right now?”

“I want you to lick me,” Francesca said breathlessly.

“Like this?” Harry asked as he stuck out his tongue and ran it up the length of her labia slowly. He went all the way up until his tongue reached her clit, and he gave it just the gentlest touch like she enjoyed.

“Yes,” Francesca said with a soft moan. “Just like that.”

Francesca felt her body relax as Harry licked her. His tongue cleaned away all of her juices that had built up along her slit, tasting her richness. His fingers move in closer to her core then, just teasing her labia before moving in closer. His nose was right up against the hood of her clit, and his tongue was still eagerly lapping away at her when he slipped a finger inside of her.

While Harry’s fingers would never compare to his cock, he certainly knew how to use them. It only took a moment before he stuck another finger inside of her and got them both thoroughly coated in her juices. Then, he curled his fingers up and gave her clit a nice, long lick.

“Harry,” Francesca moaned, her back arching off of the bed slightly. She needed something to grab onto, and her hands instinctively went to her full breasts. She squeezed them tightly as Harry kept on licking her.

Her breathing came in faster and faster. She’d been so worked up the entire day that just the slightest touch from Harry left her dangerously close to tumbling over the edge. Her pussy felt like it was on burning up, and Harry never stopped pleasuring her for even a second to allow her to recover.

Harry alternated between sliding his fingers in and out of her pussy and pressing them up against that perfect spot that made her toes curl up in delight. Her pussy fluttered needfully around his fingers as she stared down breathlessly at him. Harry was watching her, and she could see the joy in his eyes as he made her feel so damn good.

His tongue curled around her clit, lavishing it with delicate touches. Francesca’s moans only grew louder as he continued his work, but as good as it was, this wasn’t what Francesca wanted.

“Wait,” she told Harry as she gasped in a deep breath. “I want you.”

“You already have me,” Harry teased her.

Francesca didn’t wait for another one of his smart replies. She sat up, making Harry’s fingers slide out of her, and yanked him up towards the head of the bed. Harry laughed and helped move himself up there before Francesca straddled his lap.

She stared into Harry’s eyes as she impaled herself on his cock. His burning hot shaft filled her up and stretched her out so wonderfully. This was what she wanted more than anything. Her walls clung tightly around him but still allowed him passage into her depths. She settled on his lap and placed her arms smoothly on either side of his head, letting her breasts dangle within his reach.

“You know, now that we’re married, we can have a kid for real,” she murmured softly to him.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly. “I thought that you were still taking the potion?”

Francesca gave a slight shake of her head. “My last dose was two weeks ago, meaning it stopped being effective on Wednesday. And today isn’t a safe day for me. I could get pregnant if you finished inside me. Would you like that?”

“Merlin, yes,” Harry shivered. His cock throbbed inside of her.

Francesca smiled down at him and rolled her hips. Her arousal was only heightened at hearing Harry’s confirmation. She could give him a child, and they could start a real family together. She’d always dreamt of having a large family, but after her first husband died, she reconciled the idea in her mind that she’d only ever have Blaise. But now she had a second chance with a man whom she loved with all of her heart.

Finally, Francesca started moving her hips up and down. She was moving slowly and methodically, putting every bit of focus on the feeling of Harry’s cock pulsing inside of her tight, wet pussy. It was where he belonged, and hopefully the night would end with her becoming pregnant.

And if it didn’t, there were plenty more mornings, days, and nights where they could try again and again.

Francesca loved the way Harry watched her while she rode his cock. His eyes reflected his love and lust, and he only broke eye contact with her briefly to look down at her bouncing breasts and her pussy engulfing his cock. It turned her on so much to know just how attracted he was to her.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Francesca couldn’t help herself when he was looking at her like that. She wanted to be fully connected with him.

Francesca started bouncing on his cock harder and faster the more they kissed. She rode all the way up his shaft before slamming herself back down, making her arse smack loudly off of his thighs. Her pussy was fluttering again around his cock, brought right back to the brink. She moaned into their kiss and was forced to break it off as her body gasped for breath.

“I love you,” Harry groaned as he stared up into her eyes. His hands found her hips, and he helped her ride up and down his shaft.

“I love you,” Francesca moaned back to him.

Suddenly, it felt like a tidal wave washed over her as her body tensed up. Harry helped her slam down onto his cock one final time before she came hard. Her orgasm was explosive, making her pussy tighten around his cock harder than she ever had before, and her entire body was filled with a rush of euphoria.

Harry moaned out her name, and then she felt his cock spurt his seed inside of her.

The two of them revelled in their orgasms. The intrinsic connection of shared pleasure between the two of them emphasised the closeness of their bond and the deep love that they had for one another.

Finally, Francesca thought to herself as she collapsed onto Harry’s chest, she’d found true happiness with the man who she belonged with.

Old Writing:

It was only two days later that Francesca found herself being escorted into the Ministry. Aurors had arrived at her home early in the morning, and Francesca had gone with them without complaint. Strangely, they hadn’t arrested her, but neither were they forthcoming with any information. She suspected that Harry had explained everything to them and that they were taking her in for questioning before officially charging her with a crime. If so, she was fine with that. Without her son or her love, what did she have to live for? She would wallow away her days in Azkaban and deal with the consequences of her actions.

Rather than go in through the main Ministry entrance, the two Aurors apparated her directly into a dark chamber before leading her out directly into the Auror Department.

Despite the early hour, the department was in a frenzy as dozens of witches and wizards rushed around the place. Support staff, such as receptionists and clerks, were delivering documents to various Aurors, who were often hunched over desks, furiously scribbling away on endless sheets of parchment.

The Aurors led Francesca past all of that though, and she kept her head down low as she was taken down a side corridor towards a series of doors. The Aurors stopped at the first open, knocked on it, and then opened it a moment later.

“In,” one of the Aurors said to Francesca, not entirely unkindly.

Francesca stepped past them into the room. She paused midstride when she saw who was sitting in there.

“Minister,” Francesca dipped her chin slightly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked older and older each time she saw him. The exhaustion that came with leading a government out of war was draining him, but he kept on fighting to improve Britain for everyone. They’d last seen each other at a private supper at Harry’s house just a few months ago.

“Francesca,” Kingsley replied with an unreadable expression on his face. “You should sit down.”

She did as she was bade.

“Leave us,” Kingsley said over his shoulder to the two Aurors.

“Sir.” They nodded before stepping back and closing the door.

Kingsley looked down at the files on the table between them with a weary expression on his face. There was a cold cup of coffee next to it, barely touched.

“Harry’s smitten with you, you know?” Kingsley said as he looked back up at her.

A lump formed in Francesca’s throat. “I know.”

Kingsley held her gaze for a moment before he looked back down at the files. “I reviewed the Pensieve memory of your meeting myself. Harry couldn’t bare to watch it after experiencing it himself.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel bad about myself, Minister, trust me that there isn’t much you can say that can make me feel worse than I already do,” Francesca told him.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair and eyed her carefully. “What if I told you that Harry’s in St Mungo’s right now? That the only reason he’s there is because he went to go rescue your son?”

All of the air left Francesca’s lungs in an instant. Even though a hundred questions burned on her tongue, she couldn’t form the words she needed. All she could do was stare back at Kingsley with a look of shock and grief written across her face.

She never wanted to hurt Harry like this, not after she came to knew him.

Francesca gagged on air before she forced herself to take a deep breath. “How is he?”

“Worse than if he’d left this for someone else to handle,” Kingsley answered. “But he’ll survive. They only expect him to be in there for the night.”

“Was he cursed—?”

Francesca couldn’t even finish her sentence before Kingsley laid into her. “He’s got a hole through his thigh and one of his arteries got nicked in the fighting. That’s not to mention the countless cuts, scrapes, and bruises he’s got. The healers at St Mungo’s will take care of him, but he’ll be adding a few new scars to his collection.”

“I didn’t want him to do this,” Francesca murmured more to herself than Kingsley. Tears began to well up in her eyes again. Why would Harry do this for her?

“And yet he did it anyway, because that’s just the type of man Harry is,” Kingsley said like he was chiding her.

For a moment, a glimmer of hope filled her chest. “And my son… Blaise… is he alright?”

The hardness of Kingsley’s expression softened for a moment. “He’s suffered greatly from malnutrition, broken bones that were never set back properly, and a few burns and scars, but he’s alive. He’ll be in St Mungo’s for a few more days before he’s released, but he’ll be stuck on a regiment of potions for quite some time.”

The relief that filled Francesca was indescribable. They hadn’t killed her son after all.

Everything suddenly blurred and the room spun around her as she began to hyperventilate. This was all coming at her so fast, and her mind couldn’t process it all. Kingsley sat by and waited, neither offering her comfort nor saying anything to make it worse than it already was.

She couldn’t believe that Harry had done all of this for her. She knew the type of man he was, but she betrayed him in the worst way possible. If someone had done to her what she’d done to Harry, Francesca didn’t know if she’d be so willing to help them out.

As Francesca regained control over her breathing, Kingsley spoke up again.

“Thanks to Harry, we’ve captured eleven Death Eaters today,” he told her. “Most of them weren’t marked, but they had the uniforms. Three more are still on the run, but we’ll track them down. There’s a lot of evidence to go through too, so there’s a possibility we’ll find remnant Death Eaters and sympathisers lurking about.”

“Where were they captured?” Francesca asked. She had to know.

“Macnair Manor.”

Francesca remembered Walden Macnair; he’d been one of the men who’d approached her, seeking her hand after she’d returned to Britain the first time. He was locked up in Azkaban now for his crimes during the war, but apparently the rest of his family wasn’t.

“You should know that they had documents detailing their entire blackmail plan on you,” Kingsley told her brusquely. “But that doesn’t excuse what you did. You conspired to murder Harry Potter.”

Francesca nodded sorrowfully. “I know.”

A flicker of frustration crossed Kingsley’s face. “I planned to have you arrested and tried, but Harry put a stop to it.”

“He what?” Francesca blurted out in surprise.

Kingsley seemed to be chewing on something unpleasant as he stared her down. “He demanded a pardon from me. Said that if I didn’t give you one, he’d make it his life’s mission to make my life a living hell. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to blackmail me since I became the Minister for Magic, but it’s the first time I’ve ever agreed to it.”

Kingsley pulled out a sealed scroll from within his robes and tossed it across the table. It bounced a few times before it landed in Francesca’s lap.

“I want to make it clear that I’m doing this for Harry’s sake, not yours,” Kingsley said seriously. “You hurt the man we all owe our lives to worse than anyone else has in his life, and he’s still trying to protect you. He deserves better than you.”

Francesca couldn’t disagree.

Kingsley stood up from his seat. “You’re free to leave.”

“I’m going straight to St Mungo’s,” Francesca told Kingsley.

He reached back into his robes and pulled out her wand before setting it down on the table. Francesca went to take it, but Kingsley kept it pinned down.

“If I were you, I’d leave Britain when this is all done. Take your son and leave for good. Harry would be better off without you.”

He lifted his hand then and walked out the door without another word. Francesca was frozen in place, replaying Kingsley’s words in her mind again and again.

Maybe Harry was better off without her. Maybe…

She shook her head. This wasn’t for her or Kingsley to decide. She’d spent too long wrapped up in her own machinations to realise that she wasn’t the only person who mattered in this equation. She needed to talk to Harry and listen to what he had to say.

And if he told her to leave, she would.

PAGE BREAK

Hermione and Ron were waiting outside the door to Harry’s room in St Mungo’s. Ron’s expression turned to one of scorn when he laid his eyes on Francesca, but Hermione’s look was much gentler.

Francesca forced her shame to the side as she approached them. “Is he alright?”

“After what you did, I—” Ron began to chastise her, but Hermione placed a calming hand on his arm.

“He’s awake, and he’ll be okay in a day or two,” Hermione told Francesca sympathetically. From all the stories she’d heard about Harry’s exploits over the years, Francesca knew that Hermione went through similar experiences year after year, wondering if Harry was okay after each terrifying incident. “Right now, he just wants to see you.”

Ron opened his mouth to say something, and Francesca didn’t do a thing to stop him. She knew she deserved all of his loathing and hate, and anything that he could say to make himself feel better was fine by her. But he didn’t say anything. He stopped himself just as he went to speak and instead snapped his jaw closed.

Francesca hesitated a moment, giving Ron a chance to speak his mind, but he just turned away from her.

“You should head on in,” Hermione said with a small smile. “Harry’s waiting.”

A small part of Francesca wanted to run away and hide, but she knew that this conversation needed to happen. She opened the door into Harry’s room and stepped inside quickly before shutting the door behind her.

As far as rooms at St Mungo’s went, this must have been one of the nicer ones. It was large, filled with seating, and had a massive window overlooking the muggle brick buildings outside. Harry was lying down on a large hospital bed, staring at her as she entered. Most of his body was covered by the crisp, white bedsheets, hiding whatever injuries laid beneath it. His head and neck seemed untouched.

The moment their eyes met, Francesca nearly burst into tears again. No matter how many times she’d cried in the last few days, there never seemed to be an end to them.

Harry’s expression softened as he saw the tears forming in her eyes. “Come here,” he said softly.

Francesca walked to his bedside and stopped right at the edge. Normally, she’d be happy to slip into bed and cuddle up with him, but it didn’t feel right after all that had happened.

“The Minister told me what you did,” Francesca began slowly, fighting to keep her tears from spilling free. “I… thank you, Harry.”

“How’s Blaise?” Harry asked her. His voice was still so quiet, and Francesca wondered if he’d sustained some sort of injury to his vocal chords.

“I haven’t been to see him yet,” she answered. “But the Minister said he’d be okay after some treatment.”

“What are you doing here then?” Harry asked, sounding surprised and bewildered, as though he couldn’t imagine why she’d want to see him at all.

“Because I wanted to see you,” Francesca told him honestly. “And I owe you answers to any questions you have.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about us the last few days,” Harry admitted. “All the time we spent together and how our relationship developed. I was your target from the start, right? You were already planning to kill me back at the Ministry ball?”

“Yes,” Francesca admitted, unable to mask the regret in her voice. “I came back to Britain not long before that, just after Blaise had been taken. Once I got my affairs in order, I sought you out.”

Harry nodded to himself. “And then you made me fall in love with you.”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Francesca said gently, trying not to start a fight. “What you felt for me was real, and I… I fell in love with you too.”

“You don’t need to lie to make me feel better,” Harry told her.

“I’m not!” Francesca exclaimed. “