firecracker ???

5-12

Her gaze flicked back to Lyra.

Then to Harry.

She exhaled. Sharp. Controlled.

"I'll protect the girl," she said finally. "Don't make me regret it."

"You won't," Narcissa promised.

"Good," Bellatrix said, and sat down beside Sirius like she hadn't just unburdened decades of pain.

Harry, half-forgotten in the corner with Lyra, leaned in slightly. His gaze had been flitting across each face in the room. For minutes, he had looked around at the family that Elestara had grown up in—powerful, brilliant, terrifying—and felt oddly... welcomed.

He whispered to Lyra, "You all really are something."

"Something terrifying?"

"Something brilliant."

She glanced at him sideways.

Narcissa, ever the perfect hostess even in a home that didn't exactly belong to her, crossed the room with a fresh glass of wine. She offered it to Harry with a soft smile, brushing an imaginary speck from his sleeve as she did.

"Careful, love," she murmured, eyes flicking to the roaring fireplace. "This family runs on fire, not tea. Keep up, or they'll burn you out."

Harry stopped, slightly caught off guard. "I'll learn to manage it."

"I think you already have," she said simply, giving him a brief pat on the arm before gliding back to her chair.

Lucius, watching from where he stood near the bar, raised his glass toward Harry. "You're adjusting quickly, son."

There was no edge to it. No sarcasm. Just a quiet nod of approval—cool and efficient as always, but genuine.

Harry straightened slightly, unsure whether to be proud or alarmed.

Later, as Elestara leaned toward him, Harry whispered, tone laced with mock self-importance,

"Did you see that? They love me already. They're practically planning our marriage."

She stared. "That was not—"

"It was."

"It was not a blessing."

"Oh, it was."

"You're insufferable."

"Perfect for you."

"You're impossible."

"Oh look, how great, even more perfect for you."

She elbowed him and he didn't stop grinning.

Across the room, Bellatrix caught the interaction. She hummed. "He's still alive. That's impressive."

"I told you," Narcissa said, sipping her wine. "He's very charming."

"I see that," Bellatrix replied, gaze sharp and unreadable.

Lucius, ever the strategist, caught Harry's eye. Lucius nodded.

The nod was small. Measured. Approving.

Lucius had never hated him. Not really. He hadn't asked anything about their Yule dance last year. Hadn't raised a wand when Harry flirted with his daughter. Hadn't said anything when Lyra had gone to visit him over the holiday.

Lucius Malfoy had always known this match was coming.

It suited him just fine.

Harry turned back to Elestara.

She was watching her family—her mother who glowed with quiet steel, her father who moved every piece three turns ahead, her still-a-bit deranged aunt who was coming back to her senses nonetheless, her uncles who burned like twin flames. 

She looked at home.

"I love them," she said softly when she noticed Harry's gaze.

Harry grinned. "So do I. I'm already the favourite son-in-law."

She turned to glare at him abruptly, jokingly. 

"I'm going to kill you."

"I'm already in the will."

She smothered a laugh and pushed his shoulder.

In that moment, with Bellatrix quietly sipping wine beside Sirius and Regulus, with Lucius content and Narcissa peaceful, with the fire casting long golden light across Elestara's hair—Harry Potter realised he hadn't just found her.

He'd found a place.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But his. He reached for her hand and kissed it.

Elestara Black didn't pull away.

Not this time.