Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Warner Bros, Bloomsbury. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warning: Not specified, but Harry and co are sixteen, meaning underage in some places, while Fleur is nineteen so underage in almost all places

Five marriage contracts and some mystical Veela magic later, Lord Potter-Black-Gryffindor-Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff-Slytherin finds himself decidedly lost.

("Harry, just do what feels natural."

"What feels natural right now is changing my name and running away to America."

"That's just pre-wedding jitters. Your father was the same way."

"Yeah, well he wasn't marrying seven girls at the same time, all of whom he's never had more than one conversation with in his life."

"You'll be fine.")

Dumbledore, in a stunning display of favouritism, had moved Harry and his multiple wives into their own rooms in the castle, and after pointing out the facilities, had winked and left them in the room with the massive bed.

Harry had promptly dragged his trunk out to their living room, and announced his intention of sleeping on the couch that night, and getting someone to sort out rooms for them all the next morning.

Not twenty minutes later each of Harry's wives walked out of their bedroom dressed only in skimpy lingerie that matched their house colours - Fleur's being baby blue because despite having graduated she still had intense school pride - and emphasised their absurdly massive breasts for teenage girls, along with their perky, tight arses, the best of which was naturally on the girl with the smallest cup-size.

The girls had draped themselves around the room. Hannah and Susan on a couch across from Harry, both reading from a book in a way that pressed their busts together, somehow. Daphne, Fleur and Tracy took the three armchairs in the room, seating themselves in Harry's eye line, and crossing their legs in such a way that the curve of their arse was prominent, without detracting from Harry's view of their completely flat stomachs and tiny waists. Padma and Parvati - who had come as a pair in their marriage contract, despite the fact that all the contracts were written far before all of them were born - were the most bold, seating themselves in a love seat, and twining around each other in such a way that it was impossible to tell whose limbs were whose.

Harry spent the rest of the night blushing profusely, with his head buried in his book, not looking up until each girl came to wish him good night with a kiss on the cheek and a sultry smirk - not that he recognised it for what it was of course.

("Ron, I swear to god they all hate me.

"What are you talking about, they were all over you at your wedding."

"Yeah, but last night they were all smirk-y, and didn't talk to me at all. Not once. And then they were all huffy this morning."

"Just buy flowers. Solves everything.")

So Harry returned to his room that evening, after a day of class where girls from every house stared at him incredulously. He was levitating seven bunches of flowers ahead of him, each bunch different but equally gorgeous, or so the florist at Hogsmeade had told him - because apparently being married allowed the husband whatever freedoms they wanted, despite them still being underage, at school, under the school's duty of care, and no other student had ever taken advantage of this before, ever. Harry entered the room to find his wives all spread around the room again, in different combinations than they were last night, completing homework, except for Fleur, who had graduated, but was still required to be at Hogwarts, because fuck the age of consent.

Harry gave each girl a bunch of flowers, and they all hugged him and kissed him on the cheek in return, pressing their bodies close to his as they did so, and offering to repay him in turn.

It took multiple reassurances that he did not want anything at all from them to get them to stop.

Harry had been told that there would be no changes to his rooming arrangements, and so spent the night in the massive bed with the rest of his wives, all of whom were dressed in the lingerie he was coming to realise was their nightwear.

Harry woke up with the Patil twins pressed on either side of him, and Daphne curled up between his legs, her head resting on his rock-hard, washboard abs, and her breasts pressing into his rock-hard morning erection, shifting in her sleep in such a way that he was sliding between her enormous cleavage.

He carefully extracted himself from the girls, putting a pillow under Daphne's head, and went to the bathroom to deal with his overly large problem.

He showered and dressed, then went back into the bedroom to find all the girls awake, and curled around each other, with half having been divested of their bras, and a collection of panties strewn around the room, so he quickly picked up his book bag, and went to the Great Hall for breakfast.

("Hermione, I think they're all… um, you know."

"What are you talking about."

"My wives, they… play for the same team?"

"What?"

"You know, cheer for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Harry, I have no idea what you're on about."

"They're all lesbians."

"…")

Luckily for Harry, Hermione having walked away from this conversation without replying did not hinder him from learning that none of his wives were gay, and that all of them were very very interested in him and his absurdly massive cock.

He walked into their shared rooms, and was promptly given a glass of water that had, unbeknownst to him had been spiked with a highly potent lust potion, as well as a very strong stamina potion. Harry immediately after finishing the drink, stripped himself out of his clothes, picked up the closest wife - Tracy - and kissed her into an orgasm and while walking to the bed. He pulled off her panties and slammed into her, which pushed her into another orgasm, while a couple of thrusts pushed her into a third, without her clitoris having to be stimulated once.

Tracy, having become overwhelmed with pleasure by this point, passed out, and Harry pulled out of her, and was pushed onto his back, with one Patil twin straddling his face and another straddling his hips - by this point in the story they are so indistinguishable as characters that Harry has no way of telling which is which considering they are both entirely naked and so can't be identified by their house affiliation - allowing Harry to demonstrate his astounding prowess at cunnilingus, despite having never done it before.

The night continued much the same way, Harry coming multiple times, his wives coming at least an order of magnitude more - each - with multiple exclamations of how good his come tasted by every single wife who managed to deep throat his massive cock - all of them - and nary a cervix being hit or womb being entered - because the first would really hurt, and the second would cause so so so much blood and pain, completely aside from being physically impossible and likely to render the woman infertile for the rest of her life.

And thus, considering they had all taken their contraceptive potions like good teenagers who don't have any desire to be pregnant while still at school, or raising a child while trying to complete their educations, Harry and his wives entered matrimonial bliss with absolutely no resentment or issues with surrounding use of lust potions to induce sex in a person who had not consented, many orgasms for all and the death of Voldemort caused by said multiple orgasms killing him in a burst of power that proved to all that doubting Dumbledore's 'Power of Love' theory was ridiculous.

Of course, matrimonial bliss did not resolve Harry Potter of his chronic inability to understand romance, or indeed women at all, but he managed. Mostly by keeping the Hogsmeade florist in business single-handedly.

("I don't get it Hermione. Why did she ask if she didn't want to know. I mean they're all gorgeous, but Fleur is obviously the prettiest. She's part Veela for gods sakes."

"…")

AN: I like harem fic, okay. I read it. Sometimes I even read it for reasons beyond the unrelenting smut. That does not mean that sometimes the issues inherent in the genre don't irritate me.

Thus this fic was born.

Don't take it seriously, because I didn't.

xxx Whitsie.

p.s. crossposting from ao3, I didn't steal anything