WARNING: This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.
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Chapter Two:
She tilted her head and smiled, totally unconcerned with his anger.
"And there he is. The Harry Potter who faces down the Dark Lord and walks away unscathed. I wondered whether he would make an appearance."
Harry exhaled roughly and tried to calm himself. He couldn't tell if she was actually threatening Hermione or just provoking him because he was at her mercy. Either one made him want to rage at her. "I don't care what kind of twisted game you're playing. I don't want to be a part of it."
"Twisted? You do say the nicest things. What makes you think I'm playing a game?"
He didn't answer, his anger still overpowering his confusion.
She leaned away and let her eyes rove over his body again, as if reappraising a valuable work of art. "A lion in the guise of a lamb in the guise of a ragamuffin," she said in seeming admiration. "You are a confusing young man, but an interesting one."
He nearly laughed in her face. He had never been more bewildered by another person in his life. He had no idea what she might do next. He was no longer even certain she had been trying to seduce him.
She watched him with unaffected mirth in her eyes. The tension in their backseat cocoon bled away slightly as they stared at each other. She was forced to break the silence.
"Fear not, Harry. Your little friend is in no danger from me. But you should heed my warning. She is not safe from the Dark Lord."
Something deep within his chest unclenched. For some reason he believed her. He fought the urge to sigh in relief. "I appreciate the warning. I will do something about it."
She inclined her head. "One should always protect one's valuables."
He snorted at her choice of words but did not respond.
"There really is no reason for hostility," she said lightly. "Would you like something to drink? I find myself in need of refreshment."
The sudden shift in mood left him feeling unbalanced. It was almost as if their mutual threats hadn't been exchanged. He wanted out of this witch's sadistic presence if only so he could think straight for a moment. He nodded hesitantly.
"What would you like? I have a delicious cabernet sauvignon, Armagnac, champagne, a sublime vodka…well, just about anything you might want."
"A butterbeer will be fine."
She shot him an amused glance. "I apologize, but I do not keep butterbeer in my limousine."
"I, er, I'll just have whatever you're having then."
She tapped a small cabinet that was built into the barrier in front of them. It opened to reveal a decanter containing a dark liquid and two crystal glasses. She poured them both a modest measure.
"Here. I think you'll find this slightly more refreshing than butterbeer."
He took a tentative sip. It burned going down. He suspected it was some sort of scotch.
"It's quite good, is it not?"
"It's strong."
"It is. An acquired taste, perhaps, but that burn is pleasant once you have become accustomed to it."
He nodded. The tension from moments ago had nearly bled away, as if it had never happened. She was almost treating him with respect. He didn't know what to make of it.
She returned to her relaxed position two feet away from him, tucking her feet beneath her. It was an oddly girlish pose for a beautiful, bejeweled woman in a silk dress. She was close, but he was relieved that she was no longer in his personal space.
She watched him in silence as she sipped her drink. He watched her uncomfortably while he sipped his. He wanted something else—anything else—to occupy his attention, but there was nothing. Despite the soothing alcohol, he felt the tension starting to rise again.
"Are you afraid of me, Harry?" she finally asked.
He didn't want to answer that question honestly. He looked into her eyes again, trying to focus on her beauty rather than her personality. Simply asking him that question seemed to delight her. He had the uncanny feeling that he was conversing with a sane Bellatrix Lestrange.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound confident. "I…don't know if I can trust you. I don't really know you, and frankly, you confuse the hell out of me."
She grinned. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
He took a small sip of his drink but did not respond.
"Do you believe I am in league with the Dark Lord?" she inquired.
He winced at the unexpectedly direct question. "I certainly hope not. But you don't seem like his type."
She laughed loudly, and Harry thought it might be the first frank expression she had allowed him to see.
"The Dark Lord does not have a type as far as I am aware. Unless you count the psychotic devotion of Bellatrix Lestrange. I am quite certain she does not receive that sort of attention from him, though she would no doubt welcome it."
He didn't want to imagine that scenario, or to know how Phaedra Zabini could possibly be aware of what Voldemort did with Bellatrix in private.
She took another sip of her drink. "I have no intention of turning you over to the Dark Lord. He has nothing I want, and I try to avoid involving myself in political squabbles."
'Political squabbles.' He found her answer reassuring nonetheless.
"Plus it would be a shame to mar such beautiful skin with a tattoo, don't you think?"
"I agree."
She smiled at his compliment and downed the rest of her drink. His was still half-full, a fact that she noticed. "You do not care for your drink?"
He took a more substantial sip, his eyes threatening to water at the burn. "It's good. I'm just not used to it."
"The best things in life require some getting used to."
He nodded sagely and looked away, pretending he knew what the hell she was talking about.
She said nothing more for a short while, preferring to watch him. She seemed to enjoy watching him more than talking to him. "Do you have some other reason to be afraid of me?" she asked, just as he was finishing his drink.
He almost coughed. He felt the primal urge to stay still again. He suspected it would be a mistake to mention her reputation as a black widow, but he didn't know what else to say.
"Cat got your tongue, Harry?" she said, not even trying to conceal her amusement.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
He met her eyes again. They seemed to almost glow in the dim light. She looked like she could barely resist the urge to laugh at him.
"Surely you've heard of my reputation. Even I have heard the rumors, though none dare whisper them to me."
"I might have heard…something," he acknowledged.
"What did you hear?"
He felt his face heat up. She was toying with him again, but he didn't want to talk about murder with someone who had actually committed murder. "That you've had seven husbands. All seven of them died in mysterious circumstances."
"There was nothing mysterious about them. They all died of natural or accidental causes. Each time I was devastated."
"Naturally," he agreed.
"Of course, that didn't stop people from speculating. 'Black Widow,' they call me. I personally prefer 'murderess,' don't you? It's got an exotic flavor to it."
"Do you think I'm a murderess?" she added curiously.
"I really have no idea."
"But do you think me capable of it?"
She smiled as he wrestled with his composure, seeking an answer that would not offend her. He looked out the window.
"Given our conversation about Hermione, I would say you are capable of almost anything."
"I told you your friend wasn't in any danger from me. Do you believe I am lying to you?"
"No."
"Rather trusting on your part. But then I am talented at convincing even the most stubborn of men to trust me."
Harry had no doubt that her self-assessment was accurate.
She stared at the ceiling as if lost in thought. "I wonder what the magical world would say if they discovered that Phaedra Zabini had married The-Boy-Who-Lived. Do you think we'd make a good couple, Harry?"
He swallowed thickly. "Some people wouldn't be very happy."
"An understatement if ever I've heard one. But do you think we'd be a well-matched couple?"
"Er, probably not."
She smirked. "Why not? A callow but powerful young wizard in need of guidance; an experienced and sympathetic witch who could guide him to greatness. It sounds like a match made in heaven to me."
Or hell, he thought.
He realized he hadn't answered, and looked over at her cautiously. She was watching him with her damnable smile again.
"You are positively squirming in your seat. It's delightful."
"I think you like playing with your food whether you eat it or not," he muttered resentfully.
She laughed and continued smiling at him.
He glanced out the window again. He thought he still recognized some landmarks. They may not have traveled all that far, which was strangely reassuring.
"Do you intend to propose marriage today, Harry? We're clearly well-matched."
He almost rolled his eyes. "Perhaps not today, Phaedra."
"A pity. I suppose we should just be friends then. It might irritate some powerful people if you were to take advantage of a helpless widow."
"Yes, it would."
"Well, if we aren't going to celebrate our nuptials any time soon, I suppose you have no reason to be afraid of me. Isn't that so?"
"I suppose so," he said, turning to glance at her.
He didn't want to acknowledge that he was definitely afraid of this woman, even if she might not pose the same kind of threat that Voldemort did.
She watched as his emotions played out across his face. "You are such an open book, dear boy. As I said, it's quite endearing."
He blushed but held her gaze defiantly. He hated being so easy to read for people like her, but he was a Gryffindor. He preferred direct, decisive action, not subtle manipulation. She was playing him like a musical instrument, and he hated it.
"Quite so," she said, her pupils dilating again. "You are like a small but fine Stradivarius, a little worn and badly in need of tuning but an exquisite instrument nevertheless."
Harry suddenly felt like his stomach might drop out of his body. He hadn't… "You've been using legilimency on me," he said in horror, his heart pounding.
She looked delighted at the expression on his face. "Of course I have. How else am I supposed to satisfy my curiosity?"
His nostrils flared and he had the urge to strangle her again. He hated people tampering with his mind. Snape. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Each had done it, and it never resulted in anything good for him. "Have you satisfied your curiosity yet?"
She raised an eyebrow at the shift in his mood, but appeared unconcerned. "I am very far from satisfied. This barely qualifies as foreplay, in fact."
He blushed again, his anger replaced by discomfort. He had momentarily forgotten her proposition, unsure whether to take it seriously. "I don't appreciate people fiddling with my mind."
"I have not fiddled with it," she said with some exasperation. "I have not searched for your secrets. I am simply getting to know you."
He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.
"There is no need to be angry with me, Harry. I could have killed you the moment you came into my possession. You were at my mercy. Clearly I have no interest in harming you."
"At least not at the moment," she added coyly.
"I came into your possession rather unwillingly."
"At first, perhaps, but it would be difficult for me to liaise with you at Hogwarts, would it not? Your point is moot, because soon you will be very willing indeed."
He sighed and tried to relax into the seat. It seemed he had no choice but to play along with her game. For now, at least. "If you say so."
She tilted her head politely at his acquiescence. "May I offer you another drink? Sometimes young men need liquid courage, even if they are Gryffindors."
He accepted her offer. He had little experience with alcohol, but the idea of something that would calm his nerves was very welcome. She poured them both another measure of whatever they were drinking, then reclined into her casual position again. Her eyes met his as she sipped her drink. He found it difficult to look away, even when he knew what she was doing. She had already seen what he thought of her.
"Perhaps you should take steps to fortify your mind if you don't like my presence there."
He took a sip of the bitter drink. "I have. It didn't work out so well."
"That's a shame."
"I can't even feel whatever it is you're doing. I'm usually aware of it when someone invades my mind."
"I do appreciate the compliment, but I am not really invading your mind. I'm barely touching it, in fact. You are broadcasting your thoughts like a beacon. A muggle could read your mind."
He frowned, not knowing how to respond to that. How was he supposed to hide his own thoughts from himself?
Her grin returned. "Have you considered my offer, Harry? I hope my hospitality has convinced you that you are in no danger from me."
"Your offer?"
"Come now, don't be obtuse."
"I wasn't certain if you were serious or just toying with me."
"Both, of course."
He realized with dread that her proposition appeared to be genuine. Why in Merlin's name would she want to sleep with him, much less pay him for it? He knew there was a trap here, but he couldn't see it.
He closed his eyes. Here we go, he thought. If anybody's listening, I could use a phoenix and a sword right about now.
He thought furiously, trying to discover some way out of his predicament. She was proposing to sleep with him, not murder him, but his impulse to resist was just as strong. He knew how dangerous she was, how little he could trust her. She may or may not have threatened to kill him and his friends already. Maybe if he delayed the inevitable long enough, help would arrive.
He opened his eyes, careful not to look into hers. Her beautiful necklace made an excellent substitute.
"Do you need an answer right now, or do I have time to consider?"
"You have a little time perhaps, but not much. We can't have you reported as missing, after all."
Harry pondered that answer. If she was considering the consequences of his absence, that might mean she had no intention of harming him. It might also mean she was misleading him, for her own amusement or worse.
She smiled as she watched him think. "You don't have much experience with witches, do you?"
"No."
"Why not? A famous young man like yourself, not bad looking, destined to be powerful. There should be no shortage of willing witches. Or perhaps you prefer wizards."
"I, er, no. I just have some other things on my mind, I guess."
"I suppose you do."
Her eyes roved his body again. "Forgive my impertinence, Harry, but I really must know. Am I to understand that you have no experience at all with women?"
She could read the answer in his eyes. She smiled genuinely this time, as if he had just given her a priceless engagement ring. It was the most terrifying smile he had ever seen. Her dazzling teeth looked almost sharp in the dim light.
"I, er…just one kiss," he said weakly.
"Just one kiss," she repeated. "How unfortunate."
He could hear the gentle mockery in her voice. "Was it at least a good one?"
"It was…okay," he replied, remembering the awkward moment with Cho. That situation could not have been more different than the one he was in.
"You are 16, Harry. That is quite old enough to become a man. My own son became one at 14."
He did not find the thought comforting. He really didn't want to think about Blaise at the moment.
"He would never know about our liaison, of course," she continued. "I do not wish to cause trouble for him or for you."
She inched closer to him again, the movement subtly drawing his attention to her breasts. They pressed against her shimmering dress, but revealed only the faintest hint of their contours.
He tensed as she grew closer. She was back in his personal space, leaning forward to put her face inches from his.
"Look at me," she said softly.
Harry slowly looked up at her face, unable to resist. There was no denying that she was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Her dark skin was flawless, despite the fact that she was old enough to be his mother. His heart began pounding in his ears.
She gently cupped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. They were intense with something he had never seen before. Something feral but, for the moment, contained. He licked his lips nervously, acutely aware of her physical presence. Her body itself seemed to radiate some sort of magic. He was slowly growing aroused, despite his discomfort.
She looked into his face for what seemed an eternity. Finally her lip curled and he saw the sparkling mirth return to her unnaturally green eyes. He had no idea what she would do next. He was surprised when her face retreated a few inches.
"This is a very advantageous offer for you, Harry. I have money; you do not. I have experience; you do not. Do you not wish to gain a little experience with a beautiful woman?"
He had no answer to her question. If he had received such an offer from another older woman—well, someone like Tonks, he supposed, not Molly Weasley—he might have given in by now. But this woman had the capacity to kill him at any time, despite her stunning beauty. And yet his body had reacted the moment she touched him. He felt like it was betraying him.
"I am an exceptional lover, Harry Potter," she whispered. "There are many men who would pay me for the opportunity to touch my body. And I am offering to pay you. No doubt you feel that I am being manipulative. That's what seduction is. There is always predator and prey."
There was no question which role he was playing at the moment. His hands were almost shaking as his mind tried to power through the confusion that her words provoked in him. He was becoming more aroused despite his deep loathing for her, or perhaps because of it. He didn't understand her motives.
She smiled. "You are not yet ready to submit, are you? But you are close. So very close."
He looked away, resolving to get himself out of the situation somehow.
"Perhaps you fancy someone?" she inquired. "Would you feel it a betrayal to satisfy your desires with me?"
"No. I would only put a girlfriend in danger." His own voice sounded hoarse to his ears.
"Then why do you resist? Are you worried that you'll put me in danger?"
He snorted. Phaedra was no doubt the most dangerous woman in any room she entered.
"Your reluctance really makes little sense. You have a chance to satisfy your lusts on a willing and beautiful witch, one who is in no danger from your enemies, and you will receive a substantial gift in return. I don't see any downside for you."
He swallowed heavily and glanced at her. Outside of his fear, he couldn't articulate the reasons for his refusal, even to himself. This sort of thing happened only in his fantasies, and never with someone who was so dangerous. Never with someone who was so beautiful, in fact.
"I see," she said. "Self-loathing, then. You are ashamed of yourself for wanting me. Ashamed for being afraid of me and yet wanting me all the same. Perhaps you did not expect your first time to be with a witch you do not love?"
He winced and looked away. He knew he had to stop looking into her eyes, but it was so difficult to avoid them.
She leaned in close to him again, caressing his cheek softly. He closed his eyes and shivered as she whispered into his ear.
"We are not talking about love, Harry Potter. We are talking about an experience that you badly want. We both know I could do whatever I wanted with you. But I don't want to force my will on you. I want you to submit to your desire for me. Why do you fight it? No one will ever know that I conquered you. Only we will know."
His throat suddenly felt very dry. If she could sense his desire, she must also surely be able to sense his resolve. He refused to be conquered by anyone. And yet a primal part of him wanted to submit to her and do whatever she asked of him. His mind felt at war with itself. This was a kind of subtle torture he had never imagined.
"I know you want me, Harry," she whispered softly. "You can't deny it. I have seen it in your mind. Do you not want to see what's under my dress? Do you not want to touch me?"
She smiled at the contortions on his face. "Give me your hand."
He hesitantly lifted a hand. She grabbed it gently and placed it on her knee, then slowly pushed it higher, until it slipped beneath her dress and rested on her naked thigh.
He stared at the outline of his hand beneath her dress. Her skin was softer than he thought possible, and seemed to radiate heat. She let his hand remain there for a long moment, then released it. He removed it from her body with some reluctance.
"You won't have to imagine the rest, if only you submit," she said, watching him carefully.
He met her eyes with an unreadable expression but didn't respond. His pulse thumped wildly as they stared at each other.
"Merlin, you are strong. Surely you see why you captured my interest. I have made a generous offer; one that benefits both of us. Are you not tempted?"
She ran a finger slowly down his chest. It barely connected with him, but it felt scaldingly hot.
He nearly stopped breathing as her finger reached his lower abdomen. She trailed it along the belt that held up his jeans and dropped her eyes to admire his obvious arousal. His erection was pressing tightly against the fabric. Something deep in his abdomen was aching with desire, demanding to be released. He pushed the feeling away with sheer obstinacy.
She watched his face as she continued running her finger slowly along his belt. She had barely touched his body, but he was breathing heavily and trying not to look at her. She pressed her face closer to his. "Look at me."
He reluctantly looked into her eyes again.
"I know what my words are doing to you, Harry. Your cock is begging me to touch it. You're going to burst soon from my words alone. Imagine what it would feel like if I released it from its prison and caressed it."
"I…can't."
"You can," she replied, looking deeply into his eyes. "I do not eat my prey after I catch them, despite what you may think of me. But I do enjoy the chase. I'm certain you are enjoying it equally. Aren't you?"
He wrestled for self-control. He found he could no longer look away from her eyes. They seemed to hold endless depths. He wanted to surrender to her, and yet felt desperate to escape. Her nostrils flared slightly, as if she were savoring the scent of his confusion, fear, and lust.
He had never felt more hunted. No patronus could protect him from himself. He tried to look away, but found that he didn't want to. Her hand dropped from his belt and she rubbed a single finger along the length of his erection. He squirmed in his seat, angry at himself for wanting her to continue.
"You are mine now, aren't you, Harry Potter?" she whispered.
She gently caressed him with her finger, barely touching him through his jeans. Then she pulled back, both her finger and her body, giving him some space. He almost panted, trying to regain his composure.
She watched him with an amused smirk. "You were about to make a mess of yourself. From my words alone. Do you want me to stop?"
"No," he whispered hoarsely, the words escaping his mouth before he could even consider them.
"I thought so. Does that mean you have agreed to my proposition?"
He closed his eyes. "What happens if I say no?"
He could hear the mirth in her voice. "And why would you want to do that? You would never know what might have happened, and you would regret it for the rest of your life."
He opened his eyes and met her gaze intently. "That isn't what I asked."
She smiled widely, all teeth. "I suppose I could find it in my heart to return you to your home. I'm sure you have some chores that need doing. But that isn't what you want, is it?"
"How do I know you would just let me go?"
"I guess you'll just have to trust me."
Harry's head swam as he stared at her. His body knew exactly what it wanted. But his mind was a different matter. He didn't think she intended to harm him herself. But she could just as easily deliver him to someone who would. He turned over various scenarios in his head as he tried to find something solid to latch onto. He desperately wished he had some legilimency skills of his own. Her eyes were impenetrable to him. He simply had no idea how much he could trust her, no matter how much he wanted to touch her body.
She watched the battle play out behind his eyes. He didn't bother trying to hide it from her. She smiled coyly and ran a finger along her thigh, her dress inching up to reveal what lay beneath. He glanced down at her bared flesh and she saw the exact moment that he surrendered.
"If…if you give me your word that you will not harm me or my friends, then…yes, I accept."
"Harm you?" she repeated. She leaned over to whisper in his ear again. He shivered at the feel of her warm breath. "My dear boy, I am going to give you such pleasure you will beg to stay with me forever."
He breathed out roughly. His resistance collapsing, he could feel something rising from deeply within him. It quivered and writhed and wanted out. He didn't know what would happen now, and he almost didn't care. He didn't quite register that she had given him no promises.
She leaned back, a look of smug satisfaction adorning her perfect face.
"I have acquired a suite in a nearby hotel. I thought it prudent to remain somewhat in the vicinity of your home. We have in fact been circling the hotel for the past twenty minutes. Would you like to join me inside?"
"Yes," he almost whispered.
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Minutes later, Harry followed Phaedra through the lobby of a posh hotel. Her bodyguard loomed behind him, almost daring him to try something. He didn't know where they were, but he assumed they had traveled through Greater Whinging into the outskirts of London. There was no place like this near his home. The floors were made of gleaming marble, as were the pillars that ascended high into the ceiling.
They stepped into an empty elevator and Phaedra pressed the top button. Obviously nothing less than the penthouse would suit her needs.
Harry felt a complex flood of emotions. Dread was prominent. He felt like a man who had just been condemned to death, but also like a prisoner who had received a last-second reprieve. Anticipation was building in him so strongly that he could barely feel his disgust and self-loathing. A deep-seated thrill had replaced them. He knew that anything might happen next. He might lose his virginity to the most darkly alluring witch he had ever laid eyes on, or he might find himself surrounded by Death Eaters.
At last they arrived at their stop. The entire top floor belonged to Phaedra. They stepped out into a palatial room that was easily as big as the Dursley's house. Her guard remained by the entrance.
"Follow me, Harry," she commanded, and led him across the hall to a door.
She opened it and then stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
He glanced apprehensively inside. It appeared to be an innocuous master bedroom with a huge bed.
She smiled. "After you. You are my guest, after all."
He nodded and entered the room, his anticipation and dread threatening to overwhelm him.
He never saw the spell that hit him in the back.
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A/N: My apologies, but I can't resist a good cliffhanger. Hope you're enjoying the story so far. I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks to VotN for his valuable feedback.