He didn't feel guilty.
That was probably the strangest part. It wasn't that only eight hours ago, he had impulsively entranced Daphne in public; it wasn't that he had forced her to strip and masturbate in front of him; it wasn't even that it seemed he was successful in permanently altering her memory.
No. What really stuck out to him was how normal it all felt.
Of course, there was fear, at first. He had practically sprinted out of the Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, afraid that at any moment he would get a furious call from Daphne, or turn and see her stalking him with vengeance in her eyes. But instead, the morning passed without incident into the afternoon. By the time he arrived at the evening mental club meeting, Harry had almost convinced himself that he had done it: he had navigated the fateful meeting of Daphne and Cho without any harsh consequences. Sure, he had to cross a few lines to do so...
...But it sure didn't feel that way.
Harry shifted his seat as the club president speak, the tile floor stone little in the way of cushioning or comfort. Even though it was technically their "club room," the space was more like a spotions room in Snape's time, with stone walls and old traces of spells or failed potions they have tried to remove from these surfaces for years. Still, the Blaise Zabini had worked to make the place feel like a home, hanging thrift store paintings and cast photos where they could and jamming overstuffed furniture where it would fit. Normally, these accommodations were enough for the "executive board" meetings, but these open sessions left many of the attendees clustered on the floor, listening to debates about future productions and fundraisers.
Not that Harry minded that much. His presence in the club was more of a social excuse anyway. He taught mind magic by Severus had the upper hand. That was all Ginny and Michael, the former of whom had managed to get herself elected Treasurer last year. She had come to the meeting with an agenda—Harry was just there for moral support. Which gave him time to think.
And wonder if the Potentia wasn't having a greater effect on him than he thought.
Previously, even using it in semi-controlled circumstances would leave him with lingering doubts and guilt for days. Yet after the initial panic had faded, this morning's session had become more or less a mundane memory. He could make himself feel bad about it if he tried, reflecting on the various social, cultural and ethical rules he had broken. But the moment that fixation faded, so too did the guilt. And Harry was hard pressed to retain it.
Especially when he was this hard.
Harry adjusted his position again, awkwardly navigating around the erection that had been straining his pants the whole meeting. Bailing out on Daphne had prevented him from pushing her boundaries further, but it had also left the Potentia horribly unsatisfied. Masturbating in his room had helped, but now he was trapped in a tiny space with a crowd of cute girls, many of whom were showing more skin than normal to compensate for the unseasonably warm September air. Ginny was no exception—she had probably chosen her tiny gym shorts for comfort, but the looseness of the fabric and Harry's position on the floor meant he could see far up her slender thighs every time she crossed them, occasionally catching a glimpse of her white panties as well.
It was a libido pressure cooker. Harry found himself hyper aware of every movement, every sigh from his overheating peers. Normally Harry had to concentrate to get the Potentia to come out—now it was an almost dizzying effort to keep it in. So he kept reflecting on his lack of remorse, kept trying to guilt-trip his way out of the horny haze. But doing so would often lead to memories of Daphne's vacant expression, the way she had recited mantras of submission in his name, the way her body quivered at the slightest suggestion of his touch, the way her tits...
The president slapped his notebook shut, cuing everybody to stand and head for the door. Harry belatedly realized the meeting must be over, and breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. He had made it through this trial, but the Potentia needed an outlet. Its dark waters were roiling inside of him, threatening to spill out every time he opened his mouth. If he didn't find a way to drain them soon...
"Harry! How'd the reunion go?" Ginny practically tackled him before the door, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Did Cho show up like she said she would? What was she like? Has she put on weight? I want all the deets."
"Uh, er," Harry's temperature sky-rocketed, Ginny's hand on his shoulder almost boiling over his brain.
Fortunately, Michael came to the rescue, gently pulling her back. "Easy, babe, you're gonna knock him over. I'm sure it's nothing to get that excited over." His smile was easygoing, but his pupils brimmed with the same eagerness as his girlfriend.
Harry coughed, stalling for time. "W-well it went about how you would expect."
"And what does that mean?" Ginny demanded. "Did you let her have it like I said you should?"
"N-no it wasn't like that." Harry hastily answered. "We just talked. It was fine. We're, um, we're good."
Ginny didn't miss a beat. "Good? What's 'good?' Are you guys friends again? Lovers? Something in between?"
Her face was so close to him now. It would be so easy to just whisper a choice word or two in her ear and... "I gotta run," Harry said. "I'll tell you guys all about it soon," he quickly added as he stumbled out into the hall.
"It's all good, Harry," Michael replied, placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder so she wouldn't give chase. "We can wait till whenever you're comfortable."
Harry offered a parting smile and nod as he left.
Inside, he bleakly wondered if he would ever be comfortable again.
"I-I appreciate the invite," Harry smiled uneasily. "But I really do have work I need to get done."
"C'mon bro, it'll be fun," Seamus pressed, rocking anxiously on his bed. "You, like, barely ever go out. What's the point of Hogwart if you're gonna spend Saturday nights cooped up in your dorm?"
In all honesty, after everything that had happened to Harry the past couple days, a night alone to reflect and wrestle the Potentia under control sounded like exactly what he needed. Yet no sooner had he returned to his dorm then his roommate had rushed to invite him to some house party they absolutely "had" to go to that night. Harry had, of course, politely turned him down—Seamus was an alright guy, but it had become clear early in the semester that his idea of "fun" did not line up with Harry's.
"Trust me, you don't want to see me at parties," Harry tried a different tack. "I'd only drag you and Dean down."
"Well, uh, that's the thing." Seamus scratched his neck awkwardly. "Funny story. Dean and I actually went out last weekend and ran into that Daphne chick. And Dean was like, totally wasted, and started saying stupid shit, and we got kicked out."
The hairs on Harry's neck stood up on end. "What did Dean say?" he asked.
"I dunno man, dumb stuff," Seamus fumed. "He was being such an asshole, bro. Even I know you don't fuckin' drag a girl at her own sorority party. Anyway, the point is: I just need a break from Dean for a sec, but I can NOT show up to this party alone, y'know?"
"Uh, sure," Harry lied.
"Look bro, I'm tellin' ya, this is exactly what you need," his roommate continued. "Loosen up! Let that brain of yours rest for a night. Maybe get some action? I'll totally wingman for you if you come. Griffindor's honor."
"Eh-heh. That..." Harry paused.
Wait a second.
Maybe that WAS exactly what he needed.
A house party. A place where he would be anonymous. A night full of drunk partygoers who wouldn't look twice at some drowsy girl hanging on his every word. And girls who wouldn't think twice about feeling weirdly attracted to a stranger for a night. It was the perfect venue for testing and satisfying the Potentia. No complications, no hang-ups, no baggage. Harry would be just another pleasant, fuzzy memory after a night engineered to evoke them.
Seamus arched his eyebrows expectantly. "Looks like someone's thinkin' about iiiit, am I right?"
Harry laughed sheepishly, hoping to hide the dark anticipation beating in his chest. "Alright, alright," he said. "Let's go."
