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"This is madness," whispered Harry, and his heart was beating so loudly that he could have sworn the entire library could hear it.
It was his opponent in front of him who slowly slid off the chair onto her knees in front of him and her shapely hands picked at his belt. Harry flinched and looked worriedly at the passage between the bookshelves. They were now sitting in the library, actually the forgotten section on muggles' sciences. The books collected here were long out of date, but the low interest in the subject meant that even Madam Pince looked in here on a really rare occasion.
He perfectly felt the girl pull back the elastic of his boxers, only to gasp when she saw his cock being freed from its fabric prison.
"Is this a dream? You're just playing with me, aren't you? You're actually going to..." His whole body strained as the girl in front of him slid her warm tongue from the base to the very tip of his penis, leaving a wet trail of saliva in her path. This is enough for a salty drop to appear on the top of his penis. Harry can't look away as the silver-haired blonde unreservedly licks the prelude to what he can give her, only to then slide the pink cock head into his mouth.
"C-wait, stop," was all Harry wheezed out as he strained like a string in his chair.
The girl didn't want to stop. Two desires battled inside her. One, to give Harry pleasure with her mouth that she would never forget, and the other to stop as he commanded. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Am I not doing it right?"
"No, nothing's wrong," Harry replied quickly. Actually, He concluded afterwards that if the Ministry knew, it could easily convince the Wizengamot that he should spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. "I just want to make sure: how do you feel? The question strongly puzzled the girl. She blinked, then with her hand picked up the trickle of saliva that connected her lips and the tip of his penis. "Um, I think good, yes, definitely, good." He could see that her gaze was refocusing. She was coming to her senses. She looked around, as if just now noticing that she was kneeling, half undressed, in the Hogwarts library in front of the fourth Triwizard champion. "I mean, it's just like before." She wanted to say something else, but Harry interrupted her.
"I think we should stop for now" The moment of pause allowed him to think soberly and understand what consequences his actions could have. "I don't think we need any more evidence."
"Are you sure about this? Surely you want it..." The girl leaned over, bringing her face close to Harry's cock. She gently kissed the frenulum while looking into Harry's eyes. "Master?"
Harry realized the girl the queen of the French delegation, Fleur Delacour herself, was kneeling before him and looking straight into his eyes, asking for his cock. Her gaze was fully rational, devoid of the fog that shaded her eyes as she followed orders. She was now fully in her right mind.
Once again, Harry heard his mouth utter the same phrase; simple words that had already passed his lips several times since Voldemort's death, since his release from Dark Lord, and his six horcruxes
"This is madness."
In the depths, meanwhile, they will hear a voice similar to the one he sounded when he gave the orders. "Now let her try a "little boy """.
—-
It was a cold, stormy autumn day.
If a daredevil had been found who, despite such weather, went out of the house, he could have seen the white light coming from the windows of the abandoned house. However, no villager would have taken any interest in it. The manor house had stood for years, uninhabited, forgotten, and no one paid any attention to it. Even children growing up in the village paid no attention to this abandoned building. Even ghost stories brought up the subject of the local cemetery, church, or the building where the entire Riddle family suddenly died. but no resident paid any attention to the abandoned Gaunt house.
So no one was interested in the white light shining from the mansion, or the colorful flashes that looked as if someone had set off a flock of fireworks inside. The whole thing didn't last over two minutes.
Harry, who had just begun his fourth year at Hogwarts, was once again surprised at how fast someone of Dumbledore's age could be.
Admittedly, he had seen Dumbledore's mastery with a wand before. For the first and second years, the headmaster had secretly taught him magic. Of course, if Neville, Hermione, or Ron found out about it, each would probably have a unique vision of Dumbledore's lessons. From dueling, teaching the basics, to learning complex spells. All the children's visions, however, diverged sharply from reality. Learning spells did not differ from what was being taught in class at the moment.
Duels, admittedly, he had, but only to make Harry understand not to enter adult fights, where he would achieve nothing for the time being. The lessons Dumbledore gave Harry were conversations. Conversations about spells learned, the past, and what had to come, what was foretold to Harry. And that day came sooner than Harry might have assumed.
As if Harry were to talk about it later, he would admit that he only remembers excerpts of what happened.
He was summoned to the principal's office. After learning the plan of action, he received the sword of Gryffindor. He still remembered his teacher giving him a vial of some potion, after which Fawkes took them to the vicinity of some house.
A flash, a bang, a door crumbled to pieces, after the headmaster had been casting some sort of spell for a long moment, going around a building that looked long abandoned. A dark corridor. Some silhouette of a stocky man blocked their way, only to have the figure fly upwards, hitting the ceiling with considerable force after a series of spells exchanged with Dumbledore.
They crossed over the inert body.
Later, all he could remember was their common entrance to the upstairs room. They still encountered resistance along the way, of course, but Harry could never tell if there were two or three of them.
His gaze focused on a wrinkled, disgusting body resembling an inert child. His target for the day. Harry didn't pay attention to how Dumbledore beat Peter, how he fought trying to shield the teenager with two other Death Eaters. There was only the target. He moved toward it. The blade made by the goblins flashed as he pulled it out as he ran. The teenager was so focused on what he was about to do that he didn't even notice the snake at his feet that he tripped over.
Luck provided by Felix Felicis.
A green death spell flew right over his head. If it hadn't been for the snake, Harry would have been dead. But at that moment, he did not think about it. He pulled the sword he had just dropped from the body of the enormous reptile and moved forward. He did not know how to fight with a sword.
He raised the blade above his head, and like a medieval executioner, dealt a blow.
There was silence.
It was all over.
Dumbledore had won.
Harry had accomplished his task.
There was silence, which was broken by Harry's body falling to the floor. Harry woke up two days later.
The scar on his forehead was painful. He was only given a painkiller potion and Pomfrey, after many examinations confirming that her patient was fine, released Harry to watch the ceremonies to select the Triwizard Tournament champions.
"Harry! Harry!" cries from the stairs caught Harry's attention.
"Are you okay?" Asked Colin as soon as he reached his friend.
"Nothing, it was just stress. I got a calming potion. Everything should be fine now." He replied using the excuse Dumbledore offered for similar accidents.
"Let's hope so, because Justin was getting nervous that our science club wouldn't have anything to offer during the demonstrations." That was their science circle's biggest problem. Mental combat, memory exercises, and even pulling out forgotten memories were not as spectacular as dueling, conjuring, or even runic magic item creation.
All hope to show well for the foreign visitors fell on Harry, who, as a hobby, studied Muggle hypnosis.
"Justin can talk all he wants. I don't know if I'll perform" Harry joined the mental group because he had to join some kind of study circle. So he chose one that he knew none of his close friends definitely wanted to join.
With these words, they entered the great hall. Colin said something else, but the noise of conversation drowned out his words. Harry bid him farewell and they separated to head off to their own groups of friends. Harry sat between students from his same year, and a year older. There was always a safety gap between this groups. After all, no one wanted to become the guinea pig of the crazy twins. All this was to Harry's advantage. He didn't have to mingle with his peers, who even now didn't notice his return. They were focused on their savior, the star of Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom himself.
Neville was a good friend. At the beginning of the first year, he himself approached Harry, extending the hand of friendship. He tried to involve him in common games, group ventures, but noticed that the green-eyed boy was not comfortable with more people.
Neville invited Harry to play games with him less and less, no longer shared plans to see what was being discussed in the Slytherin common room, nor did he enlist him to study together. He didn't forget Harry, though some people, including his greatest friend Ron, called him a shadow Gryffindor, since no one paid attention to him, nobody did need him.
Neville knew Harry was not an average Hogwarts student.
When he spotted his friend sneaking out in the evening, more than once, he would wait for him in the Gryffindor common room, doing homework or reading ahead. But now when he heard Dumbledore's voice reading the name of the fourth Triwizard Tournament participant. He looked at Harry differently. Something boiled inside him.
"Traitor" Neville heard Ron hiss right next to his ear.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"
Harry stood up. He didn't like to focus attention on himself. He had learned quickly as a child that if he focused someone's attention on himself; it meant trouble, and now he felt everyone's eyes on him. He walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, and from either side came to him as if through a fog the muffled buzz of whispers.
He looked in front of him, at the table where the teachers, staff representatives of other schools, or ministry envoys sat.
They focused on him.
They had already tried him, convicted him, and the sentence would be carried out before long. He could never expect support or help from anyone. He was always alone, just like when he was lying in the cupboard under the stairs.
Harry felt as if the top table was not approaching. He heard laughter as he nearly tripped over his robe. He shook it off. It was the only way he didn't huddle in the middle of the Great Hall now. It was the only way he could be in the crowd. He looked at Dumbledore, the only person in whose presence Harry felt himself, in when he was coming out of his shell. He read his expression easily. He knew he would not get any direct support now, he had to manage on his own.
"Well… through the door, Harry," said Dumbledore. He moved off along the teachers' table. Harry walked through the door from the Great Hall and found himself in a small room lined with pictures of witches and wizards. A fire roared in the fireplace across from him, being the only source of light.
The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered.
Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour gathered around the fire.
Harry, looking at their silhouettes in the fire's glow, felt small, unworthy of attention. However, when they noticed his arrival. "What is it? Do zey want us back in ze Hall?" The girl asked.
Her silver hair now reflected the light of the fire, creating a mystical, almost fiery halo around her figure, while Harry himself felt the pressure on his mental shields on his mind. This prompted him to look at Fleur and stare at her instead of answering the question.
The girl, in her uniform, which stressed her curves well, Harry could easily tell she was French, looked like she had exercised physically.
Almost no girl at Hogwarts had such a flat stomach and such firm buttocks just above shapely legs. Harry, however, focused on the fact that she will be a formidable opponent.
He was already about to open his mouth when just behind him, the door opened again. Ludo Bagman entered the room. He put his hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward.
"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "Absolutely extraordinary!
Gentlemen… Mistress," he added, walking over to the fireplace and turning to the other three champions. "We have a fourth Triwizard champion." After which, standing behind Harry, he placed a hand on his other shoulder. "I present to you Harry Potter."
Viktor Krum straightened up. His face clouded over, but he focused his attention on Harry, trying to assess him. You could see the warrior's experience in his posture, a confidence that was not a sign of hubris.
Fleur Delacour, however, tossed back her hair, smiled and said: "Oh, strange joke, Meester Bagman." She was a queen. Harry could see that, wherever she went, she got what she wanted, but she wasn't the princess type like some girls he met. She was someone who got everything by her own efforts.
"A joke?" - echoed Bagman, repeating twice. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Spell of Fire!"
Fleur furrowed her brow.
- But apparently Zair is a mistake," she said disdainfully to Bagman. "E Cannot compete. 'E is too young."
Moments later, there was a discussion between school management and ministry representatives. Harry, forced to listen to it, almost turned off, and was only brought back to the world by Fleur's sonorous voice, "Zey is saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"
…"Little boy"...
I also invite you to my p atreon.
New content every day.
There is a chapter available on my p atreon: 1,2,3,4,5, you can influence the plot of the story
pa treon .com(slash)pandorastories (remove the space)