Harry Potter's new wife, Lyra Malfoy, lay on her side, curled up on soft black satin sheets. Her moonbeam-pale skin, soft as newborn kittens, glimmered in the candlelight. Waist-length platinum blonde ringlets framed feminine curves that had appeared in all the right places. Lyra's bosom heaved gently beneath a sheer, translucent black negligee woven from only the finest strands of silk. A scent like the mingled perfume of roses, lilacs, and jasmine filled the air. As Harry pulled back the bed's velvet curtains, his awaiting bride looked up and set her sea-grey eyes upon Harry's emerald ones.
"Well?" she snapped. "Get on with it."
"Do we really have to do this?" asked Harry. At the moment, consummating his arranged marriage was possibly the last thing he wanted to do. He was so nervous that he felt as if he were filled with a hundred fluttering Golden Snitches, all desperately trying to escape. His knees shook, so he sat on the bed to keep from falling over.
"Yes, Potter. We have to. How else did you think we were going to make those babies for the Minstry? Let's pray I have triplets so that we never have to do this again." Lyra paused. "You do know how to do it, don't you?"
"Well," said Harry, blushing. He'd never had a Sexual Education lesson in his life. Hogwarts hadn't offered one, assuming that their students' parents would teach their children about the act. His aunt and uncle hadn't, either, preferring to think that his school might. All he knew was that it involved a man and a woman and ended with a baby. Occasionally it involved a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, but on those occasions it was much less likely to end with a baby. "Sort of."
"Neither do I," admitted Lyra. "Contrary to popular opinion, I was not as popular with the ladies as my devastatingly handsome appearance and undeniable charisma indicated. Pansy Parkinson's a frigid bitch, anyway. And my mother's 'last minute advice' was useless. All she said was that I should lie back and think of Avalon. What that has to do with babies, I've no idea. All I know is that you take your thing," she said, pointing, "and stick it into mine. And do be gentle. I'm delicate."
Harry thought back to the videos that Dudley thought no one knew were on his computer. The basic technique seemed to be quite simple: find the hole, insert, repeat as necessary. Though he'd often wondered why the act seemed to require so many elaborate apparatuses. And that one video with the octopus was downright bewildering.
"Er," said Harry, remembering the charm. "D'you have a-"
"Yes. It was one of the first things to change back," said Lyra. "And I must say, it's much more aesthetically pleasing than the male type and less susceptible to injury." She turned onto her back and spread her legs, showing him.
Harry tried not to look, saw it by accident, and then tried to pry his eyes away. There was something oddly compelling about the organ between Lyra's legs. He shrugged off the thin black robe he was wearing, then realized how awkward it was to be naked in front of someone else. Especially when that someone used to be Draco Malfoy and was now so suddenly attractive. Harry's Basilisk awoke, standing up as if it were before a snake charmer, and was seized by a sudden burning need to infiltrate Lyra's Chamber of Secrets.
"Oh, so it works after all," Lyra yawned, eyeing the Erection that Lived.. "Mine was much larger, you know. And not so lumpy. I do miss the old boy. Maybe Mother will teach me how to turn myself back once-OI!" Her musing was cut off by the intrusion of Harry's tongue into her mouth. "What do you think you're-"
"Do you want to get this over with or don't you?"
Lyra relented. She sighed and spread her legs, allowing Harry access to the wonders within. Harry lay beside her, amd she ran a finger along the washboard lines of his Quidditch-toned muscles.
For a moment, it was utterly and completely perfect. Wonderful. The animosity and tension between them dropped away like shadows before the sun. Harry lay on top of his wife, and she was wonderfully soft and warm. He ran his hands gently along her beautiful body, evoking quiet moans of pleasure. The girl kissed him, passionately, and their tongues fought like warring serpents. Their limbs entwined so tightly that he thought and hoped they might never be apart again. It felt as though she were made for him. Lyra wrapped her long slender legs around his waist. Harry guided his wand into her entrance, prepared to cast his spell into her womb, and thrust into her wet velvety softness.
Then Lyra cried out in pain.
She was bleeding onto the satin sheets. Harry's dick was stained red.
"I'm sorry! I don't know what I've done wrong!" Harry managed, as Lyra pummeled him with a pillow.
"You clumsy oaf!" Lyra screamed, knocking Harry off the bed. "You've wounded me! I can't believe this! A million filthy Muggles spawn hordes of disgusting offspring every year, and you can't even manage to have sex properly?!"
With surprising strength for such a slender girl, Lyra picked him up and tossed him out of the room. He fell heavily onto the floor outside.
"Don't you ever touch me again, Harry Potter!" She punctuated the exclamation with a slam of the door.
Harry sighed and stood there for an awkward moment. His rapidly deflating penis dripped crimson droplets onto the floor. He took off his glasses, curled up outside his blushing bride's door, and tried to sleep.
The carpet was soft, and thicker than some mattresses he'd slept on. He snuggled into its shaggy depths and prayed to die quietly in his sleep.
Thank Heaven for small mercies...
The next morning, Narcissa was not pleased with either of them.
"Leave it to the Ministry," she said through gritted teeth, "to thrust my lovely daughter into the hands of the only teenage boy in Britain too ignorant to know what a hymen is."
Lyra suddenly became very interested in her breakfast.
When Harry finished eating, he excused himself as soon as humanly possible and fled.
Much later that afternoon, Lyra found him hiding in one of the Manor's nicer gardens. Harry'd been the Dursleys' unpaid gardener for most of his life and it was a relief to be able to just sit on a hillock and enjoy the peace and quiet. It was almost as nice as being away from Narcissa's baleful glares and Lyra's pained glances.
The girl padded up to her husband. "Harry?"
He answered quietly. "Has your mother sent you to execute me?"
An elf, carrying a laden tray, followed quietly behind her. He set down two goblets and a jug of pumpkin juice before silently vanishing, leaving the pair alone with the leaves and wind.
"No, I found you on my own," she said, filling a goblet and handing it to him. "Harry, I forgive you for what happened. You didn't know what you were doing and neither did I, and...well, I just don't want to go to Azkaban because you failed at coitus." She blushed faintly.
"Well," said Harry, "I'm willing to try again, if you are. To keep us out of that place, of course."
"Of course," said Lyra, sitting beside him.
Hand in hand, they sipped pumpkin juice and watched the sun set over Malfoy Manor.
The next morning, Harry awoke with a smile on his face and his arm draped around Lyra's warm body.
Author's Notes: So what'd you think? Please let me know! This isn't the ending, by the way. There'll be at least one more chapter. I promise!