Chapter 1
Locket of Lust
The maze was a labyrinth of shadows and whispers, but Harry and Cedric had finally reached the heart of it. The Triwizard Cup gleamed in the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow on the surrounding hedges. It was a beacon of victory, a symbol of their survival against the trials of the maze.
Cedric, despite the exhaustion etched on his face, wore a triumphant smile. Harry, on the other hand, was filled with a sense of foreboding. The cup was just a few steps away, but something felt wrong.
"Let's take it together," Harry suggested, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's only fair."
Cedric nodded, his smile not wavering. "On three," he said, extending his hand towards the cup.
"One," Harry began, his heart pounding in his chest. "Two..."
Just as they were about to say 'three', Cedric's foot caught on a hidden root, causing him to stumble. Harry reached out to catch him, but it was too late. Cedric fell to the ground, his hand inches away from the cup.
Harry, however, had already touched it. A hook seemed to jerk him behind his navel, and the world spun into a whirl of colors and sounds. The last thing he saw was Cedric's shocked face, illuminated by the glow of the Triwizard Cup.
When Harry's feet hit solid ground again, he was not in the maze. He was in a graveyard, the eerie silence a stark contrast to the cheers and applause that should have greeted their victory. The cup, still in his hand, was not just a trophy. It was a Portkey, and it had taken him somewhere he was not supposed to be.
Back in the maze, Cedric was left alone, his victory overshadowed by a chilling sense of dread. He had no idea where Harry had gone, or what the Triwizard Cup had truly been. All he knew was that he had to get help, and fast.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he took in his surroundings. The graveyard was old and forgotten, the tombstones weathered by time. The only sound was the distant hoot of an owl, a haunting melody that echoed through the stillness.
Before he could react, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Peter Pettigrew, his rat-like features twisted into a cruel smile. "Hello, Potter," he sneered, raising his wand.
Harry barely had time to reach for his own wand before Pettigrew muttered, "Stupefy!" A jet of red light hit him square in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground, his body rigid with the effects of the Stunning Spell.
Pettigrew moved quickly, dragging Harry's stunned body towards a towering tombstone. The name engraved on it sent a chill down Harry's spine - Tom Riddle. Pettigrew conjured ropes with a flick of his wand, binding Harry tightly to the tombstone.
Harry could do nothing but watch as Pettigrew set about his dark task. He pulled a bundle from his robes - a small, ugly thing that Harry recognized with a jolt of horror. It was the rudimentary body of Lord Voldemort, barely alive, but still a threat.
Pettigrew placed the bundle in a cauldron, his face gleaming with sweat in the eerie green light. He began to chant, his voice echoing through the graveyard, a dark incantation that made Harry's blood run cold.
Back in the maze, Cedric was racing towards the entrance, his heart pounding with fear. He had to get to Dumbledore. He had to tell him what had happened. But would he be in time to save Harry?
In the graveyard, Harry could only watch in horror as Pettigrew completed the ritual. He was alone, tied to a tombstone, in the presence of his greatest enemy. And he had no idea if help would arrive in time.
Back at Hogwarts, the atmosphere was tense. The enchanted mirrors, a magical innovation by Dumbledore to allow the spectators to follow the champions through the maze, now showed a scene that made the blood of every viewer run cold.
Harry, their champion, was tied to a tombstone in an unknown graveyard, and Peter Pettigrew was preparing to perform a dark ritual. The Great Hall, which had been filled with cheers and applause just moments ago, was now eerily silent. The only sound was the echo of Pettigrew's incantations coming from the mirrors.
Dumbledore stood at the front, his face pale but determined. His eyes, usually twinkling with mirth, were hard and focused. He was already planning, calculating, his mind racing with strategies and countermeasures.
In the graveyard, Pettigrew began the ritual. He raised his wand, his voice growing louder and more fervent with each word. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with dark magic.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Pettigrew declared, a bone rising from the grave and dissolving into the cauldron. The potion within bubbled and hissed, turning a sickly shade of green.
The spectators watched in horror as Pettigrew continued, each ingredient making the situation more dire. The fear was palpable, but so was the determination. They were Hogwarts, they were united, and they would not let their champion face this evil alone.
Cedric, having reached the entrance of the maze, was now with Dumbledore, explaining what had happened. The headmaster listened, his expression grave. Time was of the essence, and they needed to act fast.
In the graveyard, Harry was struggling against his bonds, his eyes never leaving the cauldron. He knew what was coming, and he had to be ready. He was not alone. He had his friends, his school, and his will. He would fight until the very end.
The scene in the graveyard was growing more intense by the second. Pettigrew, his face gleaming with an unholy fervor, moved towards Harry with a silver knife glinting in his hand. The crowd watching through the enchanted mirrors gasped collectively, their hands clutching at their hearts.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe," Pettigrew intoned, his voice echoing through the graveyard and the Great Hall alike. He approached Harry, the knife raised high, its blade reflecting the sickly green light of the potion.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Pettigrew approach. He was helpless, bound and stunned, unable to defend himself. But his eyes, bright with defiance, never left Pettigrew's face.
In the Great Hall, the tension was unbearable. Students clung to each other, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear. Professors stood rigid, their minds racing with possible solutions, their hearts heavy with dread.
Dumbledore, his face ashen, watched the scene unfold. His fingers were clenched around his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was whispering under his breath, a rapid string of incantations that seemed to have no effect on the scene in the mirror.
Pettigrew reached Harry and, with a swift, cruel motion, drew the knife across Harry's arm. Harry gritted his teeth against the pain, a fresh wave of determination flooding through him. He would not give Pettigrew the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
The blood, bright red against Harry's pale skin, dripped into the cauldron. The potion reacted instantly, bubbling violently, emitting a blinding light that made Pettigrew shield his eyes.
In the Great Hall, the spectators could only watch in horror as the ritual reached its climax. The fear was overwhelming, but so was their faith. They believed in Harry. They had to.
The graveyard was filled with an eerie light as the potion in the cauldron bubbled and hissed, reacting violently to the addition of Harry's blood. Pettigrew stepped back, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation.
Then, with a sound like a gasp, the potion calmed. From the depths of the cauldron, a figure began to rise. It was a man, or what once was a man, his features twisted and snake-like. His red eyes gleamed in the darkness, and a cruel smile played on his thin lips.
"Robe me," he commanded, and Pettigrew hurried to obey, draping a black robe over the figure's skeletal frame. The figure turned to Harry, his red eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Harry Potter," he hissed. "We meet again."
In the Great Hall, the spectators watched in horror as Lord Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard of all time, was resurrected. The room was filled with a collective gasp, followed by a heavy silence. Fear hung in the air, thick and palpable.
Voldemort raised his wand, touching it to Pettigrew's Dark Mark. A jet of green light shot into the sky, a signal to his followers. Within moments, shadowy figures began to apparate into the graveyard, forming a circle around Voldemort and Harry.
Voldemort turned to Harry, his smile widening. "Join me, Potter," he said, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Join me, or die."
Harry, despite his situation, managed a sarcastic smile. "Oh, is that all?" he retorted, his voice filled with false cheer. "I thought you'd at least offer me a cup of tea first."
In the Great Hall, a few laughs broke through the tension. That was their Harry, always finding humor in the face of danger. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. They watched, their hearts filled with hope and fear, as Harry faced Voldemort, ready to fight until the end.
Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters, had formed a circle around their master and Harry, their faces hidden behind masks. The air was thick with anticipation, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of robes or the hoot of a distant owl.
Voldemort's smile faded at Harry's sarcastic retort. "You dare to mock me, Potter?" he hissed, his red eyes narrowing.
Harry, despite his fear, managed to keep his voice steady. "Well, it's not like you're giving me much choice, Tom," he said, using Voldemort's birth name deliberately. "I mean, you're a half-blood, pretending to be a pure-blood supremacist. That's pretty funny, if you ask me."
A collective gasp went through the Death Eaters. No one had ever dared to speak to Voldemort like that. No one except Harry Potter.
Harry turned his gaze to Lucius Malfoy, one of the Death Eaters. "And you, Lucius," he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You lost your precious diary, didn't you? That's got to be embarrassing."
Lucius stiffened, his hand instinctively going to his pocket where the diary had once been. His face, usually so composed, was a mask of fury.
Voldemort, his face twisted with rage, raised his wand. "Crucio!" he spat, and Lucius was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain, his screams echoing through the graveyard.
In the Great Hall, the spectators watched in stunned silence. Harry was not just fighting Voldemort with spells, but with words. He was challenging him, mocking him, making him lose control. It was a dangerous game, but it was working.
Harry, tied to the tombstone, watched as Voldemort tortured one of his own followers. He knew he was provoking the Dark Lord, but he also knew he had to keep him off balance. He had to buy time, for himself and for those who were surely coming to his aid. He had to survive.
Voldemort, his face twisted in fury, turned back to Harry. Lucius Malfoy was still writhing on the ground, his screams slowly subsiding as the effects of the Cruciatus Curse wore off.
"Last chance, Potter," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Join me, or die."
Harry, his arm throbbing from the cut Pettigrew had inflicted, managed a weak smile. "I think I'll pass, thanks," he said, his voice filled with false cheer. "I've got enough on my plate without joining a club for snake enthusiasts."
Voldemort's smile was cold and cruel. "Very well," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Then we duel."
He turned to Pettigrew, who was watching the scene with wide, fearful eyes. "Give him his wand, Wormtail," Voldemort commanded.
Pettigrew hurried to obey, picking up Harry's wand from where it had fallen and handing it to him. Harry took it, his fingers closing around the familiar wood. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
Voldemort raised his own wand, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "On the count of three, Potter," he said, his voice echoing through the silent graveyard. "One... two..."
In the Great Hall, the spectators watched with bated breath. Harry was about to duel Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard of all time. The odds were against him, but they believed in him. They had to.
Harry gripped his wand tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. He was alone, facing his greatest enemy. But he was not afraid. He was ready. He would fight until the very end.
"Three," Voldemort hissed, and the duel began.
Voldemort was the first to cast, a jet of green light shooting from his wand. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, the Killing Curse aimed straight at Harry.
But Harry was ready. "Expelliarmus!" he countered, his own spell colliding with Voldemort's in a burst of light and sound. The two spells met in mid-air, creating a connection between Harry's and Voldemort's wands.
The spectators in the Great Hall watched in awe as the two wizards battled. The scene in the mirror was a whirl of colors and sounds, the tension palpable even through the enchanted glass.
In the graveyard, Harry and Voldemort were locked in a battle of wills. Their wands were connected by a thread of magic, neither able to break free. Harry could feel a surge of power coursing through him, his wand vibrating with the intensity of it.
Then, something unexpected happened. The spell backfired on Voldemort, the green light of the Killing Curse rebounding and hitting him instead. Voldemort screamed, his body convulsing as the spell took effect.
But instead of killing him, the spell seemed to transfer something to Harry. A rush of power, raw and intense, flooded through him, making him gasp. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, a surge of magic that seemed to amplify his own.
In the Great Hall, the spectators watched in shock as Harry was imbued with this new power. His body was glowing, his eyes shining with an intense light. He looked more powerful, more formidable. He looked like a true wizard.
Voldemort, weakened and stunned, could only watch as Harry broke the connection between their wands. Harry stood tall, his body radiating power and determination. He was ready to end this, once and for all.
Voldemort, weakened and disoriented, stared at Harry in disbelief. The boy he had sought to kill was now standing before him, more powerful than he could have ever imagined. Fear, a feeling he had not known for a long time, began to creep into his heart.
Harry, his body still glowing with the power that had been transferred to him, raised his wand. His eyes were hard, his voice steady as he said, "Leave, Voldemort. Leave now, or face me."
Voldemort, for the first time in his life, chose to flee. With a last, hateful glance at Harry, he turned and Disapparated, vanishing into the night.
The Death Eaters, seeing their master flee, quickly followed suit. One by one, they Disapparated, leaving the graveyard empty except for Harry and the still-bound Pettigrew.
In the Great Hall, the spectators erupted into cheers. Harry had done it. He had faced Voldemort and lived. He had not just survived, but triumphed.
Back in the graveyard, Harry lowered his wand, the glow around him slowly fading. He was alone, but he was alive. He had faced his greatest fear and come out stronger.
He knew that Voldemort would return, that the war was far from over. But for now, he had won. He had proven that he was not just the Boy Who Lived, but a wizard in his own right. And he was ready to face whatever came next.
Harry, left alone in the graveyard with a whimpering Pettigrew, took a deep breath. He was exhausted, but there was still work to be done. He moved towards Pettigrew, his wand raised.
"Stand up, Worm tail," he commanded, his voice echoing in the silence. Pettigrew obeyed, his eyes wide with fear. Harry pointed his wand at the Triwizard Cup, muttering the incantation to turn it back into a Portkey.
With a final glance at the graveyard, Harry grabbed Pettigrew and touched the Cup. The familiar sensation of being jerked by the navel overcame him, and the world spun into a whirl of colors and sounds.
When they landed, they were back at Hogwarts, right in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Waiting for them were Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.
Harry explained everything that had happened, from the moment he had touched the Cup to Voldemort's resurrection and escape. Amelia listened with a grave expression, while Fudge looked increasingly pale and horrified.
When Harry mentioned Sirius Black, and Pettigrew's confession of his betrayal, Amelia looked thoughtful. "If what you're saying is true, Potter," she said, "then Sirius Black is innocent."
Fudge, despite his shock, had to agree. "We'll need to conduct a full investigation, of course," he said. "But if Pettigrew is alive, and he was the one who betrayed the Potters... then Black is not guilty."
Harry felt a wave of relief. Sirius was going to be free. He had lost so much tonight, but at least he had managed to save his godfather.
As Amelia and Fudge led Pettigrew away, Harry looked up at the castle. Hogwarts, his home, was safe. He had returned, and he had brought back not just a traitor, but hope. Hope for Sirius, hope for the fight against Voldemort, hope for the future.
As Harry stood on the Quidditch pitch, still reeling from the night's events, a figure approached him. It was Professor Moody, his magical eye whirring as he limped towards Harry.
"Potter," he growled, his voice filled with concern. "You need to get to the hospital wing. Let me take you."
Harry, grateful for the support, nodded. He was feeling weak and dizzy, the adrenaline that had sustained him through the duel with Voldemort now wearing off.
Moody led him towards the castle, his arm around Harry's shoulder. But as they walked, Harry began to feel a growing sense of unease. There was something off about Moody, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
When they reached Moody's office, instead of continuing to the hospital wing, Moody ushered Harry inside. "Just a quick stop," he said, his voice oddly cheerful. "I have something to show you."
Harry, his instincts now screaming at him that something was wrong, followed Moody into the room. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and Moody turned to face Harry, his magical eye fixed on him.
"You're a clever boy, Potter," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "But not clever enough."
He raised his wand, but Harry was faster. The power that had been transferred to him during the duel with Voldemort was still with him, and he used it now, casting a stunning spell that hit Moody square in the chest.
Moody crumpled to the ground, and Harry quickly bound him with ropes. His heart pounding, he searched the room, his eyes falling on Moody's trunk. It was shaking, a soft thumping sound coming from within.
With a growing sense of dread, Harry opened the trunk. Inside, bound and gagged, was the real Alastor Moody. The Moody he had just defeated was an imposter, Polyjuiced to look like the real thing.
Harry's mind was reeling as he untied the real Moody, his thoughts racing. The imposter had been at Hogwarts all year, posing as Moody, manipulating the Triwizard Tournament. And he had almost succeeded in killing Harry.
But he hadn't. Harry had survived, and he had uncovered the truth. The fight against Voldemort was far from over, but for now, he had won.
With the real Moody now conscious and the imposter securely bound, Harry finally made his way to the hospital wing. Madam Pomphrey, the school's matron, was waiting for him, her face pale but determined.
"You've had quite a night, Mr. Potter," she said, guiding him to a bed. "Let's get you fixed up."
She administered a healing potion, a thick, sweet concoction that was supposed to mend injuries and restore energy. Harry drank it obediently, but as the potion mixed with his blood, it reacted with the residual power from Voldemort's spell.
Harry gasped as a wave of heat swept through him, his body glowing briefly before the light faded. He felt the power within him recede, leaving him feeling normal, just Harry, once again.
Madam Pomphrey, looking relieved, gave him a stern look. "You need rest, Mr. Potter," she said. "No more adventures tonight."
But Harry, feeling more himself than he had in hours, had other plans. "I think I need some fresh air, Madam Pomphrey," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I promise to be careful."
With a sigh, Madam Pomphrey gave him a nod of approval. "Very well," she said. "But don't stay out too long."
Harry left the hospital wing, making his way through the silent corridors of the castle. The night was cool and clear, the stars twinkling overhead. He walked aimlessly, his mind filled with the events of the night.
He had faced Voldemort and lived. He had gained and lost a great power. He had saved Sirius and exposed an imposter. It had been a night of triumph and terror, of loss and discovery.
But for now, he was just Harry, taking a stroll under the stars. And that was enough.
As Harry wandered through the castle, he found himself in a part of Hogwarts he didn't recognize. The corridor was old and forgotten, the stone walls covered in moss and ivy. At the end of the corridor was a door, its wood weathered and ancient.
Intrigued, Harry approached the door. It was locked, but a simple Alohomora spell took care of that. The door creaked open, revealing a room filled with dust and shadows.
The room was filled with artifacts and relics, each one more intriguing than the last. But what caught Harry's eye was a small, golden locket resting on a velvet cushion. It was beautifully crafted, with intricate designs and a single, gleaming gem in the center.
A small plaque in front of the locket read: "The Lust Locket - A magical artifact of the Founders. The wearer becomes irresistible to all."
Harry, curious, picked up the locket. It was warm to the touch, its golden surface gleaming in the dim light. He could feel a faint pulse of magic from it, a gentle hum that resonated with his own magic.
With a shrug, Harry put on the locket. He didn't feel any different, but when he looked at his reflection in a nearby mirror, he was surprised. His eyes seemed to sparkle, his smile more charming. He looked... irresistible.
Chuckling to himself, Harry left the room, the Lust Locket around his neck. He had no idea what effect it would have, but he was looking forward to finding out. After all, after a night like tonight, he could use a bit of fun.
The next morning, the schools were preparing to leave. The Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship were ready to depart, their students saying their goodbyes to their Hogwarts friends.
Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, approached Harry. She was radiant in the morning light, her silver hair gleaming. "Harry," she said, her voice soft. "I wanted to thank you. You saved me in the maze, again."
Before Harry could respond, Fleur grabbed his hand and pulled him into a nearby abounded room. The door closed behind them, leaving them in semi-darkness.
Fleur turned to Harry, her blue eyes shining. "I wanted to thank you properly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
But as she looked at Harry, her eyes widened. She seemed to be seeing him in a new light, her gaze filled with a passion that had not been there before. It was the Lust Locket, Harry realized. Its charm was working.
Before he could say anything, Fleur leaned in and kissed him. It was a passionate kiss, filled with gratitude and the charm of the Lust Locket. Harry, surprised but not entirely unwilling, kissed her back.
fleur starts kissing harry with vigor, her tongue licking his lips and darting in and out of his mouth. Harry's hands start to roam over fleur's body, feeling her soft skin and the curves of her body.
Fleur's hands are on Harry's chest, feeling his pulls away from fleur's kiss, "You're not going to leave me like this?" she asks as he takes a step back.
"I want you to take me," fleur says softly, "take me now." She reaches for him again, but Harry pushes her hand away. "No," he says firmly, "not here. I'm not sure that I can control myself if we do it here."
"But, Harry..." fleur pleads, "I've been waiting so long for you to make love to me. Please... let me have your cock. Let me feel how hard it is inside me. "
Harry looks at her for a moment, then nods. He grabs her by the arm and leads her into the bedroom. Once there, he turns to her, pulls her against him and kisses her again, deeply and passionately.
His tongue plunges into her mouth as his hands roam over her body. Harry breaks off the kiss and moves down her neck, kissing and nibbling all along her body until he gets to her breasts.
He gently bites her nipples through the fabric of her shirt and bra. Fleur moans softly as she feels his teeth scrape against her sensitive flesh.
Harry undoes the buttons on her shirt and removes it. He runs his fingers over her breasts, feeling them through the thin material of her bra. He slides the straps off of her shoulders and removes her bra.
Her breasts spill out of their confinement, her nipples standing erect and begging to be touched. Harry kneels before her and begins to kiss and suckle each breast, first one and then the other.
He sucks her nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, making fleur writhe against him. He lifts her skirt up over her hips and slides her panties down her legs. He looks up at her and smiles.
He sucks her nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, making fleur writhe against him. He lifts her skirt up over her hips and slides her panties down her legs. He looks up at her and smiles.
He spreads her legs and dives between them, licking and sucking at her pussy lips. Fleur squirms beneath him, moaning and sighing as he eats her pussy.
Harry sucks her clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue across it. He feels her body stiffen as he does this, then relax as he continues to pleasure her.
Harry slips two fingers into her wet pussy and thrusts them in and out. He rubs her G spot while he sucks on her clit. The combination of his fingers and his mouth sends fleur into orbit.
She arches her back and cries out, "oh god, oh god, oh god!" She wraps her legs around Harry's head and holds him tightly to her crotch. Harry continues to finger fuck her as she comes, crying out her release.
He keeps licking and sucking at her clit until she finally collapses. He rolls her over onto her stomach and pulls her up onto her knees.
He grabs her hips and pulls her towards him, guiding his cock toward her pussy. He pushes forward and enters her slowly. Fleur gasps as he fills her completely. Harry leans down and kisses her shoulder.
"Are you ready?" he asks. "Yes," she whispers, "fuck me, Harry, fuck me hard." Harry begins to move in and out of her slowly, savoring every inch of her tight pussy.
He reaches down and rubs her clit with his thumb. "Harder, Harry," Fleur begs, "fuck me harder. I need you so much." Harry increases his speed and force, pounding into her with everything he has.
He reaches under her and squeezes her tits, pinching her nipples between his fingers. Fleur cries out, "Yes, yes, that's it, oh god, fuck me harder!"
Harry can feel himself getting close to orgasm. He pulls out of her and pushes her onto her back. He straddles her chest and shoves his cock into her mouth. "Suck my cock, slut," he growls, "suck it good."
Harry grabs a handful of her hair and fucks her face. "That's it, take my cock, you little whore," he grunts. Harry can feel his orgasm building, and he knows he won't last long.
He pulls out of her mouth and shoves his cock back into her pussy. He rams it into her as hard and fast as he can. "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck," he yells, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!"
He pounds into her one last time before he explodes. Fleur feels his hot cum splash against her pussy walls and her own orgasm crashes through her body. She screams as she cums again.
Harry collapses on top of her and they both lay there for several minutes, trying to catch their breath. "Thank you," she whispers, "that was amazing." "It was incredible," Harry agrees, "but we're not done yet."
Lemon continued...
Fleur with a flick of her wand got her hair and clothes back to normal, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling, turned to leave the room. But before she did, she looked back at Harry, her gaze lingering on his face.
"Harry," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I find you irresistible. I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that draws me in."
Harry, his heart pounding in his chest, could only nod. He knew it was the Lust Locket, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. Not when she was looking at him like that.
Fleur smiled, a slow, seductive smile that made Harry's breath hitch. "I'll be visiting you during the holidays," she said, her voice filled with promise. "We can... continue these sessions."
With a wink, she left the room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. The holidays were certainly going to be interesting.
As he left the room, the Lust Locket around his neck, he couldn't help but wonder what other surprises were in store for him. But for now, he was content. He had survived Voldemort, saved Sirius, and had sex with Fleur Delacour. It had been a good day.
A/N: Hey guys, this story is extreme smut fanfic. Mostly in every chapter, you can find at least one or two smut scenes, As I cannot control who reads this book, I will be uploading much smuttier chapters and the lemon continuations into other or Ao3 websites where I can make sure no child will read this. Also, like my last stories which were deleted by fanfiction as they are smuttier, I do not want to risk uploading them here. I do cut some of my extra smuttier posts to make sure fanfiction doesn't purge my post like my previous stories.
Please leave me a few reviews or suggestions, I tried extremely hard to make smut relatable. Also, this is just the beginning. Harry will be much authoritative and kinky.
Cheers.
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