NOT MINE

by davidplayz32

NOT MINE

2. Idk already lost track

Chapter 44 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text Draco Malfoy waited impatiently. People gave him odd looks because of the hood that covered his face, but he didn't want anyone to see him. To see the son of Potter's new mistress, to see the humiliation on his face.

He snapped his fingers at the bar maid, who gave a wary glance to the row of empty pint glasses already on his table. Still, she brought him another one. The alcohol helped, but he wasn't here to drown his sorrows.

He had to see her.

He had to see Mother.

They'd never been particularly close, since Draco followed his father in all things and Father had never treated her as anything more than decoration, a status symbol.

Draco had thought of her little, but she was a conduit to Father.

Your Father says this. Your Father says you should get better grades. Your Father says he can't pick you up from the station.

He took a big gulp of beer, but the bitterness in his throat wasn't from the booze. Mother had been the stone-faced presenter of bad news, of Father being too busy or too important to pay attention to him, so Draco had come to resent her.

But he always thought she knew her place.

Not like this, not splashed on the cover of every paper on every bar table, a proud whore for all to see.

He swallowed the bile in the back of his throat.

He had to see it for himself. He had to know that she'd chosen this, turned her back on the House and home that Father had given her.

Draco couldn't get through the wards around Malfoy Manor, his owls unanswered, so he waited at a pop-up German beer stall in Diagon Alley. His gaze locked on the white marble steps of Gringotts, the burnished bronze doors that people streamed in and out of.

Mother hated to enter Diagon Alley from the Muggle side — it wouldn't do to mix with that kind. She'd go through the entrance that the Purebloods knew to pay for, the Floo point that Gringotts made available.

"It's a shame we can't Apparate." She'd sigh every time. But Diagon Alley was layered with anti-Apparition wards because of the attack all those years ago, some masked madman ripping the street asunder.

So she had to come through Gringotts.

Draco would be waiting. He had to see with his own eyes.

Around him, the cheer and frivolity of the Alley street only worsened his mood. Every year, a Christmas market would bring wooden stalls for a week, selling handmade jewelry, snow globes, beer and Christmas-themed potions.

A potion that would make antlers sprout from your head, or to shoot red and green sparks from your mouth every time you spoke.

Father had called it juvenile, but he'd taken Draco once. One of the few happy memories he had, his little antler-sprouts raised proudly as he rode Father's shoulders, ordering him from stall to stall, holding a Christmas tree-shaped stick of green cotton candy.

Mother had taken that from him. Mother had ruined every memory.

Potter swore to his face that he hadn't slain his father, but Draco couldn't believe the Dark Lord would have killed him either. Father believed in his cause, funded it, fought for it — he would not betray it.

Draco's hand tightened around his glass. Mother hadn't just submitted to his school rival, to their enemy in values — she'd become a whore to the man that probably killed his Father.

It was unacceptable, which was why he was having trouble believing it. Even after a day, a sleepless night, he couldn't fathom it. He couldn't even look at the day's newspapers, because he knew that Skeeter would keep this story running for weeks.

He couldn't see her face…until he did. There she was, stepping down the marble steps on tall red high heels.

Draco almost didn't recognize her.

She was glowing, her smile coy but ever-present. Her hair was long and tousled, and Draco realized he'd rarely seen it down, unmanaged.

Her lipstick was a deep red. Mascara to lengthen and thicken her eyelashes. Her festive red dress…Mother would never wear such a thing. It wasn't even close to reaching mid-thigh, let alone her knees, and she had to tug it down as she reached the bottom step. The curves of her chest were easily visible from the U-shaped neckline, a whole valley of cleavage.

He dug his nails into his palm. It was indecent.

But not, he knew, for a Mistress. This was what people expected, to know that a Mistress knew her place. The wives of Britain wanted a clear way to differentiate themselves.

Mother swept her hair over one shoulder and revealed the other status symbol of a Mistress. The choker around her neck, a choker of Potter red. The Potter emblem sat at its centre, an insignia of gleaming gold, for all to see that Narcissa Malfoy was owned.

Draco had been told and now he saw, but still he couldn't understand. How could she reduce the Malfoy name to this?

A Mistress, to be used roughly for all the things a man shouldn't inflict upon his beloved wife.

The Pureblood mantra that everyone knew ran through his head, the silly rhyme that they all knew.

A wife's place to support and hold, to pleasure and treasure. A wife for comfort and solace, but never leather and lace. A Mistress on her knees and her back, a sweet relief and a rump to smack.

It was a joke.

Father had told him of all that went on in the parties of Purebloods, the smoking rooms after dinner. Where deals were made across whiskey and cigars, where unbreakable bonds were made. Men showcased their Mistresses, between their knees or sitting in their lap, because it wouldn't do to show off a wife to leering eyes, but a Mistress was a status symbol to own.

Narcissa strode through the Alley and Draco followed. He didn't know what he'd do, his head pounding, his vision tunneled.

But he had to see.

She stepped into a side street, where the main shops gave way to smaller boutiques, little dusty enterprises for niche bookshops or vets for magical pets. Draco followed carefully.

A bell rang as she entered a shop framed in wooden oak, the door so small she had to duck to enter. Draco stared up at the sign. Madame Lucille's Lounge of Intimate Things.

He felt so light that a feather would knock him over.

Mother was in a lingerie shop.

Could he talk to her? Confront her? He had to try.

A Silencing Charm on the bell above the door and he slipped in, stalking behind a clothes rail sagging with dresses.

"Lady Malfoy! Back again?" A cheery voice welcomed. "Can I still call you that?"

"I'm still Lady Malfoy." Mother smirked. "I'm just a lot more besides."

"I saw the news. I'm so happy for you, if you don't mind me saying. A good man is hard to find."

"Thank you, Lucille." Mother sounded genuine and warm — it was a tone Draco had never heard. "I'm very lucky."

"Good for him, too, right? That poor boy, after all he's gone through, he needs a helping hand." Lucille squeaked. "I didn't mean it like that, of course!"

Draco parted the dresses on the rail so he could see Mother. Her lips twitched in amusement, her eyebrow raised delicately. "Don't worry, I'm giving him plenty of support." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "And a hand too, of course."

Lucille burst into laughter. "Lady Malfoy! So naughty. He has been good for you."

Draco seethed. There was a cannon exploding in his head, his skull throbbing, but each cannonball dissipated into a nauseating taste that trickled down his throat.

Mother's words repeated with every cannon blast. And a hand too, of course.

Did she jerk Potter off every time he was hard? Did he finish on her face? It was probably the least she did for him.

He bit his fist to stop himself from screaming. It was all so wrong.

Potter had everything, even his mother.

Draco jerked himself off every morning, because Pansy wouldn't touch him until marriage, because she was a proper Pureblood witch.

But Potter?

He had that mudblood whore Granger, who wore shorter skirts every day, her unbuttoned blouses showing off her hickey bruises around her neck, as well as the oversized blue pendant he'd bought her.

Draco had fantasized about the pushy girl being reduced to a Researcher for his family, taking his cock in return for coin and shelter, but now Potter took her nightly.

And a hand too, of course.

Draco couldn't even have fantasies that Potter didn't steal.

Hannah was a star in every Hogwarts boy's nightly dreams, her tits bouncing with every move, her blouse buttons strained to breaking point. Draco had sometimes followed her up the stairs to Astronomy class, eager to see the skimpy panties she wore.

Now, the rumor mill said Potter took her too, pawing his grubby hands all over her tits.

And a hand too, of course.

Who else would Potter take? Would Draco's own mother be reduced to one of many whores?

Tracey's invitation replayed in his mind. A chance to take out Potter once and for all.

Why was Tracey so desperate to end him? She'd already paid Draco and his friends to make him stay away from Daphne, all those months ago. If she was trying to end him again, Potter was probably close to Daphne too.

That thought made him squeeze his fingers into the dresses in front of him, squeezing hard like he had his hands around Potter's neck.

The most beautiful girl in Hogwarts, the pure and prim ideal of a Pureblood, blonde and elegant. He'd always hoped that Father would make a deal with the Greengrass family. He'd even approached Father with the suggestion.

"You should be able to court her yourself, shouldn't you?" Father had sniffed. "You have the name, the money, the power."

"But she's not like—"

"I don't want to hear excuses. Losers make excuses. Losers get nothing. Winners go home and take the girl with them." Father frowned at him. "I married the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts because I was a winner. Choose who you want to be."

Draco never felt more like a loser. Daphne and Potter — it felt wrong. She had grace, elegance and a behind that seemed surreal on such a slim girl. She couldn't mix the finest of genes with a blood traitor like Potter.

Mother called out. "Do you have anything…crotchless?"

Lucille giggled. "Lady Malfoy."

"I know, I know. But," Mother said conspiratorially. "I have to compete with these pretty young things in Hogwarts. Harry's very popular, you know."

"I bet." Lucille grinned. She snapped her fingers. "I've got just the thing. In fact, if you don't mind my boldness, I'm wearing it." She flicked her wand and her robes pooled around her feet.

It was a contraption of black leather strips and rings and buckles that wrapped around her body tightly, framing her bare breasts, like her body was segmented into little windows of flesh. Two leather strips ran to the sides of her pussy and disappeared behind her. Draco gaped.

"What is that?"

Lucille looked smug. "The latest in Muggle madness. A full body leather harness. It frames your body, buckles around your neck, your thighs, your crotch, under and over your breasts."

Mother coursed her eyes over her, fascinated. "B-but it doesn't cover anything!"

Lucille slid her hands down her body. "That's the point. It frames everything, drawing the eye to all the good bits. Isn't it so slutty?" She hesitated. "A wife would never wear this…"

"But a Mistress would." Mother finished slowly.

"Lord Potter will love it, I guarantee." Lucille promised.

"Where do I change?" Mother said eagerly.

The two women disappeared into the changing rooms in the back, giggling all the while. Draco was left more stunned than enraged.

He was empty. He'd lost everything. He looked down and realized he was hard, aroused, but it didn't matter.

Potter had taken everything from him, even the relief of his own hand. Could he even touch himself without thinking of Potter ruining his own slut mother?

He wandered out of the shop in a daze, his feet taking him through the Alley.

He knocked into people, spilling their glasses. They shouted after him, but they were irrelevant.

He couldn't be hurt — he had nothing left to lose.

"It's not as cheap as the subscription, but you cannot miss today's issue! It's just as unbelievable as yesterday's! Ten knuts!" A man doffed his flat cap, holding a stack of Prophet papers, grinning with the few teeth he had.

Draco shuddered.

"You, sir, you look like a mover and a shaker. How can you work without knowing the news?" He called. "Don't you wanna know what the Malfoy kid said?"

Draco glared at him. Had that bitch Skeeter made up quotes from him, as if he'd approve of his mother's tawdry affair? The gall!

"Give me that!" He snatched the newspaper away.

The headline read. NARCISSA EXCLUSIVE: HOW HARRY FOUND OUT ABOUT THE DAUGHTER MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND HID FROM ME.

Malfoy gaped. "What?" He snatched the paper from the man's hands, reading on.

THE OBLIVIATION ABDUCTION! I WAS ROBBED OF RAISING MY DAUGHTER, BUT HARRY BROUGHT US BACK TOGETHER. HOW COULD I NOT LOVE HIM?

Draco stared at the picture. Mother stood next to a beautiful pale girl in a demure green dress, a girl of platinum hair and eyes the shade of Draco's swimming pool.

A hidden daughter. His sister.

HELENA MALFOY SPEAKS: MY HERO HARRY GAVE ME BACK MY MOTHER, AND MY SMILE.

His scream pierced the happy buzz of the Alley crowd. Birds squealed and flew from the rooftops. He squeezed his eyes shut, because he didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to feel.

There was nothing right in this world. Even the winter sun on his face would be taken by Potter.

His wand trembled with sheer emotion, sparks shooting from it. Magic was the only thing he had, and it demanded retribution.

Tracey was right. Potter was a monster. And monsters still had to sleep.

###

Hannah tiptoed her way through the Hufflepuff dorms back to her bed, hoping nobody was still awake. She'd made it!

She sighed with relief and pulled aside the curtains around her bed.

"Oh!" She squeaked.

Susan lay there in her pajamas, her eyebrow raised.

"Where were you?" She said, unimpressed.

"Uh," Hannah tugged on her pigtails. "With Harry, duh?"

"Really. With Harry." She repeated. "Your hair is perfect. Your blouse has all its buttons." Susan's hand snapped out and grabbed underneath Hannah's skirt.

"Hey!"

"You're not even wet."

"Okay, okay!" Hannah sank down next to her best friend. "I was in the library, getting more books."

Susan flipped open her satchel bag. "More Dark Arts books." She said flatly. "Is Harry making you do this?"

"No!" Hannah insisted. "I want to. I have to."

"You have to study the Dark Arts to be with Harry Potter?" She said doubtfully.

"I have to keep up, because I love him, Susie." Hannah said. "I'm not you, okay? I don't have a marriage proposal. I have a cute smile and big breasts. I have to show my worth in other ways. I have to be strong — he's going to face a lot of danger."

Susan tugged on her pigtail. "Hey, dumbo, if he's smart, he loves you for you. Loyal, kind, funny, you."

Hannah sighed. "Why are you in my bed?"

"I was looking for my knickers, I know you keep stealing them."

"We share them!"

"We do not share, you take, I take them back." Susan poked her in the side. "Now stop dodging the point."

"It's not enough to be me." Hannah nibbled on her lip. "You saw the paper today?" She nodded at the Daily Prophet on their bedside table. Helena gave a shy wave to the cameras, leaning into her mother's side.

With Harry's help, Rita Skeeter was on a full week long cycle of Narcissa character redemption, which was a testament to how big the story of her being Harry's mistress was, and, Hannah thought, how much Narcissa needed a redemption, so unlikeable was she.

Hannah hadn't expected Harry to reveal the Helena news. Harry had said he'd done it because he needed Narcissa to be publicly loved so his standing in the Light side of the families didn't suffer, but Hannah privately thought it was just because he loved her so much. Protection, not politics.

"I saw it." Susan tilted her head to one side. "Poor girl. Harry found her and brought her back." She snickered. "He's fulfilling his one heroic act a day quota."

"He's a hero." Hannah said wistfully. Just thinking about him made her feel warm.

"So what? What's the big deal?"

"Helena is a beautiful blonde mini-Narcissa." Hannah said slowly.

Susan looked confused. "Riiiight?"

"And Narcissa is Harry's Mistress, linked forever to House Potter."

The redheaded girl blew out a long breath. "Just because she's his Mistress doesn't mean her daughter has to get with him. She's a pureblood noble, she'll have to get married to a…" Susan trailed off, wincing.

Hannah slumped against her friend. "Narcissa can give Harry herself and her daughter."

"Harry's only got so many rings. Didn't he have dinner with the Greengrasses?" Susan tried to encourage her.

"If Daphne marries him, then what do you think her parents will do with Astoria?" Hannah said quietly, fidgeting idly with the buttons of Susan's pajamas.

"Huh?"

"She's not getting married to Draco, is she? Or even Nott. They can't marry one daughter to Potter, align their family with his, and then marry the other daughter off to someone that hates his guts."

"Nott doesn't hate…oh." Susan realized. She looked queasy. "You think they might package them together?"

"Sister wives." Hannah spat. "What better way to ensure Greengrass rises as the flag of Potter does? Two Malfoy girls, two Greengrass girls, and there is little old me."

"But—"

"But Harry won't leave me behind, I know." Hannah rested her head on her friend. "I'll just be there, in the background, marginalized by both pairs, because I'm not a package deal. The only package I could be is with…" She cut herself off.

"With me." Susan finished.

Hannah sat up hurriedly and grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm not pushing, not now, not ever. I want you to choose the best thing for you." She picked up one of the thick tomes from her bag and dropped it again, sighing. "I just need to do this, for me, you know?"

Susan considered her for a long moment, her smile tight. "I know. I miss you." She pulled Hannah into her, until they were both lying on the bed in a tangle of limbs. "I miss cuddling with you. I miss…exploring things together."

Hannah giggled as she heard Susan's heartbeat quicken, head to her chest. "You're not turning into a full lesbo like Tracey, are you?"

Susan snorted. "If Tracey Davies is a full lesbian, I'll eat the Sorting Hat. She's just clinging on to the only friend she's got, tongue first. I just miss us. Remember how young and dumb we were, when we first started doing things?"

Hannah sniggered. "It was that plastic toy. The cheap vibrating broomstick. Merlin, that thing got messy."

The redhead chuckled. "Auntie thought she'd given us a toy we loved innocently. She always thought we were way younger than we were."

Hannah tightened her hold on her friend as they thought about her Auntie. "I'm sorry, Susie. I'm moaning about poor little me when you're going through the worst."

Susie stroked her hair. "I wasn't in your bed looking for my panties." She admitted. "I'm cold and lonely and just…sad."

"Oh, Susie."

"You think Harry will mind if you share my bed tonight?"

"Of course not."

They snuggled together, a silly giggling mess of accidental elbows and hair in each other's mouths. It took them time to settle down, but eventually they were under the covers, staring at one another. Susan's green hues just inches from her.

Her friend's hands stroked up the skin of her midriff, all the way up to her breasts. "They're so big." Susan said in awe. "Are they bigger? You look so beautiful these days. Is it true? A powerful wizard will—"

"Will change you slightly to fit his desires. Morgana's magic, Merlin's power." Hannah confirmed, biting her lip.

"That's so fucking hot." Susan growled. "I hate how hot that is."

Hannah giggled. "Come on, it's late. We should sleep."

"I haven't been able to sleep for days." Susan complained.

Hannah slipped under the covers.

"What are you doing?"

"I know how to get you to sleep." She said naughtily.

"Han!"

She yanked down Susie's pajamas and swatted at her bare pussy.

"Ow!"

"Shush, you. Let me Tracey Davies you."

"I'm going to tell her you said—oooh." Susan moaned as Hannah began languishing her pussy with attention.

Hannah smirked into her friend's needy pussy. She didn't know much in life, but she knew how to eat Susie's pussy.

Kisses around her thigh, hands underneath her ass to raise her up. Teasing kisses until she got frustrated.

"Come on!" Susan groaned.

"So bossy." Hannah admonished, but she spread her friend's thighs with her hands, nice and wide, and then swept her tongue from the bottom to the top, making her pretty pussy glisten.

Long and achingly slow licks, again and again, until her thighs were trembling. Then, there it was. Susie's shy clit, now engorged and saying hi.

Hannah ignored it for now, pressing her face deep into Susan's cunt, rubbing her face like an eager teenage boy, tongue lapping and swirling all the way. Susan was as sensitive as she remembered, splashing her in delicious juices.

It was said that Morgana made witches sensitive so that they could find pleasure in men easily, but Hannah wondered if she'd known that it would also mean that witches could make each other go wild.

"Oh, yes, Han!" Susan arched her ass up into Hannah's delving tongue, making her smile.

One day, she'd been doing this for an audience, for Harry. One day, she'd be licking out his seed noisily, messily, making a show of it.

But until then, it was time to get Susie off. She was breathing fast, thighs trembling. Hannah reached up, folding her friend up so she could pull apart her buttoned pajama top and grope her friend's full tits.

Susie's nipples were as sensitive as her own, and Hannah pawed and kneaded as she finally pressed her tongue to Susie's clit.

Lapping, wiggling, teasing, until—

"Oof!" Hannah squeaked as her head was pressed firmly into Susan's pussy.

"Right there, right there, please!" Susan gasped.

Hannah obeyed, getting serious. Her tongue worked away frantically, fast and wild, Susan's thighs clamping shut to keep her there.

Susan bucked. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She chanted, arching herself into Hannah's tongue, fucking her face, her body rising off the bed.

"Yes!" The beautiful redhead screamed.

Hannah tried in vain to keep her tongue attached as Susan came, her body writhing and squirming like she was being hit with a Cruciatus. Susan snatched her pigtails and rode her hard, bucking her body through a rollercoaster of a climax.

Hannah grinned as she was sprayed with Hufflepuff juices, feeling the tremors in her friend's legs as they rocked through her whole body.

When she was done, they were silent for a good few minutes. Susan breathed heavy breaths while Hannah studied her pussy. Wet, slick, reddening with blood, juicy and tight. It would be perfect for Harry. She'd be a good wife for him.

When she felt Susan shaking, she thought her friend was laughing, until she heard a sudden sob.

"Susie?" Hannah climbed up, frightened.

"I'm so alone!" Susan wailed, clamping onto her.

"I'm here, I'm here, you're not alone." Hannah said, alarmed. "I'm right here, Sue."

Susan looked at her with wide wet eyes. "Should I just do it? Shall I marry him? I'll have a family, I'll be protected. I won't be alone anymore."

She opened her mouth, stunned. Was this the moment? Harry would be so happy if she could gift him Susan on a plate.

But, as she looked in her friend's eyes, she felt a tug on her bond with Harry. She could feel him, his powers.

And in a second, she was in her friend's head, looking back at herself, seeing herself from Susan's point of view.

She could hear Susan's thoughts.

If she says yes, here, when I 'm at my lowest, then I'll know for sure. She's more Harry's than she is mine. My Hannah is no longer my sister, my confidante.

Hannah broke free, a chill running down her spine. Had she just used Harry's powers to use Legilimency? She didn't know how to do it, but could the bond give her such a power? She knew she'd tugged on their bond when it happened.

Harry would want to know — that had all sorts of implications. And, she realized, if she could use his power, maybe she could accelerate her Dark Arts training.

First, she had to deal with Susan.

"No." She said firmly. "If you're not set on Harry, you shouldn't get with him just because you're grieving. I don't want you making any big choices when you're like this." She kissed her friend's forehead, stroking her hair. "And believe it or not, Harry wouldn't either. He wants the best for you, too."

Susan cried harder, but she pulled her into the tightest hug.

Hannah continued. "You're going to be solo and single and not quite ready to mingle, okay? But you're also going to have me, and Harry will just have to deal with it."

Susan laughed while she sobbed, wiping her face. "Remember what we thought we'd do this summer just gone?"

"Hot witch summer. We got a lot of looks in our dresses though, didn't we?"

"We did." Susan wiped the snot from her nose, smiling wetly.

"Go to sleep, bestie. It'll be better in the morning."

"O-okay." Susan clamped onto her tight as Hannah brought the covers over them. "Thank you, Hannah. You're the best."

"I am."

Susan was silent for a long minute. "There's no way Harry can do what you just did. Man amongst men, whatever, Boy-Who-Lived and all that, but this flavor of Bertie Botts? Only a woman can do it right."

Hannah snorted. "He can't, you're right—"

"I knew it."

"—until he uses Parseltongue. I almost died."

Susan lifted her head up, her mouth agape. "I'd forgotten about that. No wonder you look like you've been sniffing Trelawney's candles every time you come back from him."

"It's the best, I can't lie."

"Ugh." Susan huffed quietly, her eyes closed. "Now how am I going to sleep? Stupid Harry with his stupid big dick and his stupid…"

Hannah looked over, but her friend had dozed off, each sleepy snore blowing away a wisp of red hair.

She watched her friend sleep fondly. One day, they'd make a mean match for Cissy and Helena or Daphne and Astoria. Hannah nodded to herself confidently.

Harry was a man amongst men, but even he couldn't fight back against Hannah and Susan's combined bosom power. The Hufflepuff Heavies would smother him in big creamy tits, stealing all of his attention.

Hannah smiled as she slipped into dreams herself. Harry would be so happy, he'd probably not even bother with the other girls. Nobody worked harder than a Hufflepuff…and two Hufflepuffs?

They were going to blow his mind.

###

Harry walked through Hogwarts, his head high. People treated him differently now they knew about Cissy. It was mostly the boys.

They'd always assumed Hermione was his. The Hannah rumours were just that. Hannah had always had some rumours about her, that was part and parcel of looking like a sex doll in Hogwarts.

But, Harry thought with amusement, the inarguable confirmation that he was with Narcissa Malfoy, blonde bombshell, it made him a legend in a way that fighting Voldemort hadn't.

Dueling with Voldie had made the Hogwarts' boys uncomfortable, if anything. They wanted to duel him. They'd mutter behind his back that he wasn't all that. They'd say they could do it, if they had the chance.

But banging hotties? That made him cool and relatable, somehow. That he'd bagged Draco's mother made it even better.

He was walking to lunch with Hermione, but it didn't stop the comments.

"Good catch, Potter."

"Give her one from me, Harry."

"Careful, Harry, she's dangerous."

"A hundred points to Gryffindor, Potter, Merlin!"

"Can you bring her to the next Slytherin match, Harry? Malfoy would fall off his broom and Hufflepuff needs a win."

"Oh, really." Hermione huffed at his side, as they waited on the stairs for Hogwarts to swivel them into place. "It's all a little juvenile."

"Hazza!" Cormac McLaggen took a leaping jump from a floor above and landed on the moving stairs.

"Me?" Harry muttered. Nobody had ever called him Hazza.

"Bro, bro, bro!" Cormac smacked him on the back, grinning. "That's what I'm talking about! I always thought you were a pureblood pure-boring puritan, but you've got the goods, baby!"

"Thanks man—"

"You dicked down Cissy Malfoy, queen of high society? Top tier Potter pounding, baby."

Harry shook himself, while Hermione watched on, aghast. "Dicked down?"

Cormac wiggled his brows. "Did you give her the full Ollivander?"

"What?"

"Ten inches of chestnut, baby, all over those tits!"

Harry goggled, red-faced. He raised his hand to push the overbearing boy away, but Cormac only grinned and smacked his hand. "Hi-five, but we only bagging tens out here."

"Cormac, Merlin, settle down a little—"

The large boy didn't seem to have heard him. "I mean, I've caught some snitches in my time, don't get me wrong. Stimpson is a catch for sure. But I've never looked at the mommies, you know?" He shook his head in admiration. "Now I feel like there's a whole big world out there, one I've been missing. The older lady."

"Right." Harry said uncomfortably, very aware of Hermione's glare. Cormac didn't seem to have even noticed her.

"Got any tips for snagging the McGonaGirls?" Cormac snickered.

"That's Professor McGon— oh, nevermind." Hermione huffed from behind them.

Harry paused. Despite himself, he felt a little proud. It wasn't like he wasn't fucking Cissy. It was much better than being lauded for not dying as a baby.

"Teenage girls want a status symbol." He said loftily. "The dates, the public affection, the gifts."

"You know it, brother." Cormac nodded. "To snag Stimpson, I almost went broke trying to convince her I was anything but."

"But the older lady? She just wants a good time in the bedroom, to feel adored and needed."

"I am standing here, you know." Hermione muttered.

Cormac looked like he was a step away from taking out a notebook and writing it down. "That makes sense, I can use that." He said reverently. "Do you give them the old Shooting Star?"

"Shooting Star?" That was Ron's broom, last year.

Cormac gave him two finger-guns. "It's a bumpy ride but she gets there nice and slow."

Harry snickered. "Shooting Star, that's funny."

"Is it though?" Hermione griped.

"I give them the Hogwarts Express." Harry continued, smirking. "Several hours and she has to take a break in the middle to get some sugar, and then again to change into her school uniform."

Cormac roared with laughter, buckling over. He smacked Harry again, beating on his arm. "Bro, bro, bro. You're the man. Hogwarts Express, I gotta remember that one. Keep it real, man, don't put a ring on any of those old birds. I'll catch you next time."

With that, he was gone, leaping from the stairs onto a stone parapet and sliding back-first through the railings. "Nice panties, Turpin!" Cormac cheered from the floor as a group of Ravenclaws passed by.

"Funny guy." Harry shook his head.

"Really, Harry?" She gripped his arm and pulled him along. "Him? He's gross."

"Ah, he's just eccentric, you know—"

Hermione sniffed. "He once told me that I was a bookworm—"

"You are a bookworm—"

"—and then he said 'I want to put the worm into bookworm, if you know what I mean.'"

Harry coughed. "That is bad. But calling old ladies McGonaGirls? That's funny, c'mon."

Hermione sighed, leaning over and flicking his ear hard.

"Ow!"

"Don't let this go to your head, Harry, of all things." She chided. "After all your adventures, this is going to be the thing that makes you arrogant like Malfoy?"

"Alright, alright." He protected his ears. "I've always got you to bring me down to Earth." With a flick of his wand, he opened a passing broom closet door and pulled her into it. He kissed his way up to her neck as she squealed.

Harry tried to charm her as he rained kisses on her skin. "The most beautiful—"

"Daphne." She said flatly.

He tried again. "The most kind—"

"Susan. She's grieving for her Auntie and she still sent me her notes from Charms."

Harry rolled his eyes. "The most clever, then."

Hermione ran her hands through the back of his hair, biting her lip as he nibbled on her neck. "Well, there's Lisa Turpin, Padma, Su Li—"

"Who's she?" He frowned.

Hermione scowled. "Honestly, Harry, you don't pay any attention to girls if they don't wear miniskirts and thigh-highs."

"Well, whoever is she is, I know you're more clever than she is, and the most loving, the most loyal."

"Thank you." She blushed. "Although…when you say most loyal, you make me think of Voldemort talking about Bellatrix."

Harry sighed, resting his head on her shoulder as she giggled. "Most unable to take a compliment?"

"Aww. Am I hard work to control?" Hermione teased, stroking his hair. "Like a Cleansweep Three?"

"Ugh." Harry grumped. "I love you even when you're a pain in my ass. Are we not having a quickie, then?"

She pecked his cheek. "Love you too." She glowed. "Even when you're a pain in my sore down-there, which means we're definitely not having a quickie, even if my thighs weren't locked tighter than Azkaban, after hearing your chat with Cormac."

"It's just changing room talk." Harry protested. "It's a Quidditch thing. Can you use your mouth, at least? I love your tongue."

"Nice try, Hazza. Sex isn't everything in a relationship, you know. Once your ego pops, then you can get my mouth again. I'm worried you might not get through the Great Hall doors."

"Fine." He squeezed her ass childishly.

Hermione giggled. "Did you get another riddle from your blackmailer yet?"

Harry held her tighter, grinning. "You're still annoyed that Helena figured it out quicker than you, aren't you?"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"You try figuring out riddles when you have two knuckles in you." She grouched.

"Let's hope I never have to." Harry shivered. "But yes, I have another note from my riddler." He pulled out the note from his robes and read it aloud.

"You may think I have no blackmail, now the news is out. Very clever, but you're not getting off that easy. I saw her blowing you when Lucius was pictured alive abroad by a Swiss newspaper, which means, naughty, naughty, she was a dirty cheat and not the angel Rita Skeeter is making her out to be. Don't worry, I won't tell, as long as you can figure out my riddles. Are you smart enough or are you using your pet Granger?"

"They sound annoying. But, if they've got the dates right, they could be dangerous." Hermione observed.

"So am I." He crossed his arms.

She snorted at his tough guy routine. "What's the riddle?"

"Here it is. What kind of room—"

"Wait, wait." Hermione tied her hair behind her and sank to her knees.

"I thought we weren't doing anything—"

Hermione fished out his cock from his robes, inhaling deeply. "If, like with Helena, you're going to be using my body and my brain simultaneously in the future, I need practice on multitasking." She looked at him like he was dumb.

"You just said we're not going to do anything—"

"I changed my mind." Hermione said primly. "Now, give me the riddle so I can show you my multitasking and deduction skills." She jerked his cock, breathing heavily as she stared at his hardening cock, the blood rushing to his shaft. "Look at this thing, isn't it monstrous?" She murmured, like she was talking to herself.

She stroked him slowly with both hands, her mouth open in a kind of awed trance. "Look at the veins, the rushing blood, the thickness."

"Uh, Hermione?"

"Ssh." She rubbed it over her face, closing her eyes. "You know what Apolline calls it?"

"No?"

"Le dompteur de salope." Hermione smiled serenely. "I may be missing some syntax, she speaks so quickly, but it means, literally, bitch tamer."

She giggled, inhaling with flared nostrils. "It's just so brutish, there's nothing beautiful or elegant about it, not like a woman, you know?"

Harry had no idea what she was on about, but as long as she kept jacking him off, he was happy.

"It's so hard and thick and throbbing, and Merlin, the scent—" She took a shuddering breath. "You know, the books on old magic, on Merlin and Morgana, they write that witches have been historically subjugated because a wizard's magic is so deeply arousing. It's biological patriarchy, in a way." His cock rested on her tongue as she stroked his skin back and forth, all the way to his cockhead and back down.

"Right." Harry said, not listening.

"But you, it's not even the magic. The scent is just so masculine." She shivered. She snapped her gaze to him. "You didn't shower today, did you?"

"No?"

"Ugh, boys." She wrinkled her nose. "So unhygienic." Despite her words, she kept taking deep breaths, shifting his cock all over her face, anointing herself in his musk, her tongue extended.

"It's absolutely, inarguably, obscene." Hermione declared. "You know, in the sixties? This judge said he couldn't define obscenity but he knew it when he saw it."

"Uh-huh." Harry said, his hand in her hair, arching his hips forward to try and enter her mouth.

"And this is so obscene. It's so fat, like it's designed to just…reshape." Hermione bit her lip, cheeks red.

He grunted agreement. Sometimes, he and Ron had learned long ago, it was best to let her monologue.

"A thick, girthy, almost angry, mushroom head." Hermione admired, making it glisten with a lap of her tongue. "Oh, what's the riddle?" She popped his cock in her mouth, making her cheek bulge.

Harry blinked. "Riddle? Oh, what kind of room has no walls, doors or windows?" He looked down at his cock as Hermione slipped it out of her mouth. "Oh!" Harry realized. "Mushroom. The answer's mushroom. I'm so smart." He chuckled.

At Hermione's guttural cry of dismay, Harry couldn't help but fold over laughing. He kept sniggering, even when she rose from the floor, cursing him all the while, even when she flung open the closet door and stormed out. Even when he sat next to her in Transfiguration class, he couldn't help but chortle, one hand under the table to cradle his aching blue balls.

She was right. Sex wasn't everything in a relationship. It was a lot — and laughter was the rest.

###

In the past, Harry sighed as he stared at Bellatrix. Once again, they were in a secluded green field, part of a national park that the Muggles had closed for some reason or another.

He'd brought a dummy for her to practice her spells on. "I've sealed each of its limbs with some runes focused on shielding. " Harry told her. "The body parts will come off once you can chain enough power in a ten second period. Got it?"

"I'm not a child." She pouted.

"Then have fun." He stood back and watched the beautiful dark witch. She was fun to watch — every underpowered curse produced a filthy string of swear words, and every missed curse caused a mini tantrum.

She was teasing him, a little — she wore slim flowing black silk robes, so that when they dueled, they'd inevitably get torn or caught on something, revealing her lacy underwear beneath.

Since his display of power, she'd stepped up her game — pouty lips coated in dark shades, arching her rump when he corrected her wandgrip, robes tied a little lower than appropriate.

But, Harry grumbled, he couldn't take her until he could figure out how to create a Whorecrux without killing. The theory made sense to him, to fuck her and immediately seal her bond, her love, her slice of soul that belonged to him, seal it in an object. He'd have to do it immediately so he didn't change the timeline in the future, he theorized.

Harry had tried meditating, using Occlumency to delve into the memories of Tom creating horcruxes, looking for a clue. He'd had no luck so far which meant Bellatrix wasn't getting bent over today, no matter how bratty she acted.

Which was a lot, today, always testing his limits. His sexy little psychopath had cottoned on to the fact that his moral compass was very different to her own, resulting in some questions which he wasn't sure were deliberate or not.

Like, "Are Muggles even human, if they don't possess such a core resource like magic, and couldn't it be argued that it's ethical to eliminate them if not?"

"Isn't it a mercy to put down the weak?"

"Is life even sacred?"

It was no wonder Tom was trying to recruit her — giving her the Dark Mark probably made her more sane.

She bent over to fiddle with her shoe, looking at him between her legs. "Stop looking at my ass." She shouted.

"Stop over-enunciating your spell incantations." Harry replied firmly. "It's costing you a second per spell."

"Yeah, yeah." She grumbled, beginning the chain of spells again.

As Harry watched her, he caught a flash of orange from the corner of his eye, behind the trees in the distance. His magic shot out, alarmed. Nobody should be here in this remote place.

He felt a familiar magic aura, and with a pop, he had Apparated behind her.

Amelia Bones held her hands up, looking sheepish. "Busted?"

"Amelia." He said evenly, lowering his wand. "And if you're here…" He sighed. "You put a tracking charm on me?"

She smoothed down her skirt, wincing. "I was worried you were trying to stop me from doing what's right." She peered around the tree at the forest clearing, where Bellatrix was screaming bloody murder at an inanimate dummy. "You're training her?"

"I am."

"Quite the difference for the man that warned me not to mess with the timeline."

"I told you, didn't I? I'm all in with you." He lied. "If I can change Bellatrix, re-point her less sane energies, imagine how much safer Britain would be. Voldemort without his right hand."

Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "You really are with me."

"I am." He crossed his arms. "So maybe don't put tracking charms on me?"

She grimaced. "Sorry."

"And maybe start letting me in?" He took a step forward so she was pressed against the tree trunk, in her tight blouse and work skirt.

"Not here." Amelia took his chin in hand. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't say sorry for doubting you."

"I like the sound of that."

"Maybe I can say sorry and give some support to my Susie at the same time?"

Harry frowned. "You're going to help me get through her raised walls?"

"I want her to have someone." She swallowed. "Now I'm not there for her. I bet you're not as interested in wedding her now she doesn't have the Minister's ear."

"I still want to." He said firmly. "She doesn't want me."

Amelia smoothed down the fabric of his chest, thinking. "You don't want her to want you. You want her to think she has to help you. She's a regular Saint Mungo. That's your problem, you're always in control, always the hero. If you're in trouble, if you need her, she'll get involved. She's a Hufflepuff to the core."

Harry considered that. "I'll tell her I can't figure out where to direct my charity money."

"Exactly! That should help." She squeaked a little when Harry stepped between her legs, her back to the tree.

He needed to cock-control this crazed crusader, before she really started to screw things up. "And you?" Harry said, his voice low and dangerous. "What gets you going?"

Amelia bit her lip. "What do you think?" She said softly.

He breathed into her ear. "You're like Susie — you want the chance to do good."

She smirked, tracing his cheekbones. "And unfortunately, you're no charity case." She patted his cheek. "I'll settle for a partner who wants to do good as much as I do."

Harry stepped back as she slipped out of his grasp, the moment gone. "I'm helping Bellatrix, aren't I? Or nullifying her, hopefully."

Amelia looked around the tree into the clearing. Bellatrix had torn off the bottom of her dress robes and was strangling the dummy with it.

"Don't mock me, dummy!" She screeched.

"I think that's more self-serving, isn't it?" Amelia said knowingly. "The crazy witch will be crazy in bed, is that the theory?"

It was Harry's turn to look sheepish. "Busted?"

"Enjoy, anyway." She pulled her hair tie out to let her long copper hair fall around her shoulders. Her hand dipped to his crotch, cupping his cock as she leaned in to his ear. "Don't forget what we're working toward. Won't it be so worth it, when you can bend the Minister of Magic over her desk? Will you make me miss all my meetings, Harry?" She said innocently.

She giggled at the look on his face. "Be careful of Bellatrix, Harry. She's dangerous."

"So am I." He rumbled, leaning in to kiss her.

She Apparated away.

Harry growled as he was left with blue balls in two different timelines. "Cocktease." He growled.

Bellatrix had her legs on the dummy's shoulders, trying to wrestle its head off, her legs showcased in her torn robes.

Harry sighed.

He couldn't fuck Bella without creating a Whorecrux. He couldn't fuck Susan or Amelia because they both saw through him. And, next up, he had Fleur, who was the world's greatest cocktease, who he couldn't fuck because he couldn't let her win.

Which sounded stupid when he thought about it, but damn it, he couldn't let her walk all over him, not when she'd been doing it to every guy she'd ever met.

He grumbled as he stalked towards Bellatrix to break up her fight with an inanimate object. He knew he was spoiled, but sometimes he swore he spent more time trying to take off panties than enjoying what lay beneath them.

###

After Diagon Alley, the Christmas market came to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had decided to enlist the market vendors, since Hogsmeade was being repaired and was too traumatizing for many of the student body, as well as being unsafe.

Instead, a mass of wooden stalls had popped up on the Quidditch field, which had annoyed Angelina.

"Come on, come all." Dumbledore had found a purple carnival hat and stood at the top of a wooden set of stairs that led to nowhere, addressing the buzzing student body. "Enjoy the festivities, boys and girls. I have been told to inform you that Professor McGonagall is manning the stall for German beer, and it is only accessible to those in fifth year and above." He said sternly, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

"Thankfully, the Liquor Licorice, or Liquorice, if you will, is under no such restrictions, and Madam Pomfrey has asked me to say that she will not be treating any nausea or hangovers. Bon appetit!" He bowed.

The cheering crowd rushed towards the wooden stalls, eager to blow off steam. A crowd of shrieking firsties ran by Harry.

"I'm gonna eat fifty Liquorices." One of them bragged.

"You'll throw up, Jeffrey." A little girl warned him.

Harry watched on fondly. He'd been these kids once.

An hour later, he cradled a beer, sitting around a fireplace by the lake with his friends, watching the Giant Squid snatch up unattended bottles of German beer and imbibe them, glass and all. He'd eaten some German sausage from one of the stalls and wasn't a fan — it didn't taste right.

Since the younger years attacked the market stalls, the senior students had naturally decided the market wasn't that cool, especially given the strict oversight of the teachers. Instead, they'd taken their purchased food and drink and set up fireplaces around the lake, sitting on chopped logs levitated from the eternal supply behind Hagrid's hut.

It was a chilly night, but the fireplace and the alcohol had them acting courageously.

Ron was sitting alongside Lavender, his arm around her shoulders.

Dean was chatting up a Ravenclaw whose name he couldn't recall for the life of him, while Seamus was brushing knees with Romilda Vane, who kept staring at Harry. Ginny sat with Michael Corner, who kept trying to hold her, unsuccessfully.

Ginny had brought her friend Luna, an odd cookie in bright yellow robes, a large sunflower in her hair, and radish earrings dangling from her eyes. She was a cute thing with messy blonde curls. Harry knew she'd attended some of the DA meetings, but her big and dreamy eyes never seemed to take anything in. He never thought she was listening.

Hermione had begged off for the night, citing homework, though he was pretty sure she was giving him a clear path to getting laid elsewhere. She was very insistent that he grow more powerful. That, or she was protecting her sore pussy — he'd really put her through it the night before, since she'd come to bed in a parody of a librarian costume.

Harry had to avoid eye contact from a hopeful Katie Bell — he had his own plans for the evening.

"…what do you reckon, Harry?" Neville finished.

"What's that now?"

"The Giant Squid instead of dragons in the First Task?"

"Oh, fuck that." He grinned. "Squiddo would have smacked me into the mountains."

"Can't outfly a squid." Ron said sagely.

"I can't wait to see him drunk." Dean watched eagerly as the Squid stole more and more bottles.

"Not getting drunk on this pisswater." Seamus complained. "It ain't the good stuff, the Irish stuff."

"You seem to be getting drunk okay." Romilda said snidely.

"How many tentacles does a squid have?" Neville wondered, fascinated, the light from the fire making his skin glow.

"Ten. No, wait, eight." Ron frowned. "Where's Hermione when you need her?"

Seamus pointed a beer at him. "Harry, you've been underwater, you've seen every inch of that bleedin' thing—"

"Steady on." Harry chuckled. "I didn't get that intimate. Ten, I think."

"Is it dangerous?" Neville asked.

"Sure." Harry figured. "Those tentacles have these suckers on them, you can't get them off."

"I can sympathize." Ginny muttered, pushing Michael's arm from her shoulder.

"You look lonely, Harry." Romilda fluttered her eyelashes.

"I have a date, actually." Harry said.

"Oh, here we go." Dean rolled his eyes. "This is a casual school thing, Harry, you can't bring Narcissa bloody Malfoy."

Seamus pointed at him blearily. "Right! No mothers allowed!"

"Or grandmothers." Neville added, producing some odd looks.

"Is it Hannah?" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "She's going to do her stupid trick where she uncaps a beer bottle with her boobs again."

Ron and Dean sighed in unison.

"It's not, oh look—" Harry stood, wiping the dirt from his jeans. "She's here."

Fleur walked through the orange haze of the fireplaces, fluffing out her hair. She was trying to look casual in jeans so tight it looked like they were painted on, and a modest white tanktop. She'd even forgone her high heels for sandals.

Dumbledore had given him a lot of leeway after he'd fought off Voldemort at Hogsmeade and defended the Ministry — Harry had taken full advantage by asking for Fleur to be granted a Portkey.

The Headmaster wasn't exactly happy about it, but the old man was trying to get back in his good books after hiding the prophecy from him.

"Hi 'Arry, everyone." She waved shyly.

"Oh, great." Ginny muttered.

"Fleur!" Ron coughed the fire's smoke he'd suddenly inhaled.

Lavender tried her best, standing up to greet the French girl, tugging the hem of her rainbow striped bodycon dress down as she stood. "Hi, I'm Lavender! Wow, you're so pretty."

"Aw, zank you. 'Arry has told me about you. I love your dress, it's so colorful." Fleur ran her eyes down the girl.

"Oh, thanks." Lavender blushed, tugging at it. "I'm a little bit of a fashionista."

"Oui, I can tell."

Harry gave her a kiss on the cheek and led her down to the log, introducing her to the whole gang. "…and this is Luna."

"Are the Nargles stopping you from sleeping, Fleur?" Luna worried. "Harry's infested with them."

"I…am sleeping fine." Fleur hesitated, confused. "Do I look bad? 'Arry, do I look bad?"

"You look lovely, Fleur." He lowered his voice. "Luna's just being Luna." He assured. "Thanks for coming."

"Merci for inviting me." She favored him with a perfect white smile and leaned into his ear. "But, desolee, your friend Lavender? Zat is the ugliest fucking dress I 'ave ever seen."

Harry coughed to stop from laughing. "These are my friends." He whispered. "Be good."

Fleur wiggled her eyebrows. "Will you reward me? I've zéro practice at being a good girl."

He snorted. "There's a place underneath the Quidditch stands where seventh year guys get blowjobs sometimes. I've always wanted to be one of them."

"Bien, super." She pasted on her best smile. "So, Luna, where did you purchase zis lovely radish earring? You must tell me!"

Luna looked at her with big guileless eyes. "Radishes are grown, Fleur, not bought."

"I…" Fleur looked at him for help.

"Are you enjoying the party, Luna?" Harry tried.

She smiled. "I've enjoyed it, like the Defense Association meetings. It's like having friends."

He didn't let anything show on his face. "This is what friends do, Luna."

She hummed thoughtfully. "How novel. What else do friends do?"

Behind Luna, Dean rolled his eyes.

Fleur took over. "'Arry and I are friends — we 'ave dinner, we go to shows, we ask about each other…" She trailed off hesitantly as Lunar peered at her without blinking.

"Oh yes. I should like to be friends with Harry in the same way you are." She said genuinely.

"I bet." Seamus muttered.

"We can be friends, Luna." Harry encouraged. "I need some more friends to balance out all my enemies."

Luna pouted. "I think you are too busy, Harry. You look like you're in two places at once."

"I am pretty busy, but—"

"Perhaps it is contagious. I remember Hermione had the same problem in third year." She said dreamily.

Harry choked, staring at her. Could she tell he was in two times, past and present?

"So…Fleur," Ron tried. His gaze was locked five inches above her head, which was a new tactic. "Are you, guh, I mean, do you like Quidditch?"

Fleur swept a stand of hair out of her eyes, beaming. "Oh, oui-oui! It is so liberating, non? Ze feeling of ze stick between one's thighs!"

Ron spat. Seamus took a long gulp of his beer. Ginny stabbed her fingernails into her own arm.

Behind Luna, he could see Cormac at a fireplace full of Ravenclaws. He was grinning at Harry, inserting his finger into a circle he'd made with his thumb and forefinger. He was mouthing the word Firebolt and pointing to Fleur.

Harry winced. It was going to be a long night.

And despite Fleur's hand on his thigh, he felt it was less about giving her the Hogwarts Express, and more…stopping the trainwreck.

Why had he invited Fleur here, of all places? Maybe Hermione was right about his ego — he wanted to be seen with the hottest girl. Even with Tom in his head, he was still a teenager at heart.

She rested her head on his shoulder, sipping on his beer, wrapping her arm through his. "'Ow long until you can show me the Quidditch stands, 'Arry?"

Oh, yeah, that was why.

"Do you get the Daily Prophet in France, Fleur?" Ginny jabbed innocently.

"Ginny!" Ron tried.

"What? I'm just asking."

"Oh, oui. 'Arry has a Mistress?" Fleur smiled prettily, tossing her hair back. "It is very French, non?"

Ginny frowned. "You're not—"

"I am full of envie." Fleur interrupted. "But Veela know zat men of power are surrounded by women."

Harry coughed. "Fleur and I aren't an item, anyway—"

"Oui." Fleur's hand tightened on his leg. "Not yet."

Seamus howled with laughter. "She's dangerous, Harry, watch out!"

Harry smirked. Tonight, after Fleur had blown him, after he'd sent her home, he'd go find Apolline and get her to clean her daughter's lipstick from his cock. He'd take her and Narcissa both, making them clean each others juices every time he swapped.

All these women that thought they could use him. Ginny for his money. Romilda for his fame. Bellatrix for his powers. Amelia for his time-bending. Fleur for his dick.

In time, they'd all learn, just like Cissy and Apolline had.

"So am I." Harry squeezed the beautiful Veela to him. "So am I."

Notes:
Writing mean girl Fleur is the best. It's also fun to do a little homage to Cormac's character from Whatever Happened to Bromance, one of the corner stones of bro frat humor in Harry Potter fanfic. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Draco and Tracey are up to no good during Election Day and more of Daphne.

Want to read ahead to see if Draco's plan works, if Daphne gets involved, see saucy artwork of Daphne, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Susan, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 45 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text Harry limped into the Leaky Cauldron room, bloodied and scowling. To her credit, she'd prepared. Daphne stood in intricate emerald lingerie, the lace stunning against her pale skin. High black stockings attached to a embroidered suspender belt, accented with baby pink ribbons and adjustable straps. Embroidered hearts in light tulle netting, from her panties to her bra.

Behind her, Tracey, roped to a wooden chair and gagged, her eyes wide with fear, skin coated in a sweaty sheen.

Harry didn't think it would come to this, didn't think it would happen like this, but now he was here.

And someone had to pay.

###

Five hours earlier

It couldn't be delayed anymore. The Ministry could not limp on without a Minister. Before the Christmas break, it was election day.

Dumbledore had cancelled all the classes. Purebloods needed to be with their Houses, on the final day of endorsements, deal-making and negotiations.

It was an important day for Harry, too. He had to ensure the Ministry did not fall like it threatened to, because a country without even a semblance of democracy was one that Voldemort would quickly take over.

That was why he was overlooking Diagon Alley as the election day pomp began in earnest. On the second floor of Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, her sister had set up a tearoom which was popular with the pureblood nobles who weren't keen to mix with the Leaky Cauldron lot.

The tearoom was intimate, small chairs at small circular tables, but that intimacy was lost in the busy room. Harry had to shake Lord Diggory's hand before he could sit down. ("Thank you for defending the honor of my son." Amos said, the glasses on his nose wobbling. "Disgraceful articles.")

Harry felt mildly guilty. He performed a few more social necessities before he took his place at the table, one of the few by the window, with Narcissa.

She fingered her choker and pushed closer the plates on the table — the tearoom served silly dainty things, oranges peeled into equal-shaped slices, sandwiches dissected into cubes, cucumber wedges. "All go smoothly?"

He leaned forward. "Lord Selywn is a bit of a lad, isn't he? He told me he hoped I'd enjoyed breaking you in."

Narcissa reddened. "He's always been that way. I felt his eyes on my bottom as soon as I entered."

"You are wearing that tight little dress."

"You told me to!"

"Quite right." He said with some satisfaction.

She blew him a kiss. "Settle down, you. This is going to be long."

Harry sighed, looking out the window at the crowds below. "So it is."

The election candidates had been decided late, because there weren't many who wanted the poisoned chalice. Dumbledore had nominated and endorsed Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tall black Auror that Harry met only to shake his hand.

The man was one of Dumbledore's, presumably, part of his mysterious group of allies. Kingsley had a good reputation and a deep, reassuring voice, but he had his work cut out for him.

He was running against his boss, head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, a man with shoulder-length tawny hair, an old lion of a man with wrinkles and gray in his hair.

The competing candidates stood in the loud baying throngs of Diagon Alley, making their final speeches in front of their cheering supporters. Shacklebolt was looking deliberately modest with a small wooden podium, while Scrimgeour stood behind a gargoyle monstrosity.

Their supporters flew flags and held signs, while the youngest shot confetti from their wands or lit fireworks bought from the Weasleys.

Harry read the signs as he sipped on his peppermint tea.

RUFUS THE RELIABLE. SCRIMGEOUR FOR SAFETY. BRITAIN NEEDS ITS LION.

Harry grimaced — Shacklebolt was looking unlikely to win. The optics weren't good — his own boss was running against him and Scrimgeour was known in the public eye as a tough Auror.

"You think I should have endorsed Kingsley like Dumbledore asked?" He asked idly.

"You know you couldn't." Cissy said softly, feet slipping out of her heels and rubbing against his own. "Dumbledore made that impossible for you, even if you did want to put a target on Shacklebolt's head."

Harry sighed again. That was true enough — when Dumbledore put Kingsley forward, it meant Harry couldn't endorse him without looking like Dumbledore's protege pawn. That wouldn't do, not when the pureblood conservatives were already concerned about having lost their bastion Malfoy family to the 'light'.

Harry had to hold the middle line, so instead of being down there, on stage with Shacklebolt like Dumbledore was, he was up here, sipping tea.

Scrimgeour's voice was raspy but loud. "…strong and stable leadership. That is what my Aurors have known me for, and that is what I'll bring. In these dangerous times, we need strong enforcement, a stable economy, more freedom to fight back against the threat of the Dark Lord. And most of all, strong and stable leadership from those you elect. Ladies and gentlemen, our democracy is under grave threat. Let us work together to save it!" He banged the podium, his face momentarily lit up by the launch of fireworks and smoke.

"How many times did he say strong and stable?" Harry snorted. Far below, he could see Rita Skeeter just off-stage, her green Quick-Quotes Quill working furiously on her parchment, while she sucked on the tip of another. The devil worked hard, but Rita Skeeter worked harder.

"He's more a politician than Shacklebolt is, that's for sure." Narcissa observed. "At least the turn out is good."

Harry agreed. The Alley was full of people. He was glad to see it — Harry had said in his interviews with Skeeter that Voldemort had attempted to make the public fear and doubt the virtues of democracy, by killing Amelia. By turning up in numbers, the British public had rejected those fears.

He scanned the crowds. Such a show of unity wouldn't go down well with Voldemort, and he couldn't imagine the Dark Lord would be content with either of the candidates with Auror backgrounds.

"He could be here." Harry muttered.

All Voldemort needed to do was create some chaos — all it took was fear and doubt to make people join him.

"There's so much security." Narcissa argued.

There was a lot — Aurors gated off both sides of the Alley. They'd fenced off the side streets completely with heavy duty barriers. The Alley was teeming with their signature brown trench coats.

Many were even dotted around in the the crowds, Vanishing away the flares and shoving away the more belligerent activists.

The whole street was layered with anti-Apparition wards and Portkey wards. Harry was under no doubt that the Floo fireplaces in the Alley were being restricted too. Everyone in the Alley today had either come through the Leaky Cauldron or through the paid Floo in Gringotts.

But Harry still felt uneasy. There was so much chaos in the crowd and people were packed in tightly, figures hazy under the smoke from the fireworks. An Auror summoned away a man's flare just as he lit it, the green trail of flame streaming across the Alley.

Harry's stomach clenched as he saw a dark-robed figure lift his wand to the sky, screaming. But all that left his wand was rainbow-colored confetti.

He exhaled a long breath and checked the satchel on his shoulder for the fifth time that day. It held his Invisibility Cloak and some Pepper-Up potions, just in case things kicked off.

"Hey," Narcissa reached over to take his hand, her smile sympathetic. "We're okay. Dumbledore's down there with five dozen Aurors. The Dark Lord is a bully at his core — he'll only strike the easy targets."

He squeezed her hand. "You're right." He looked back down at the Alley, at the brown trenchcoats. "That is a lot of Aurors."

"See?" Narcissa's foot roamed up his leg, her long legs clad in shiny stockings, with bows on her garters. "Why don't you let me relax you?"

Harry wasn't listening. "I…I don't know if we've ever had that many Aurors, have we?" He frowned. "I know Amelia was saying she'd up the budget, but she didn't get the chance, and they'd still need training…"

He focused on the brown trenchcoats in the crowds, yelling instructions and dispersing the confetti and smoke. There was nothing amiss.

The crowds were a mass of color. Wizards and witches wore bright on the best of days, but on election day, it was chaotic — faces painted yellow for the lion Scrimgeour, signs shimmering with magical red paint, confetti streaming from the sky.

Harry stared closer with his Seeker eyes. Nobody was falling in the crowd, faces exuberant. But for a second, there were little glows. Green flashes, like discolored camera flashes.

Harry frowned, his skin growing cold. Nobody was falling, because the crowds were too packed together. Nobody screamed, because nobody noticed.

The green flashes spread.

He climbed to his feet, chair scratching on the floor.

"Harry?" Narcissa exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

He pointed a finger, the hair on the back of his neck rising, but he couldn't vocalize it. A spiderweb of green flashes, tinges of color on the smoke and confetti, a silent stroke of a brush amid the laughter and the chanting.

Harry could do nothing — but maybe Dumbledore could. With a mutter, his Patronus stag launched out of the window and careered down to the stage, bucking and snorting.

Far below, Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle at the sight of Harry's Patronus. With a raise of the Headmaster's wand, there was a spark of thunder.

In the crowd, the trenchcoats slipped off, pooled on the ground. Another wand raised to the heavens, but instead of confetti, rose a smoke of skull and serpent. A loud piercing scream — the crowd realized something was wrong.

And as they split to the sides, Harry could finally see. Everyone could see the bodies that now had the space to fall. The bodies hit the floor in unison, a synchronized thump, like a spell had cut through a puppeteer's strings.

The Death Eaters were in the crowd, being carried away by the screaming throngs, but they weren't robed or masked. The real Aurors leapt forward from the sides, pushing through the panic, but there was nothing to fight against. The enemy wore no mask, mixing in with civilians, hidden in plain sight.

"Fuck." Harry growled. With a wave of his wand, the windows of the tearoom blew away, the cold winter chill bursting through, a sharp wakeup to the watching nobles. "I'm going in. Get the girls here, I need the power."

"Wait, Harry—" That was all Narcissa got out before he launched himself out of the window. A Feather-Light Charm was all he needed to stop himself crunching to the stones below, but once down there, he was lost.

Screams and tears, people tripping on the fallen bodies, the public trying to push through the Aurors that fenced them in. But the Aurors didn't want to free the Death Eaters hiding within, so their line held strong.

Up on stage, Shacklebolt and Scrimgeour were yelling down instruction, while Dumbledore silently studied the Alley.

Harry snarled, adrenaline flooding his body, his magic vibrating through his arm. But he had no one to unleash it on. His satchel held his Invisibility Cloak, but the enemy were cloaked in plain clothes.

He scanned the crowd desperately — even for these tactics, this cowardly hit-and-hide, there would be a senior Death Eater here, someone recognizable.

There.

Carrow. Amycus Carrow, his doughy pig-like face immediately recognizable, his tiny eyes amused in a crowd of fear. A squat figure, he was hiding between larger foes.

But as Harry saw him, he saw Harry. A frisson of fear showed on his face.

That's right, fucker. Nowhere to run.

But run Carrow did, blasting through an Auror with a slash of his wand. Carrow exploded through the window of Flourish and Blotts with a strange spell — it looked like he'd activated some self-inscribed runes on his body, for he moved with unnatural haste.

The shop window burst into a cloud of paper and pulp, a literary explosion to cover the Death Eater's tracks. Harry followed — he was going to give the man much more than a paper cut.

He swung his wand in a horizontal curve, air-blasting away Aurors and civilians alike. He didn't have time for crowds. Carrow was getting away.

Into the shop, feet sliding on paper, he caught the man's feet going up the stairwell.

"Nowhere to run." Harry sang. He knew the second floor of the bookshop well — Hermione had dragged him round it more than once.

But as he took the first step onto the wooden stairs, his stomach curdled. Blood rushed to his face, his vision swimming. Harry blinked once and then again. Realized he was pressed against the gleaming varnish of the beech wood steps.

What was happening to him?

Pain lanced through from fingers to toes, his stomach constricting like he was being strangled by a boa constrictor. Time moved in strange motions, his call for help extended, so a single shout become a sixty second syllable.

"W-what's happening?" He breathed, sweaty.

He coughed and then stared at his hands, horrified, for they shone with blood splatter, the scarlet red dripping into a pattern of a lightning bolt. The blood pattern on his hands changed again, from a lightning bolt to a hand with the middle finger extended.

With great effort, he looked up at the stairs above, but his neck wouldn't comply.

A clomp of boots on the wooden steps.

One step.

Five.

The blurry sight of a boot. Gleaming red dragonhide boots, the height of luxury.

Harry groaned. Dragon boots for the little dragon.

Draco Malfoy crouched in front of him, his wand circling to direct the blood on Harry's hands. The hand that give him the finger changed to a smiley face.

"Look, Potter." Draco smirked. "You've got a Rorschach's blot in Flourish and Blotts. Tell me what you see? Your demise?"

Harry could taste the blood pouring from his nose. Bitter.

"H-how?" He muttered. In his head, he couldn't find the girls, couldn't find their bonds. The pain clouded all.

"Did you enjoy the Christmas market, 'Arry?" He mocked. "You have to be careful of those food stalls — I think they don't cook their meat properly."

"Guh." Harry moaned intelligently.

Malfoy gripped his chin tightly, forcing him to stare into his eyes. "Bratwurst, Harry. That was what it took. The mighty Lord Potter, undone by the German sausage." He patted his hair. "My grandfather always said, you can never trust the Germans."

Harry's fingers dug into the wood, nails scraping splinters. He didn't understand.

Draco sighed with contentment. "It is so glorious to find a good partner. I've never thought much of Ancient Runes, because I thought to myself, Draco, what can you do with a rune that you can't do with a potion?"

The Malfoy boy sat on the steps above. He jerked his foot out, his boot smashing into Harry's nose with a sickening crack. "But Tracey, she's a Runes girl all the way. My potions and her runes?" Draco whistled. "Who needs to win a duel?"

Harry moaned, trying to force his muscles to contract, to do anything. He could only dribble red foam from his lips. His mind raced, trying to find a way out. Tracey would have inscribed a time delay rune, with the ability to activate with a synchronized nearby rune, which meant that either she was near or Draco was holding the other rune.

But what potion would Malfoy have used? Something deadly.

"Aww." Draco patted his cheek. "I can see the cogs turning. Merry Christmas, Harry. Who'd have thought? A Christmas market — the only food the elves don't check, the only time you let your guard down. The Draught of Living Death, but if you make it a little wrong, it makes you sleep forever."

"H-how?" Harry murmured listlessly.

"I just told you how, moron." Draco scowled.

Harry groaned raspily. "H-how," The Malfoy boy leaned closer to hear his pained whispers. "How does a moron like you know about the Rorschach blot?" He bit out.

Draco chuckled. "Oh, Harry. You play the game well, pretending to be one of us, but deep down, you still think purebloods are all fools." They both stilled as they heard a loud explosion outside. "Uh, oh, Potter. There's a fairytale fight but there's no hero. Tut-tut."

Harry arched his body and flopped again, writhing like a worm. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might explode.

"You took it all from me, Harry." Draco said quietly, his thumb digging into Harry's gurning mouth, nails digging into the inside of his cheek. "I'm going to return the favor. Granger will need a new House. Don't worry, I'll let her earn redemption."

Harry fumed at the arrogant smirk on his face, but he could only gurgle, a fish on the hook as Draco wrenched his head left and right.

"I'll restore the name of Malfoy, Lord of my manor, once I'm rid of my whore mother." The blonde boy promised. "At the Dark Lord's side, just like my father, I'll take every girl you ever glanced at. That French whore, your Huffleslut, your mudblood."

Draco shivered, eyes closed to savor his triumph.

"Sleep well, Harry Potter." He murmured. "Thank you for making me grow up."

He reached into Harry's satchel and withdrew his Invisibility Cloak. Draco admired it for a second and then draped it over Harry's form. "They'll never find you in time. Tick-tock." He whispered.

And then he was gone.

Harry was alone. He moaned, but though he could hear the world outside, the sounds of fighting and screaming, he could not muscle up the energy to do anything but whimper.

His nerves burned, like his insides swam with acid. He retreated inside his head, but he couldn't bring up his magic, his bonds. All he could feel was the presence he tried to bury away, his split apart self, the Harry who walked the streets over a decade ago,

Not like this. Not like this, the death he feared most. Alone, a failure, his only company the steady patter of dripping blood onto the wooden steps.

An ignominious death.

###

Daphne had a busy day. Father would be holed up at Gringotts, trying to make both candidates bend over backwards to receive the support of the Greengrass estate. The social network would be at the tearoom in the Alley, but the money-minded needed to be at Gringotts, because the goblins needed to be watched.

The goblins couldn't vote but that didn't mean they had no say. Gringotts would issue a state of the economy in the morning of the election day, an official pronouncement of who would be a better steward of the country's finances.

The British public didn't trust the goblins, but they trusted the goblins to grow their own coffers. And, as the old saying went, what's good for the goblin is good for the gentry.

Mother was taking her, Astoria and Tracey to the tearoom, meanwhile.

"It's not about being there." Mother had said in response to her protests. "It's about what happens if you're not there. If Scrimgeour wins, we need to congratulate him early, make it look like we've supported him all along."

Daphne reluctantly conceded, especially when Mother brought out a new bag for her to wear, a handbag of silver and blue.

"Is this?" Daphne stuttered. "But they haven't made these for years—"

"Vintage Swedish Short-Snout, before they banned it." Mother confirmed, kissing her cheek. "A little gift."

"I didn't get a gift." Astoria scowled, crossing her arms.

"It was time." Mother told them fondly. "I've been saving this for a long, long time."

"Thank you, Mother." Daphne said, thrilled, posing with it in front of the mirror.

"It suits you." Tracey said, although she was barely looking. Daphne frowned — it wasn't often that Tracey was jealous, but it was an expensive bag, she supposed.

"Let's go already." Astoria tapped her heels. "I want to go shopping for something you can buy your favorite daughter, Mother."

Mother snorted. "The Alley will be too full for any shopping, sweetest."

That turned out to be true — the tearoom was a welcome respite from the growing crowds, who were gathering in numbers despite the cold. Soon, Daphne was sipping on a steaming cup of Earl Grey, elbowing Tori every time they spotted a badly dressed noble.

"Lots of Uncles with their nieces, today." Mother said snidely.

"Or Aunties with their nephews." Daphne interjected as Harry Potter made a scene as he entered with Narcissa Malfoy.

"Daphne!" Mother chided. "Behave."

Daphne colored, watching Harry with a red face. Just seeing him was a reminder of how he tormented her — she couldn't get a moment's privacy without fearing he'd pop up out of his Invisibility Cloak. She felt like she was going mad, unable to think of little else than his huge cock and his unassailable dominance. The emerald plug in her behind, the constant reminder that even though she was unwed and pure, she was still carrying a sign of his conquest.

She squirmed her thighs as he came over, kissing each of their hands.

"It's so good to see you, Harry." Mother sighed happily. "Isn't it, Daphne?"

"Uh, yes, Mother."

To her side, Tracey had her fists clenched on her lap. Daphne hoped the girl hadn't rekindled her fury at Harry — there was no fighting Potter. Daphne had learned that the hard way.

"Enjoy the day, ladies." Harry smiled and departed.

"He's very handsome, isn't he?" Mother watched him leave closely.

Tori and Daphne broke into giggles.

"What?" Mother defended. "I'm just saying."

Minutes later, nobody was laughing. Daphne felt fear constrict her throat when the screams began. The cold chill of the outside air streaming through the windows Harry swept away, a chill that reached her heart when he jumped into the fray.

She ran to the windows that weren't, staring down at him as he was enveloped in the crowds, her heart in her throat. "Harry!"

"Daphne!" Mother snapped. "Get away from there!"

But she had to watch as he disappeared under the cloud of smoke, his aura flaring up so hard that she shivered in memory.

It took Tracey pulling her arm roughly to drag her away. Away to the furthest wall, the nobles hiding from stray spell-fire, their wands at the ready.

"We'll be safe here." Lord Selywn said, dabbing at his plump face with a handkerchief. "We'll wait for the Aurors to clean up this disorder."

It's not disorder, you fool. Daphne wanted to bark. It was Death Eaters, come to wreak havoc. And as usual, Harry was there to stop it.

She bit her lip, remembering how he'd killed the Death Eater testing her family wards. Despite all of his faults, Harry was a wizard of old, a man that led.

"He'll be okay, Daph." Astoria said gently, a hand on her arm.

"Who cares how he is?" Tracey snapped. "If he wants to run in and get himself killed, that's his business."

"Don't say that!" Tori cried. "It's insensitive. She's right here."

"Daphne doesn't care about him."

"She does too!"

"Well, she won't, not for much longer." Tracey said darkly.

The tone of her voice rankled. Daphne turned to take her in. The hair standing on the back of her neck, the tapping of her foot, the twitch of her fidgeting fingers.

Daphne knew Tracey inside and out.

"Tracey," she said quietly, "what did you do?"

"Nothing!" The auburn-haired girl didn't meet her eyes.

Daphne burned, her magic heating her into anger. "Again?" She muttered. Tracey moved against Harry, and Daphne had to sacrifice herself to protect her friend. Last time, Harry had settled for fucking her throat and coating her face.

But this time, if Tracey had really upped the ante? Daphne would have to pull out all the stops to stop Harry from killing her.

"I'm so fucking tired." She growled, pulling out her wand.

Tracey held her hands out warily. "Daph, I didn't do anything—"

"I'm so tired of being the one who has to think about everything. To get our family protected, to get new wards, to make alliances, to protect your sorry skin." Daphne snapped. "You know all the things I have to do, to ensure you get to swan around Hogwarts? Did you think Harry wasn't angry when you set Malfoy and his goons on him?"

Tracey glared. "I'm doing this for us, haven't you forgotten—"

"For Merlin's sake, Tracey." Daphne's wand glowed. "There is no us! I'm the first daughter of Greengrass. In what world could we ever be us?!"

Tracey swallowed. "You promised—"

"Tell me what you did."

Her jaw clenched. "He had it coming—"

She shoved her wand against her friend's throat. "Tell me."

Tracey trembled. "Tori said that your parents made a betrothal agreement for you, one you didn't even know about. Potter was trying to trap you so I'm saving you, don't you see—"

Daphne turned to her mother, who only nodded mutely.

She took it all in slowly, the blood cold in her veins. Harry had chosen her and done it in the way he did everything — without asking her, taking and taking. But he'd been true to his word, wedding her, taking care of her family, like he always had. She felt a flush of arousal in her core, a lightness in her head.

She was angry at his presumption, ashamed of her arousal and submission to his demands, swooning at his control, at the truth behind his words. He was a pureblood wizard in every way, arrogant and dominant, but he'd chosen her, without even giving her a choice.

Not Bones. Not Chang. Her.

She could be everything from enraged to aroused, but this was her new reality. She was his. He'd forged a road which the Greengrasses could not turn back on, and neither could she.

And if she was his, then he was hers. And Tracey dared to threaten that.

"Where is he?" She said slowly, her wand jabbing into the girl's skin.

"You can't be serious," Tracey gasped. "You'll really let him—"

She slapped the girl, a loud clap ringing through the tearoom. Tracey held her hand against the red handprint that formed on her cheek, her eyes tearing up, her mouth agape in disbelief.

Daphne had no time for her. She had to find Harry before it was too late. If her future husband could jump into danger, then so could she.

She took off at a sprint, ignoring the shouts of her family behind her. The cold wind whipped through her expensive dress as she landed heavily on the stone streets, even with her Cushioning Charm, her bare leg showing as the wind swept through the long slit in her dress.

There was no care for propriety. Not now. On the elevated stage, the lion gargoyle of Scrimgeour's podium roared to life under Dumbledore's wand, as the Headmaster calmly fought back against a dozen Death Eaters in plain clothes.

Daphne's eyes sought Harry, but she couldn't see even a glimpse. Too many people in the crowd, pushing and screaming, a riot breaking out of the Auror-formed pens.

A stray red spell split the air, but it splashed harmlessly off her new dragonhide bag. Vintage was expensive for a reason.

She thought quickly. The tracking spell, Appare Vestigium, would show recent magical activity and magical footprints, but that would only show a zoo of stampeding wizards right now.

If only she had something of Harry's.

She took a single step — and that familiar twitch of nerves in her behind reminded her that she did. The last time he'd cloaked in her bedroom, he'd left a surprise for her.

A surprise that didn't reveal itself until Potions class, sitting on her chair while Snape spoke. The plug in her ass began to vibrate, a spark of electrifying pleasure that had her creaming on the seat. Daphne remembered the indignation — she'd had to use her own robes to wipe the seat clean at the end of class.

If Harry had inscribed a rune on her plug so he could control it, then he held the synchronizing rune. A thread of his magic, a signature.

Daphne grimaced. There was nothing for it — she shoved her wand up the slit in her dress, poked it under her panties, and muttered. "Appare Vestigium."

A cloud of gold dust shot from below her dress and swirled around in perfect circles. It dissipated into the cobbles, but not before it illuminated golden footprints.

"Yes!" She had to duck under a Blasting Curse and return one of her own, but eventually she pushed through into the debris of Flourish and Blotts.

The footsteps led to the stairs and ended there, but Daphne was acutely aware of Harry's Invisibility Cloak. It was the bane of her life.

She whipped it away.

"Harry!" She trembled. He looked deathly pale, his mouth smeared with foaming blood, his eyes bulging with madness. Blood trailed from his ears and nostrils.

For a long moment, she thought she was too late, his eyes unseeing. But his chest wracked, his body contorting.

"W-what can I do?" Daphne cried, her wand out as she tried to diagnose him. "What did they do?"

But his gaze was locked on her shoulder. "B-aah—" He mumbled.

"Bah? Bandage? You want a bandage!"

"Baaag." He choked out rasping breaths, fingers twitching.

"Bag?" Daphne grabbed her silver and blue bag. "I don't have anything, there's nothing in it…" She trailed off. Inside the bag, a potion vial of sparkling green. A Wiggenweld Potion.

"B-but how?" Daphne shook herself. It didn't matter. She grabbed the vial and emptied it down his throat.

Slowly, the color returned to his face.

While he recovered, she spoke. "I-I didn't know, I swear." She clutched his hands. "Tracey, she's crazy, I-I knew she was acting weird, but I only just found out about…about everything!"

Harry groaned, wobbling as she helped him to his feet.

"Are you-should I take you to St. Mungos?" Daphne asked.

He held his head. "The hospital is too full."

"What? H-how can you know?"

His wand shot into his hand and lit an unearthly green. His jaw set firmly. "I'm going to make sure of it."

"Harry, you can't—"

"Go and find Tracey." He ran his eyes over her dispassionately. "You'll need to put in some work if you still want her torso connected to her head, this time tomorrow."

"I-I know." She bit her lip. "She's, she's not usually. I mean, I'll sort it."

"Whatever." He brushed past her, cracking his neck.

Daphne glared after him.

"Aren't you going to say thanks, at least?" She'd just saved his life!

He turned. "You're right." His eyes drifted to her new old bag, her vintage dragonhide bag. "Tell your mother she did well. I was worried she'd forget."

Daphne frowned, not understanding. How had Mother provided the one potion that Harry needed? She knew her family had a reputation for being five steps ahead, but this was on another level.

Harry stalked away, giving her no explanations. His clothes dark with sweat and blood, his face coated in red, his hair matted. He limped with every step.

"Harry," She held her own clammy hands. "You can't fight like this."

He didn't look back as he limped towards the fight. "Who else will?"

###

Harry took the Alley in. The Death Eaters were playing smart — they were pinned in between the Aurors while they attacked Dumbledore on stage, except between the Aurors and them were the masses of panicked civilians.

The Aurors couldn't let them through without letting the Death Eaters blend back in with them, herded and pushed to freedom.

The Aurors couldn't even fight through the crowd — they were pushed back and elbowed as everyone sought to escape.

Dumbledore had smartly shifted the large wooden stage in front of the side street that led to Knockturn Alley, blocking the most likely Death Eater exit route.

On the stage, the main actors played their roles. Dumbledore and the few that were brave enough to stand by him, fighting Death Eaters back from both sides. But Shacklebolt was unconscious, holding his ribs, while Scrimgeour's lion mane was streaked with blood. The aged man caught a Cruciatus and a stunner at the same time, and he was out of the fight.

Dumbledore hadn't even broken a sweat yet.

Harry watched the old man work for a second as he drew a complex spell chain in the air. It was bad practice to join a duel while someone was casting something large — it was a good way to get caught in the effect.

The west side of the wooden stage bubbled under the white rug. Splinters shot through the event carpet, but where Harry would have made them into sharp stakes to impale their enemies' throats, Dumbledore's splinters formed like shackles around their ankles, and then solidified into heavy metal.

For good measure, Harry snapped his wand out to heat that metal up to boiling point, turning growls into screams.

He floated above the fray unsteadily and landed next to the bemused Headmaster. How did Voldemort make flying look so easy?

They only had one side of the stage to deal with now, but the Death Eaters were numerous, even if they were anonymous. These were the curse-fodder of Tom's army, probably recently recruited.

The stage was set, but the floodlights had failed; the sun could not shine through the rising smoke clouds. The air was thick on Harry's tongue — sulfuric from spells of fire, acidic from the Dark Arts, and strangely wet. His ears were ringing, a dull throb in his skull that boomed with every spell cast.

Thankfully, the broken nose Malfoy had given him ensured he could smell little — he knew what a battlefield smelled like. Wasted bodies emptied bodily waste.

"Minerva told me you'd developed a tardiness problem." Dumbledore squinted.

"Bad sausage." Harry grunted, conjuring a flock of birds to stop a barrage of Cruciatus curses from hitting them, but he quickly regretted it.

They both winced from the high-pitched shrieks of the birds.

"Food poisoning has been the bane of many a great wizard." The old man said sagely, finger in his ear as he drew runic patterns on Shacklebolt's wooden podium, wand painting a purple ink.

"Malfoy's got a new recipe book." Harry muttered. "And not the pretty Malfoy."

The Headmaster paused at that, the flimsy beech podium raised and hovering at the end of his wand. It glowed gold as enemy spells hit his inscribed runes.

Harry looked across curiously — those weren't shield runes, nor had he changed the surface material of the wood.

"Shields dissipate the energy." The Headmaster noted his gaze. "Instead, try using temporary stasis runes."

Harry frowned. "That much magic would upset the stasis, make it—"

Dumbledore cracked his wand and the podium whipped forward into the Death Eaters, before every spell contained within exploded. The Headmaster's disdain for violence did not, it appeared, extend to returning spells to their caster.

"Unstable, yes." The old man adjusted the sleeve of his colorful robes.

"I've still got lots to learn from you, huh?" He smiled thinly. "Wish I'd gotten here earlier to take notes." He wiped the blood from his face, idly charming the brown trench coats that had been tossed to the ground, the disguise abandoned.

"How did you figure out who the Death Eaters were? How did you identify them?" Harry asked, chaining animation charms on all the trench coats. He'd thought the Death Eaters had a new unbeatable tactic, hiding amongst civilians in plain clothes.

Dumbledore grimaced. "I taught these boys once. I remember every face, my boy, even those I failed. Especially those I failed."

Harry snapped his wand and brought his army of coats to life, a hovering team of ghostly leather.

Every duel made the memories flow, in a way they didn't in times of safety.

In Istanbul, when a Texas tourist haggled too long and then walked away, Tom had seen the bazaar merchant charm his Turkish rugs to life and try to strangle the American. Six feet, seven kilos, the rugs were no joke — even if the American was not so easy to roll up.

The brown trench coats weren't so threatening, but they wrapped around the Death Eater's faces, stuffing empty sleeves into gurgling throats, strangling where they could not suffocate.

"You could have tied their arms and legs." The Headmaster pointed out.

Harry sniffed. "Not in the mood for kindness. Bloody Draco."

Dumbledore cast him a glance. "Did you think young Master Malfoy would be pleased his mother had found love again?"

"You're the one always preaching about the power of love."

"A mother's love, Harry."

"Believe me, I know all about a mother's love."

The Headmaster frowned. "Immature and juvenile, my boy."

Harry snorted. "Not actually what I meant, but I stand by it."

The two got serious as the Death Eaters regrouped, the dark wizards acutely aware they needed a way to escape the Alley. They couldn't get through the citizens trying to escape the Auror pen, nor the Aurors beyond.

But Dumbledore and Harry blocked off the side entrance to Knockturn Alley, to the dubious shops which would undoubtedly contain Floo fires or pre-prepared Portkeys.

Injured and hurting, Harry focused on complementing Dumbledore's spells, even if the old man didn't approve.

The Headmaster summoned a haul of Foe-Glasses from an abandoned stall of dodgy defense-goods and enchanted the mirrors to reflect the Death Eater's spells. After, Harry ripped the glass from the mirror and shot the shimmering daggers into Death Eater flesh.

Dumbledore lashed a whip around three Death Eaters and lassoed them like a cowboy did bandits. Harry Transfigured the rope into barbed wire.

As the Death Eaters spread out, casting from all angles, Harry and Dumbledore fought back to back, their magical power creating a visible ripple in the air like a heatwave on the horizon.

Harry shielded. Dumbledore attacked.

When Harry twisted the knife, Dumbledore protected, muttering disapproval all the while.

The old man showed why he was the only Tom ever feared, because he used magic like he'd been birthed in its grasp. Not one field, but all of them, for mastery at one thing meant mediocrity in all others.

He Transfigured the stage seating into strange wolves, their bodies wooden like the seats, legs of steel. His Charms defied convention — an Amplifying Charm to make their growls deafening, Levitation to make them fly at the Death Eaters — even a Unlocking Charm meant for doors, except the Headmaster used it on their jaws, unhinging their snapping mouths so far open that they could snap their jaws over a Death Eater's whole leg.

All the while, Dumbledore kept up a cold narration, always the teacher. "Seven wolves, of course. Professor Vector will tell you the power in numbers. The Arithmancy makes the wolves more stable — do you see how they resist Counter-Spells and Vanishing?"

"Uh-huh." Harry said, wide-eyed, trying to sharpen the wolf-fangs when the Headmaster looked away.

"A well rounded education is important." The old man said. "See the way that gentleman's veins color green? He's eaten some Wormwood leaves to null his nerves, so he'll feel less pain." Dumbledore elbowed him gently. "Your spell to sharpen the wolves' fangs will help, in this single instance."

"What spell?" Harry said guiltily.

The Death Eaters were getting desperate as the wolves set upon them, growling and snapping.

"What other applied effects can we see with the naked eye? Potions or Herbology?" Dumbledore asked.

"Professor," Harry pushed the Headmaster back to let a Killing Curse travel between them, sweat dripping from forehead to lip. "Is now really the time?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Every day brings lessons for the open mind — careful, that's a Parasite Gestating Curse." The Headmaster looked genuinely furious. He amplified his voice. "That breaks Article Nine of Long-Term Life-threatening Spells set by the International Confederation of Wizards! I wrote that Article myself!"

"I'm not sure they are students of international law, Professor." He muttered, letting the Headmaster push his shoulder down to avoid a sizzling yellow acid-arrow. "But to answer your question, they've got black tongues."

"Go on."

"Black tongues indicates Strengthening Solutions mixed with Hate Potions."

The Headmaster nodded. "Hate Potions were created to help heartbroken witches get over their wizards, but dark wizards use it to cast Unforgivables with more ease. Just another way that innocuous magic can be corrupted by the Dark Arts."

"And Strengthening Solutions means they're going to keep getting up unless we pack a bigger punch, Professor." Harry chided as the Headmaster inscribed some Incarcerous runes into the confetti-rockets that lined the stage. The confetti launched, but rather than scraps of red and blue paper, thick colorful ropes burst forth, snaking around the Death Eaters.

Harry shook his head. The old man could rule the planet if he wasn't such a soft heart.

The Headmaster hummed. "Taking a life must come as a last resort — oh, excellent!" He crowed with delight as a red eagle snapped at his head, before he blew it into golden dust. "Did you see that, my boy? A Cruciatus melded into a Conjured animal frame. That's very advanced magic, superbly done!"

Harry shook his head, bewildered. It was as people said — all powerful wizards were crazy in one way or another. "Yeah, it was great—"

"The eagle can be embedded with basic sentience, choosing the best time to attack! It can fly above and then direct itself." The Headmaster shook his head with admiration. "If only these talents could be shown the path to redemption."

Harry snapped out a overcharged Bone Breaker at the Death Eater in question — the man's shield cracked first, his skull second. "Maybe in the next life."

Dumbledore frowned as the Death Eater fell. "Can misguided young men be reformed? A boy needing mentorship, seeking agency and freedom, not so different from yourself."

Harry rolled his eyes. There was a part of him that said yes and another that said no — but he could no longer separate himself into Harry and Tom. And yet…did he not hope to reform the likes of Narcissa and Bellatrix? Did he not get angry at the letters in the Prophet, decrying him making Narcissa his Mistress?

"It requires time, love, understanding—" He swore as he shielded too late to stop a Entrail-Expeller, but Dumbledore held out his arm, baggy robe billowing, and somehow the purple spell disappeared into his sleeve.

Harry grimaced as he limped backward, batting away spells. "Can we talk about this—"

"These very men depend on your answer, my boy." Dumbledore pointed out, patting out a fire growing up his beard. "You missed that Incendio."

"You try shielding while taking an ethics class." Harry growled. He thought about the nets in society — the orphanages that failed Tom, the schools that failed him, looking away from the small boy with bruises and oversized clothes. "Reform requires a society that wants to understand deeper issues, and institutions given money and power."

"A prison that rehabilitates, rather than punishes, perhaps." Dumbledore said gently. "I wonder if a wealthy Noble and Ancient House could ever push and fund such a idea."

"Subtle, Professor." Harry carved a street lamp in two and Engorged the flames that fell. Human flesh smelled awful when it burned.

The old man wrinkled his nose. "It is not only the beautiful that deserve redemption, Harry."

"I knew I could get you to admit Narcissa's hot." He waved his wand to make the pool of flames burn blue, the stumbling silhouettes shrieking in agony. Dumbledore extinguished the fires in a cloud of smoke — the hissing steam melded into the shape of Hogwarts' spires. The Headmaster was showing off.

"A light heart wards off the effects of the darkest arts, my boy." The Headmaster told him sternly, bright eyes without their sparkle. He span his wand like a carnival ringmaster did their cane, golden sparks creating a ring of burning bronze. The ring swallowed incoming spells and regurgitated them fifty feet away.

Harry frowned — the Headmaster made him feel like a schoolboy. Even Tom didn't know that magic.

He sighed. "When we're capable of defending prisons from outbreaks, we can talk about rehabilitation."

Dumbledore's wand pulsated an astonishingly large torrent of water that knocked two Death Eaters to the ground, a swimming pool worth of water formed into a blade's width. "There is never a wrong time to do the right thing."

"Like telling a young boy of the prophecy that weighs on his shoulders?" Harry snarked as he electrocuted the pool of water. "Rictusempra." He added. The water twitched and jerked erratically, splashing the Death Eaters around the pool.

"Touché, my boy." Dumbledore muttered. "I didn't know a Tickling Charm could affect water." He admitted, observing with interest.

"It tickles bodies, so if you imagine that water as a body of water…" Harry explained.

"A placebo upon oneself." Dumbledore finished thoughtfully.

"Every day brings lessons for the open mind, right?" Harry said. The Death Eaters were fewer now, but they were healing and reviving each other. The Headmaster was right — they were dosed up on potions and consumed plants.

High voltage, missing limbs, impaled glass — it didn't stop them because they were driven to mindless rage, their bodies strengthened, their nerves dulled. This was what Tom did.

The strong were cultivated. The weak were dosed, drugged and unleashed. Disposable Death Eaters, because there was no shortage of young men and women who were angry at the world and their circumstances.

Harry and the Headmaster took in the rabid array of enemies.

"I had hoped for law enforcement to assist." Dumbledore admitted. "They are…" His sentence trailed off, thought unfinished. "I pray you never need to fight against former students, to see a child amazed by his first Wingardium Leviosa turn to rage and ignorance and fear. To see a boy's glee at his first broom flight and to know where that flight ends."

Harry was struck silence. He'd thought this moment would feel like triumph, this quiet acceptance of what they needed to do to end this. But he felt he finally understood the Headmaster, because what teacher could admit they'd failed their students? Or worse yet, know they did everything right and still lost?

"It's okay, Headmaster." Harry said quietly. "Let me do this."

"With mercy, Harry, please." His voice soft. "I shall protect you while you work."

Harry felt inside himself as he summoned the magic reserves. Narcissa had gotten the girls here, near enough that he could feel their worry. Near enough that he could pull their power into his.

He wasn't at Dumbledore's power yet, but there were a lot of ladies still to claim. A journey of a thousand hearts.

He was tired, injured, bleeding and aching. But he drained his girls, bolstering himself with magic so thick that every hair on his body stood up. Gooseflesh on his skin.

His wand vibrated.

Magic most potent.

It began with the water on the ground. Drops lifted slowly, like rain in reverse, the world turned upside down.

Shattered glass ascended from the cobbles, Foe-glass mirrors, street lamps, shop windows, a thousand shards reflecting Harry's shaking frame, his jaw clenched, arm strained.

Political posters swirled up, a hurricane in slow motion, an invisible broom that swept up the fallen flags, the placards and dropped possessions, clothes and wands, bags and bottles.

The weapons of their fight, splinters of podiums and seats, the rubble of the stage, the dismembered limbs of the Death Eaters.

All of it rose into the sky and melded together, a storm made solid, litter into lightning, debris into imminent destruction.

What comes up …

Harry brought down death. The Death Eaters were scythed apart, through, slices of a orange. Their enemies peeled away. It wasn't pretty, but it was quick.

Dumbledore did not turn away, until the silence replaced the screams. "You've become strong, my boy." He said quietly. "I hope that your judgment is always greater than your strength."

Harry viewed the bodies dispassionately. The cobbles made the current of blood split in differing paths as it streamed toward them. "I hope to always have the best of teachers, who try to see my best intentions." He murmured in reply.

"Never stray from the side of the good, my boy, I beg of you." The Headmaster's voice was strained as he watched the river of blood. "I could not bear seeing you on the other side, even if you walk a different path."

Harry did not look at him, because he didn't want to see him disappointed. He cleared the lump in his throat. "When it matters, I'll always be by your side, Professor, if not always on your side."

They both considered the Alley and the fallen civilians, their cheering faces frozen forever. "Can we even venture outside Hogwarts anymore?" Harry asked. "If they can attack with this much security."

Dumbledore sighed, removing his glasses to clean them with his robe. "Life must be lived, Harry. In hiding, in fear, the Dark Lord achieves a greater victory. We still protected the many, today. There can still be an election."

Harry looked at him doubtfully. "Tom didn't even need to show up to make people afraid. What's the election turnout going to be? Not even fifty percent? Think of the headlines."

"The victors write the story, don't they?" Dumbledore smiled wryly. "Why, I hear even Narcissa Malfoy is a heroine, nowadays."

Stepping off the stage into the carnage, Harry pursed his lips. "Rita might have trouble spinning this."

A familiar oily voice interrupted. "Not even a little." Rita emerged out of Eeylops Owl Emporium, clutching her crocodile skin handbag. "Death Eaters cut down in numbers, Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore team up to defend the good people of Britain and democracy itself."

"Rita, what a delight." Dumbledore said flatly. "Am I no longer to be cast as the, what was it, obsolete dingbat?"

Rita's beady eyes took in the destruction. "Not so obsolete after all, Dumbledore."

The Headmaster's smile was tired. "Your kindness has a price, Rita, one I've never been willing to pay."

Rita clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Thankfully, darling Harry has my goodwill all bought and paid for, for now. Besides, what stories would I get if everyone is locked up at home?"

"Your moral compass is as surprising as ever, Rita." Dumbledore's smile was tight, but his eyes had their twinkle once more.

"Perhaps a quote for the common man, Dumbledore? I'll describe your beard as magnificent." She fluttered thick eyelashes.

"Perhaps next time, Rita. Harry," Dumbledore paused, his gaze moving to Rita and her Quick-Quotes Quill that was already scratching away. "I'm glad you were here." He said finally.

Harry swallowed, hearing all the things left unspoken. "By your side, Professor."

The Headmaster moved to turn away, his wand twirling between his fingers.

"Wait, Dumbledore!" Rita said urgently, her voice serious. "Off the record, I swear. I have to know, of all the candidates. Why put Shackebolt forward? You have to know he'll lose."

Dumbledore looked at her, but his stare was distant. "We're at war, Rita, you might have noticed. Ministers don't last long in wartime."

"But—"

"Kingsley could never win this election." He admitted. "But now his name is known to all, he'll win the next. He's a good man and," He peered over his half-moon glasses at Harry. "Good men can change the world."

Rita whistled as he left towards the crowd of civilians and Aurors, ready to once more be the calming force against the fear. "Damn, he's good." She said admiringly. "The terrible, tawdry things I would do to get an interview with him." She sucked on the tip of her green quill. "Hint, hint, Harry." She smirked.

Harry grimaced. "Sorry, Rita."

She sighed. "I suppose Narcissa is already fulfilling your desire for tawdry encounters. Give me a few words for the headline?"

He shook his head. The day wasn't finished, and while the Death Eaters were dead, he still had payback to deliver. "I've got to do some terrible things myself, as it happens."

Rita licked her lips. "Hope they deserve it." She paused. "Who am I kidding?"

Harry clutched his wand tightly as he thought of Tracey, how close he'd come to death, the conversation he'd had decades ago just to save himself today. He thought of how he'd let her off when she first hired Malfoy and his goons to attack him. He thought of how gracious he'd been to teach her in the DA.

Draco had his own payback coming, but he'd wait for another day.

His magic sang.

"Yeah," He growled. "She deserves it."

###

Daphne didn't let him say a word. She took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke. "I'm glad you got my note. I…found and restrained her." She fidgeted. "I'll do whatever it takes. I just…I just can't let her die. Please don't kill her."

Harry was silent as the beautiful pale girl turned. She pressed herself against the wall.

Daphne peeled her green panties down slowly to reveal her wondrous ass, milky skin that he'd soon redden, the bubble butt of perfect proportions that he'd make her beg him to ruin. In her puckered asshole, the emerald gem plug gleamed, twitching.

She looked over at him through her long blonde tresses. From her wooden chair, Tracey shrieked into her gag.

Harry limped forward until he stood behind Daphne, so close he could feel her heat. He gathered up her hair and tugged it taut, making her gasp. "I agreed a betrothal with your parents, to protect your family and you, to align my House with yours."

Daphne looked back at him under long eyelashes. "I know."

"I enjoy our games, Daphne, but I can't let them continue."

"I understand."

"I've been kind, all things considered. Kinder than I could have been."

Daphne bit her lip. "You've been…more than I deserved. My family is alive, safe, protected."

Harry leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck gently. "Because you came for me today, because you risked yourself to save me, I won't kill your friend. But my blood was spilled and someone has to pay a price. Do you understand?"

He grabbed her ass, caressing her soft skin with his calloused hand. "Do you understand why I'm doing this? Why I won't be gentle?"

She shivered. "Because she's my best friend. Because I didn't control her like I said I would. Because I didn't see it coming when I should have. Because she hurt you."

"That's right." He patted her ass affectionately. "And because your humiliation is her punishment, I'm afraid. Because she loves you so much, doesn't she?"

Harry looked over at Tracey, at the tears running down her cheeks. "How will you deal with her?"

Daphne squirmed as he rubbed himself against her behind. "I-I'll take her to this place we have. W-when people don't pay, when they cheat us, my father has a place. Our potions, our ingredients…we test them. It will be painful."

Tracey sobbed. It seemed she'd heard of it.

"I'm listening."

"S-she'll be gone for weeks." Daphne's voice firmed up. "But Father says this place never fails to re-educate."

Harry squeezed her ample ass roughly, letting his thumb dig in to her pale cheeks. A whole handful of her meaty flesh. "Good."

Daphne's eyes held conviction, but they were fearful too. "What will you do to me?"

He didn't need to think. He wasn't going to bond her, not yet, because he already had her now. She couldn't escape. Bonding was an act of love, a commitment of hearts.

This wasn't about love. "I'm going to take your ass, Daphne. I'm not going near your pretty little pussy." His finger swiped up her cunt. She was wet.

He leaned over her, his voice cold. "Because you don't deserve it, because all this happened on your watch. I want you to be the first Pureblood princess in history to be sodomised before she lost her virginity. To be assfucked like a whore before she took her vows."

Daphne shivered, trembling as he disrobed, his cock pressed into her thick ass, rubbing up and down.

"I want you to go the rest of your life, the rest of our marriage, knowing that you willingly, eagerly, got fucked in the ass before you gave away your pussy, because you're my anal slut, aren't you, Daphne?" Harry said silkily, his cockhead resting on her plugged asshole.

He stroked her long hair, tugging her body into an arch as she pressed her hands against the wall, her long legs spread for him. "When your girlfriends giggle and ask you how your first time was, when they ask whether losing your virginity hurts, I want you to remember that your first time was not like theirs." Harry taunted. "Remember that I took you like a whore, that you spread your little asshole and took every inch of my cock."

Daphne shuddered, but she was soaking wet, coating his cock as he stroked it through her pussylips. "No…" She moaned.

"When our daughter comes to you for advice for her own wedding night, I want you to remember. You didn't wait for a wedding, because you're my dirty anal slut."

"I'm not." She whined, but she was panting.

Harry looked over to the bound and gagged Tracey, kicking and screaming to no use. "Watch her. Watch how she loves this. Watch how I make her beg." He paused. "You need a better view." With a wave of his wand, he had her pinned to the wall beside Daphne, pinned like a dartboard, so close that he could see the whites of her eyes, so close that Daphne's sweat would flick against her skin as she was fucked roughly.

"Just do it already!" Daphne cried out, shaking.

He laughed as he teasingly pulled out the plug from her ass, watching her hole pucker closed, winking at him. He rested his cock at her entrance.

Daphne Greengrass, at his mercy, in her finest lingerie, in her highest heels. She gasped as he pushed her forward roughly, so she lost her grip on the wall and ended with her cheek against the fading white paint.

Her manicured fingernails dug into her cheeks as she spread her ass open for him, because she knew how big he was.

"I need to hear the magic words, Daphne. You're grateful, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to thank you for this, you—oww!" His hand cracked against her ass, a handprint of brightest red.

"Try again?" He suggested.

Daphne glared at him, the mix of shame and anger. But there was pride too, a sick sort of pride, because he was who he needed to be, because she'd do the same with his power.

She was silent, though.

He smacked her ass hard and watched her flesh jiggle.

Still, she said nothing.

The next spank echoed through the room, her tears spilling from beautiful eyes. She was gorgeous when she cried.

He raised his hand.

"Wait, wait—" She begged.

"Tell me."

"Thank you." Daphne whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Thank you, husband." She said softly, squeezing her eyes shut, her fall complete. "Thank you for showing mercy to Tracey."

"And?"

"T-thank you for your strength."

"Almost there, sweetheart. I want you to ask me."

Daphne's eyes flicked open and she glared back at him through those ice cold blue eyes. But there was nothing cold about her, not from the heat of her spanked ass, not in the creaming of her cunt, not in the blush in her cheeks.

"Please don't make me." She begged.

"You're so close, princess."

She took a deep breath. Her tears dripped from her cheeks. "T-Trace, don't look. Please don't look."

But Tracey's eyes couldn't close. Harry had made sure of that.

"Ask me." He repeated.

Daphne trembled. "P-please…please will you take my b-bottom?" She bent lower, pulled her asscheeks even further apart.

Tracey's screeches were muffled through her gag, her head pinned such that she couldn't look away as Harry's hard cock nestled at her love's rosebud.

Harry smiled at his Slytherin princess. Daphne was glorious. He'd enjoy her. "Don't worry, I'll do this properly." He rubbed her sore red cheeks. "I know you've been waiting for this for a long time."

Notes:
Daphne, Daphne, Daphne. Next week, don't worry, you'll get to see her conquest in full, as well as seeing how Harry used time to escape dying. Fun writing Dumbledore and Harry action, like Lethal Weapon 96: Grandpa Edition. Next week, next Friday, next chapter, thanks for being a reader for almost 50 chapters now!

Want to read ahead to see Daphne's delightful downfall, see saucy artwork of Fleur, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Susan, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 46 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text "It'll fit, don't worry." Harry said, without any confidence. His red angry cock seemed harder and even larger than usual, poking at Daphne's little rosebud.

He ran his shaft between her thighs again, coating it in pureblood lubrication, liquid privilege. He stroked himself, letting the sound of slick skin resound in the air, letting Tracey see how big he was.

Daphne lurched before him, trembling. "Will you be angry, if it doesn't fit?" She bit her lip as she looked back at him. "I know Morgana makes witches fit their wizards, but I don't think that counts for…back there."

Harry smiled reassuringly. "It'll work…I think. I haven't done this before. I wanted your ass, before all others." He traced the shape of her behind admiringly. Daphne was slim and tall, for a girl, but her behind was ample, rounded, curving out from her figure.

Daphne's behind was well-noted by the Hogwarts student body as being in the top three of things that made no sense, behind the Point-Me spell ("An English incantation is most rare!" Hermione decried.) and the whole field of divination.

Seamus had loudly theorized that Daphne was an old family relative of Neville's, from a clan named Widebottom.

Dean figured she'd been injecting her family's potions into her ass.

Daphne shivered under his touch. "I've always been embarrassed by it." She murmured, pushing herself against his touch. "I was so slender, like those weak obedient ladies in the picturebook fairytales we read growing up. Morgana's Dedication or The Trials of Arthur. But…"

"But with a big ass." He finished, slapping her behind and watching it jiggle and then form back into perfect tautness.

"From my mother." She blushed.

"It'll fit." He said again. It had to. "I've been training you for it, haven't I? My good little anal girl, wearing her plug day and night."

He nudged his cockhead against her opening, making her gasp.

Daphne snapped her hand out to take Tracey's, squeezing it tight, needing any sort of comfort. She didn't want to look at her best friend while she was humiliated, but Harry's hand threaded through her long hair, pulling it back so she was forced to stare at Tracey's weeping face.

Her friend was wide-eyed, open-mouthed, shocked and red-faced.

And Harry advanced.

"Please," Daphne begged. "Trace, don't look, don't look. It's going, it's going!" She shrieked. "I can't do it, I can't do it." She chanted.

But all the while, she held her asscheeks wide, pushing her pouting hole back.

Harry pushed forward, his eyes locked on his mushroom head, his riddle's answer, waiting and willing for it to disappear. He'd never forget this moment — it felt like the first time he'd rode a broomstick, or losing his virginity with Narcissa, or casting his first spell.

But, try as he might, he couldn't get her hole to envelop his cock. He was just too girthy, and her opening had closed firmly, the girl too nervous.

He wouldn't be robbed of this.

A wave of his wand and Tracey fell to the floor in a heap of limbs. Her gag zoomed into his hand. Another whispered spell and the walls were covered in mirrors. A hall of mirrors to make the room into a den of debauchery, every angle showing skin and sin.

"I can't get in." He said quietly, his mind clouded by lust. "I need you to help her."

Tracey gaped up at him from the floor. Daphne stared in disbelief.

He was resolute. "You haven't got a wand. You can leave, but I'm going to take her ass whether you're here or not. I'll find you, wherever you run." He cut off her sudden scream as she scrambled to her feet.

"But, if you stay, you can make it pleasurable for her. I'm not leaving this room until I've got every inch of my cock into her tight ass, but you can still choose to be a good friend." He smirked. "After all, you got her in this…position." He smacked Daphne's ass for effect.

Tracey glared, her fingers twitching like she wanted to wrap them around his neck. "I hate you." She hissed. "I'll never forgive you for this. I don't care what happens to me, I will never rest until I'm pissing on your fucking grave." She shook with rage, her eyes narrowed.

Harry shrugged. "Was that a yes?"

"Tracey," Daphne warned. "D-don't fight him—"

The auburn-haired girl clenched her fists, staring up at the wooden rafters above, blinking rapidly to try and stop the tears from falling. "I will…I'll never understand how it came to this, Daphne." She sniffed.

Even dressed like an expensive whore, holding her asscheeks apart, face pressed against the wall, Daphne was still capable of a mighty glare. "You did this. I'm saving your life!"

Tracey said nothing, but her fight was gone. One hand held Daphne's thick cheek, while she sucked the finger of her other. Slowly, like she was in a trance, she traced her wet finger around Daphne's asshole.

Daphne shivered, legs trembling, as her anus glistened wetly. Tracey soothed her into relaxing and then, with an audible pop, worked her finger in.

Harry watched with fascination. The power he held, the power that made the hair on his neck stand up. The uncomfortable delight he held in dominating others, the delight he knew he'd got from Tom.

Tracey rhythmically worked her finger into Daphne's ass, loosening her up until the blonde beauty was moaning gently, fingernails scratching the paint from the wall.

"She's ready." Tracey said shortly.

Harry flexed his cock. "Put me in."

She scowled. "I'm not touching that disgusting thing." Her nostrils flared as she looked warily at his stiff cock, gleaming in the light of the candle-chandelier above. The candles were burning an apple scent, blown around the room by the oddly placed ceiling fan next to the chandelier, whirring gently.

He scoffed. "Come off it, Tracey. You're the first ever lesbian witch, the only girl unaffected by Morgana's magic? Really?"

"Fuck you." She breathed, her face tight, lips thin. But he stared back unflinchingly, until she grimaced and, with her forefinger and thumb, her cheeks burning, she picked up his cock like a vampire would garlic.

To his great satisfaction, she placed him at Daphne's entrance and, spreading her friend's cheeks, slowly fed him into Daphne's tight asshole.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Daphne cried.

Harry gasped as her anus swallowed his girthy cockhead. He was inside Daphne!

Daphne's eyes rolled back as his cock forced, slowly but surely, into her ass. It was unbelievably tight, the heat unimaginable, and Harry was bewitched by every sight and sound. Tracey's hands on Daphne's, both girls sinking their fingers into plump buttocks in order to spread Daphne fully, the glistening rosebud that slowly opened wider to stretch around his sinking shaft.

"No, no, no!" Daphne sobbed. "He's in, he's in. Tracey!" She squealed.

"It's okay," Tracey said soothingly, but her eyes showed her inner torture as her best friend was taken from her. "You're okay."

Harry pushed forward, inch after inch disappearing into the girl's beautiful bottom. He watched her backdoor stretch wide around his cock, forever reshaped for him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Daphne wept, her neck craned unnaturally by his unyielding grasp in her hair. "I'm sorry, Father." She moaned oddly. "I tried to be strong!"

As Harry pushed forward, Tracey tried to soothe her struggling friend, unclipping Daphne's bra and groping the girl's soft breasts, trying to give her pleasure to distract from the huge dick slowly entering her bottom.

Daphne was crying, but she was still being a good girl — bent over for him, arching her bottom, holding herself open. Harry let go of her hair and she still looked back at him, her mouth wide as the emotions flickered over her face.

He let himself take hold of her heavenly ass, squeezing and mauling to his heart's content. "Almost there, slut." Harry taunted. "I know you can take it all."

"I can't!" Daphne shrieked, panting. "I'm full, please—"

But Harry pushed forward unforgivingly, breaching open her tight walls, sliding into the heat, his pre-cum oozing from his tip, like a torch held in front of a fearless adventurer in the hottest jungle.

Finally, he bottomed out, his cock fully embedded, his groin pressed into her pillowy asscheeks. Every vein, every inch, every bit of his fat cock was stuffed into her virgin tunnel.

Harry groaned with pleasure, grinding himself against her soft bottom. She felt incredible, tight, hot and soft all at once.

"I'm inside you, Daphne. I'm fucking your ass." He murmured. "I'm deep inside your perfect ass."

Daphne's mouth formed an O shape, her eyes unfocused, sweat dripping from her brow. She shivered as he pulled out, squealed as he thrust back in.

Tracey kept groping her breasts, kneading her nipples, but she stretched an exploratory hand towards Daphne's pussy. Daphne was soaking wet, her cunt dripping onto the floor, down her legs, even onto Harry.

And as Harry fucked her slowly, his moans as louder as her whimpers, Tracey shook her head in wonder. "You really love this, don't you?"

Daphne sniffled, blue eyes resplendent with tears, her whole form rocking as she was fucked into the wall. "Please don't w-watch, oooh, please! He's so deeeeep!" She screamed as Harry fucked particularly hard.

"I wish I could have made you feel like this." Tracey said softly. "You're so wet."

Daphne's face was red, but she couldn't hide her humiliation. "H-he's in my stomach, he's stuffed me, I'm, I can't, I can't—" But they never found out what she couldn't do, because she stiffened and squirted all over Tracey's hand.

Harry laughed, feeling a touch of mania as he fucked into Daphne's warm welcoming asshole, recording it all in his mind. The squelch of her hole as he fucked it wide, as it became steadily wetter with his spurting precum, the squish of her cunt as Tracey fingered her, the squirt of her juices down her thigh, onto the floor. And best of all, the slap-slap-slap of her bottom as he fucked into her, his balls clapping against her skin, her meaty buttocks bouncing and jiggling like the jelly dessert the elves sometimes served.

He couldn't get over how sensitive she was — he'd smack her ass hard and she'd screech, eyes rolled back and shivering through another humiliating anal orgasm. Harry could rise up with his cock deep inside her, and Daphne would arch her heeled feet onto her tiptoes, just to keep his cock inside her.

She was a defenseless, flushed, shaking, squirting slut, whimpering orgasm after orgasm as he pounded her ass, groping her bottom while her best friend fingered her cunt and kneaded her breast.

She whimpered half-sentences.

"So deep!"

"So full!"

"I'm not—"

"S-sorry!"

But they both ignored her, as Harry began to fuck her even more roughly.

"Isn't this what you fantasized about, Daph?" Harry mocked.

"N-no," She groaned. "Saving T-Tracey—" She said lamely. Her hands didn't know where to place themselves, caught between holding herself wide or flat on the wall to steady herself as her legs wobbled.

Harry took the decision away from her, grabbing both her wrists and locked them in a cross behind her back.

"As my wife, I'll have you every night like this." He promised darkly. "My Lady Black will either have my cock in her ass or be plugged up. You'll never go to a lesson, a party, a wedding, without my plug in your asshole. This is the beginning of your new life."

"N-no, Harry!" She cried in shame, her face red, but her lip was bit so fully that it was stung and swollen, her breath heavy as she panted excitedly.

"You're so disgusting." Tracey told her quietly, but the girl's nipples were hard through her blouse. "We were meant to be better than this, than all men. Together til the end." Tracey's lip curled.

"I-I'm sorry!" Daphne wailed. "I c-can't help it, it's my body, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" She screeched as her juices pooled on the floorboards below, her legs failing, her form held up purely by Harry's cock and Tracey's less-than-gentle fingers.

Tracey stilled for a telling moment, and then, in a flash of movement, she was at Harry's side, snatching his wand from his hip-holster.

She held it to his chest, red sparks flying, her face white with terror and anger.

"N-no!" Daphne moaned emptily, saliva dripping from her chin.

Tracey trembled. "Y-you're a freak, Potter, you deserve t—"

Harry laughed, not even ceasing his hard thrusts into Daphne's reddened bottom. He reached out and touched the tip of his wand. His spell shot from the other side of the wand.

Tracey sank to her knees, hit with a Confundus Charm. She blinked dazedly, squat on the ground.

"Stupid girl." He muttered.

Harry withdrew from Daphne with a squelch, his cock matted with his precum and shining. Daphne moaned, falling to the floor, head down, ass up, her gaping hole winking smaller as his precum dribbling out.

The other devious Slytherin girl stared up at him blearily.

Harry sighed, tilted Tracey's head back and forced his messy cock into the girl's mouth. "Do you like the taste of my cum and Daphne's ass, Tracey darling?"

Tracey gurgled.

But it wasn't in her that he wanted to finish.

"Daphne, you okay?"

"Who?" She moaned incomprehensibly.

"Good enough." He decided. This was meant to be a punishment, after all.

His muscles ached as he lifted her.

"H-Harry, what—" Daphne squeaked as she was suddenly hoisted against his chest, dangling dangerously over his hard cock. She stared down anxiously, like she was hovering over a tank of Grindylows.

For a moment, he admired her pussy — red with blood, absolutely gooey with her cream and blindingly reflective with the wet of her juices, the array of trickles down her thigh.

"You are a wonderful slut, Daphne." He said, kissing her cheek.

She blushed, closing her eyes.

But when she opened them, he'd turned around. Her legs folded in two, just a posable fuckdoll. Daphne shivered — she felt like a slut.

As a child, Mother would tell her a cautionary tale of a Pureblood daughter that had runaway from home as soon as she was of age, believing herself to be in love with an older man, a Mudblood in the village.

Six months later, she'd come home crying, pregnant and thrown away. But even that sordid tale didn't compare to what depths Daphne was descending to.

Daphne took a deep breath to try and slow her pounding heart. Harry held her aloft easily, his strength unerring. His big hands hooked under her knees and spreading her so wide. Just the act of having her legs spread was more erotic to her than anything she'd ever done with Tracey.

And his cock, that massive hard cock that was disgusting and obscene and red and wet with the evidence of her arousal, it slid up and down at the apex of her thighs, sliding through her creamy pussy lips.

Fuck, Daphne thought, it was so large, how did it possibly fit inside her? How had he fit it inside her aching, gaping, reshaped asshole?

"You're doing so well, sweetheart." Harry said into her neck, nuzzling through her sweaty blonde tresses to kiss her skin.

Daphne thought she was going to die. It was all too much. It was too much pleasure, it was too much pain, too much sensation, too much humiliation. She hadn't anything left to give, but Harry took all the same.

Directly below her dripping pussy, Tracey drooled dizzily as she sat on shaky thighs, not even noticing the little dewy drops of rain.

Daphne shuddered. No doubt, Harry had positioned her deliberately. He was a Lord truly, because power was meant to be used.

"My Daphne…" He crooned silkily, fucking through her creamy cunt, letting the wet squelches echo through the room, their joint splatter onto Tracey's face.

More than anything, it was the smell that overwhelmed the Slytherin princess. She could close her eyes and try to ignore the sound of her squishy pussy, her asscheeks clapping as she was fucked, like her own body was applauding her downfall, but she couldn't escape the smell that she'd become accustomed to over the last few months.

The powerful aroma of her own arousal, her own musk, her own pussy dripping and aching and begging for more. The smell of submission, the smell she couldn't clean from her sheets, or lick from her fingers. It was everywhere, and the whirring fan breezed it around all the more.

Harry bounced her teasingly, his chin on her shoulder, watching her breasts bounce. He closed her legs completely and fucked her thighs too, his cock poking obscenely between her legs. And why not, Daphne supposed, because he'd taken her so thoroughly that he could now fuck parts of her that she'd never even considered.

Controlled by him, used by him, she felt like the little teenage runaway slut being used by the older man. Except, he wasn't a Mudblood, but Lord Potter, jewel of society. And she hadn't runaway, but been given away proudly, her parents delivering her gift-wrapped.

This set of lingerie had been delivered by owl by her mother, even, a week ago.

The note in the box had read. To my beloved daughter Daphne, a gift for the girl that has become a woman. I'm so proud of you.

Your loving mother.

Daphne had thought it was another oddity from her quirky mother, but now she knew. Mother was putting a bow on her for her new husband to unwrap.

She'd hate it all, all of this, all of Harry, if it wasn't so terribly and undeniably hot.

Who knew that being treated like a whore was so damned arousing?

As Harry bounced her, folding her up like parchment so her knees were against her shoulders, Daphne tried to scowl into the many mirrors of the room, to conjure her trademark glare.

But in the reflection, she only saw a breathless, sweaty, gurning whore. She saw Harry's pussy-coated cock retreat, saw herself lifted a little higher, and then, with dawning fear, saw the cock sink once more into her bottom.

"Harrrrry!" She cried as she was filled, his cock bottomed out inside her. The mirror showed his bulging heavy balls, and her silent scream as she was bounced up, his cock-skin being pulled by her tight asshole as it withdrew to only the tip, before burying itself once more.

"Can't get enough." Harry mumbled as he fucked her, rolling his hips and arching his cock, while his strong arms made her rise and fall, an endless inescapable roller-coaster.

Daphne was once more thrown into mindless delights, the pit of fire in her ass, the glorious balm of spouting precum, the ecstasy of being filled completely, stuffed beyond measure. And the push and pull, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock exit and enter, again and again.

Her eyes rolled back.

Her toes curled.

And despite herself, clenched fists and closed eyes, the scent of defeat came with a full-body shiver. Daphne cried as she squirted loudly, spraying Tracey's face below, while Harry laughed.

Harry blew away the strands of Daphne's hair so he could see Tracey's humiliation, her face splashed with Daphne's cum-rainfall, her slow ascent to understanding as the Confundus wore off, as she saw her lover being ass-fucked just inches away.

Harry folded Daphne in two as he hammered, reaching boiling point. Her tight little asshole felt too good, too hot, the tightening she did as he thrust, her tunnel milking his cock when she clenched through another anal orgasm.

"I'm going to cum in your ass, Daphne." He warned.

Her bubbly ass squeezed him, her moans and whimpers bringing him closer.

And then, the final straw, the sight of her biting her lip. She bucked down at him and cried. "Yes!"

Harry broke. He let her fall one last time, his cock fully bottomed out, and groaned with release.

"Fuck!" He growled, his balls tightening and his cock rocking even deeper into her asshole before he unloaded thick creamy ropes of cum deep inside her.

"Oh, I can feel—oh!" Daphne shrieked with breathless pleasure as she felt her abused ass being filled with rope after rope of hot seed. It was like every string of jizz made her squirt, the sensations surreal but overwhelming.

Tracey was showered below, but Harry grunted as he kept cumming, finally relieving of his heavy load. He kept his eyes open to watch Daphne come undone, her eyes rolled back, her legs spread wide, her cunt-spray wild, her whole body rolling and shaking.

Harry lathered her insides with every drop of cum, and the sensations felt so good that he had to keep rocking up into her until she was finished, his eyes locked on her orgasmic throes.

It was obscene, her belly bulging with the amount of cum he'd unloaded inside her.

It was wild.

But finally, it was over. He withdrew his cock from her and watched his cum ooze from her ass onto Tracey's helpless face.

He narrowed his eyes as he lowered Daphne to the ground. A little magic, and the seed on Tracey's face formed the shape of a lightning bolt.

"Harry's blot." He murmured to himself, feeling insane.

He wasn't the only one.

Daphne clutched to him tightly as she cried, overwhelmed and hysteric. "I-I don't know who I've become!" She shook. "I don't know who I am!"

"I do." Harry promised. "You're mine." He took her to the bed and laid her out, absently stunning Tracey as she made for the door. He smiled down at Daphne, admiring her beauty.

She was a vision, even when he'd ruined her. Strands of blonde hair sticking to her face, baby blue eyes red-rimmed, lips puffy and swollen as she bit them. Her nipples were just as red, just as puffy, skin sticky with sweat.

He kissed her, imbuing his affection for having saved him, his apologies for having besmirched her. He swept the hair from her face and caressed her cheek with his thumb, kissing away her tears.

"I…" Her eyes were doe-like and vulnerable. "I wanted to be stronger than any princess. My mother was so fierce, before she lost her fire. I knew-I knew I'd have to marry, first daughter of the family, but I thought I could find a man I could lead around."

"You were wrong." Harry said simply.

Daphne traced his face, taking it in his every feature. "You'll really marry me?"

"I will."

"I…I have a lot of anger. Resentment, even." She said challengingly. "I'll manipulate you whenever I can."

"I know."

She glared, her jaw firm. "I'll scheme against any other girls you have, reduce them to nothing."

"I know." He tweaked her nose.

She stared at him obstinately. "I-I'll spend all your money!"

"Not as fast as I make it." He said, amused.

Daphne sniffed. "I'll resist every second."

He kissed her. "And I'll enjoy breaking you down, each and every time." He knee-climbed to the pillows and sank his cock into her mouth as she made to argue, making her cheek bulge. She cleaned his messy cock, too tired to put up any fight.

When she was done, he gave her a glass of water and cuddled her tight, against her side.

"I'll always need you to be strong." Daphne said, staring at the wall as he held her. She looked over her shoulder. "I despise weakness. I couldn't ever love a man who was content with second place."

Harry kissed her bare skin. "I'll be stronger than any other."

"Well…" Daphne hesitated, searching for any other argument. "Well, alright then. I'll marry you." She said, as if she had any choice.

"Good."

She squeezed his hand on her stomach. "I'll never accept being bad at anything, not even as your wife. You'll be happy."

"I think so." Harry said dryly.

"Have you got a ring for me? A nice jewel?" She said primly, as if she didn't have his cum oozing from her ass.

"Not here." He kissed her neck. "But, as a promise…" He slipped down the bed to her behind and parted her cheeks.

"What are you—oh!" Daphne squeaked as she felt the cold chill of the emerald jeweled plug push inside her.

"That's the only jewel I have right now." Harry snickered as he embraced her.

Daphne sighed, squeezing the pillow tightly. "I'd thought my first time would be romantic, you know? Not so…obscene." She grimaced.

He chuckled into the nape of her neck. "Haven't you learned? I've never cared what you think, wife."

She rolled her eyes. "How did I get so lucky?"

"We'll have a quick nap and then I'll show you how lucky you are." He murmured tiredly.

She pushed her bottom back at him. "Promise?"

He pressed his lips to her skin. He'd changed his mind, entranced by her. He had to bond her now — she'd earned that, by saving his bacon. By enduring all that he put her through, for the last month and today as well.

He smiled to himself. His first wife. Would his parents be proud?

"Daphne?"

"Hmm?" She said sleepily, his eyes closed.

"You'll come to love me, I swear. I might mix a little pain with the pleasure, but I'll never hurt you truly. I'll do right by you, your family, and make you happy beyond compare."

Daphne smiled into her pillow. "Were those your marriage vows?"

"And I'll always indulge your little humiliation fetish."

She stiffened. "I do not have—"

"I'm going to tell Rita our happy news. Potter to wed the pureblood princess Daphne Greengrass. He said last night that he had to put a ring on it, after he took all her holes—"

"Merlin, Harry!" She elbowed him.

"In an order that will surprise you—"

"Harry!" He caught her arm, laughing, pressing his naked body firmly against hers.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart." He said quietly. "You're going to need your energy."

Daphne shivered.

###

From the newly repaired tearoom windows, Narcissa sighed. She was overseeing the Alley clean-up, since she'd decided that Harry would be happy to donate some money to the street's repair, since it would make for good publicity.

While the goblins and the construction crew worked together, a somber election happened in the background. Gone were the glee and the buzzing crowds, but instead there was a somber line of people trailing to the election booths.

By the side, Scrimgeour and Shacklebolt were shaking hands, competing with another on bandages strapped to their body, more than votes. The election had none of the previous bombast, but the Aurors were plentiful.

Real Aurors this time, Narcissa hoped.

"Is that you, cousin?" A deep voice rang out, full of mock-surprise.

Narcissa closed her eyes. It had been a long day, and to add this too?

She turned and pasted a smile on. "Sirius, so good to see you free."

"Cousin Cissy," Sirius wore expensive black robes, the collar and sleeve trimmed with midnight blue. He clapped his hands together. "You look stunning, a woman reborn!"

His grin was mocking. Narcissa smiled thinly.

"Sirius, perhaps this is not the time. People have died—"

Sirius came closer all the same. "I just wanted to ensure my beloved godson hasn't been ensnared by the wicked witch of the chest—" His gaze dropped to her bountiful cleavage, sneering.

Narcissa shot him a withering glare. "It is he that has ensnared me, I assure you."

"Well, I see that you're dressed the part, at least." Sirius ran her eyes down his form and Narcissa resisted the urge to squirm. In the setting sun, the light through the windows was shining through her thin dress. "No pantylines, Cissy?"

Narcissa clenched her fist. Her cousin was determined to embarrass her, in front of the few that remained in the tea room. "I am a Mistress of House Potter, aren't I?"

Sirius sniggered. "Has our Harry been giving you the old TriWizard Tournament?"

"What—?

"Three very different tasks."

Narcissa obviously looked confused, because Sirius rolled his eyes.

"One for each hole?"

She felt her face redden. "I would never—" That was disgusting. Harry had never expressed an interest in back there, and her love knew that he had her however he liked. Clearly, her Lord agreed that it was disgusting and not done by any self-respecting witch.

"Azkaban didn't make you grow up, I see." She said icily.

Sirius shrugged. "I'm just making sure my godson, as smart as he is, isn't losing his way for the first bit of old pussy that throws itself at him. His father wouldn't have wanted that."

"I did not throw—" She took a deep breath. "Harry is wise and beyond any manipulation."

"Is he now?" Sirius crossed his arms doubtfully. "You jumped quick as soon as you lost your throne, didn't you? What happened? Ol' Lucy threatened to dump you for a younger model, so you had him killed and jumped ship to the next big thing?"

Narcissa growled, her fingernails digging into her palm. "Listen, cousin," She hissed. "I love Harry and believe me, I didn't think I was capable of it, either. But he has treated me in a way I don't deserve, treasured me—"

"I don't give a shit how he treats you, cousin." Sirius snapped. "I remember everything, I know who you are deep down. He should treat you like a broomstick and you should be grateful for it!"

Narcissa regulated her breath as they drew a crowd. The waiters, the few nobles that had stayed to clean up, or to posture bravery. Harry did use her as a broomstick, when he wanted. But he was just as likely to make sweet love to her as he was to bend her over and pound her, which was part of why she loved him. He was unpredictable.

"Oh," Sirius said slowly, his eyes knowing. "He is, is he? Is my godson giving you the lightning bolt?"

"Don't be crude, Sirius—"

"Are you going to breed him a whole Quidditch team?" Sirius sneered. "I hope he makes you work for every knut he gives you, and double for the redemption campaign you've got going on."

Narcissa raised her head proudly, her eyes narrowed. "I am at my Lord's demand, like every Mistress should be." She said loudly, for the benefit of their crowd. "I'm grateful for his love, and I'll never treat it lightly."

"You best do that, Cissy." Sirius said threateningly. "Because if I ever see a hint of your nasty whispering tongue in his ear, corrupting him, I'll end you. I owe Harry everything, you understand?"

Narcissa didn't let herself explode, not even when she felt Sirius' booze-filled breath on her face. She just turned and stalked away to the stairs.

She could let him have the last word, for Harry.

"Make sure to polish his wand regularly!" Sirius called after her, causing a chorus of snickers.

Narcissa stepped into the alley, willing herself to calm down. She was red-faced, unused to such public humiliaton. She wasn't used to the stares, the talks behind her back, the sniggering. But it was all fine, as long as it was for Harry.

Lord Potter would look all the mightier, for sheltering and using her, for putting her in her place. That was the real story between the lines of Rita's stories, what the people wanted to read. Those were the quotes they'd used deliberately.

Harry. "I'll keep her busy tending to my House."

Her. "Harry will keep me on the straight and narrow."

Harry. "She's a free and fiery spirit, so I'll have to keep her on a short leash!"

That was what people wanted to see. And even if it was humiliating, Harry benefited.

That was all that mattered.

Besides, she thought, tugging down her dress, it wasn't as if wasn't hot as hell that everybody knew what Harry did to her.

Still, it was different when Sirius shouted it for all to hear.

"Stupid man." She muttered. TriWizard Tournament, really! One task for each hole — she'd never heard of a witch doing it back there. Harry wouldn't want that, would he?

No, Narcissa thought confidently. Harry liked to do all manner of obscenities to her — painting her face, fucking her breasts, bending her over and folding her up. Even having her taste his seed from her own daughter.

But he wouldn't like that.

She sniffed. Lucius was the one that liked backdoors, male ones.

A familiar owl hooted and Narcissa blinked as a snowy owl descended. Hedwig had found her.

She unfolded a note from Harry.

Sweetheart,

I left Daphne and Tracey in room 204 in the Leaky Cauldron. Can you make sure Tracey gets sent to Peter Greengrass? Tell him she 'll need a re-education — she almost killed me, so don't be gentle.

Daphne …I've really put her through it. I was going to bring her home, but I can't let her parents see her like this.

Can you clean her up and take her home? Maybe give her a talking to — she 'll be the new Lady Black, soon enough.

It 's rather messy, sorry.

Yours, Harry.

P.S I love you.

Narcissa burned the note with the tip of her wand. Harry was a cad, bless him. Undoubtedly, he'd left Daphne in the same state he left Narcissa and Helena sometimes.

She paused suddenly. When Harry said clean up, he usually meant with his tongue.

Did he?

She shook her head. If Daphne was the new wife, it changed everything for the delicate structure of power that had formed in the group of Harry's lovers. Daphne would be a powerful enemy.

Or…an ally, Narcissa realized.

Her heels clipped on the cobbles as she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron, a plan forming.

She'd clean Daphne up with her tongue, blow her mind with pleasure and sordidness. Then, while the silly little girl was dizzy, she'd ensure that Harry's new wife realized Narcissa was the font of power, Harry's most loved and treasured.

Narcissa bit her lip. It wouldn't be a hardship. Harry's cum was incredible, and while it was humiliating, she did so love being the clean-up girl. It was the ultimate reminder of what he'd done to her, reduced from a proud woman at the head of society to a cum-slurping whore.

She walked a little faster in anticipation. After all, even if Harry said it was messy, how bad could it possibly be?

###

Voldemort sipped on his wine thoughtfully, watching the doors to his chambers. The day was coming to a close, but he was expecting one more visitor. Not the army of the brainless that he'd sent to the Alley, because they'd been pulverized, according to every report.

That was disappointing, but not unexpected. It was enough to destroy the building hope — a Minister was only as powerful as their promises, and when those promises of strength and stability were shown to be laughable, so was their ability to get anything done. Scrimgeour didn't know it, but he was already sipping from a poisoned chalice.

The Dark Lord glanced through his stained glass window, at the flapping owls that dotted the sky. Messages of support, requests for protection, pledges of allegiance — some could see the way the winds blew. They couldn't be trusted, pledging complete loyalty while hiding secrets, donating funds while stashing treasure, but it was a start.

People were beginning to wake up, to understand.

Even if the newspapers didn't, not yet. Their headlines screamed stupidity from atop his side table, stamped with the red rings of his wine glasses. The demure look of the newly revealed Malfoy daughter reminded him that even Lucius, his lost loyal dragon, had kept secrets from him.

He smiled as the doors opened with a creak, swirling his wine glass.

It was as he expected.

"The little dragon." Voldemort greeted. His eyes narrowed as the boy threw himself on the ground, prostrating. He did so despise weakness. "He finally comes to pay his respects, after all this time."

Draco's fingers dug into the stone grooves. "My Lord. I have come to serve you." His voice was steady, at least.

The Dark Lord snorted at that. "You have come seeking refuge, boy. Don't lie to me, for my eyes see all." He sighed. It was so difficult, when weapons dulled themselves and then came asking to be wielded. "You sought to slay Potter and now you fear his wrath."

The blond boy trembled, his head rising so Voldemort could see the gray of his eyes. "M-my Lord, I have always wanted to serve as my father did, as loyal and as honored—"

His words trailed off as Voldemort tutted, frowning. "If that was true, you would have come to me as I asked in my letters, little dragon. As Lord of your House, your whore mother gone from this world, your fortune restored." He lounged on his throne, twirling wine and wand both. "Instead, you come destitute and begging."

Draco shook, his eyes wide and pleading. "I c-can be useful, my Lord, I swear—"

"You would have been useful a month ago. Indeed, you would have useful a day ago, when you were still a Hogwarts student. Today, no." Voldemort smirked. "Just another parasite sucking on the teat of true power."

Draco's fingernails scratched on the stone. "M-my Lord, I can go back to Hogwarts, Dumbledore will let me—"

"The old man is not the issue." Voldemort sniffed. "Potter would have you killed or your mind wiped." He placed his wine down on the sidetable, on the newspaper. Helena Malfoy's face refracted through the glass.

The Dark Lord stilled.

"But perhaps," He said slowly. "Perhaps you can still attend school."

"M-my Lord?"

"A different school, where Potter's eyes linger less closely. Durmstrang."

Draco looked up eagerly, even if he trembled. "What would you ask of me, my Lord?"

Voldemort caressed the newspaper, his mind adrift with fantasies of domination. "Sometimes, little dragon, it is not enough for men to die." He shuddered as his magic swam into his wand, the power hypnotic. "Sometimes, they must first suffer."

"My Lord?"

The Dark Lord barely heard him, lost in the throes of magic, his wine glasses shattering. "And what makes a man suffer more than family?"

###

Cynthia pulled up the weed firmly, her shovel extended like a shield to stop the fanged slimy roots from snapping at her. The invasive plant was famous for looking like rats, and for biting like them too.

It wasn't long since she'd become a Greengrass, but she was learning quickly. It wouldn't do for the new Lady Greengrass to not know her plants, after all.

A shadow grew on the soil — a shadow that shouldn't be there, not when the sun was directly overhead.

"You've come back." Cynthia said easily, stopping herself from panicking. The man that came through the wards like they'd didn't exist.

She looked up, but like the last time, it was if the sun was in her eyes, casting the stranger in a dark silhouette. A man, strong and slim, his jawline pronounced.

"I have, only to thank you."

"I haven't done it, yet. I didn't even agree to it, you know?"

"Haven't you?" His voice was amused.

Cynthia paused at that. Time was a strange thing and not best messed with. She had purchased the bag to gift to her daughter on that specific date, in the future.

She had begun brewing the Wiggenweld potion, in her private quarters, in her own cauldron, to ensure it was done right.

"I'm still not sure I can trust the stranger that trespasses with such ease." Cynthia said idly, throwing the weed into her large garden bag. The bag wriggled, containing many nasty plants. Idly, she wondered if she should throw it at the mysterious wizard.

"And yet you do. And yet you have. I'm on your side, believe it or not."

Cynthia pursed her lips. She wanted to toss her hair back out of her eyes, but that might be seen as flirtatious. She wished she wasn't wearing her gardening outfit, the shirt tied under her breasts, the denim shorts, the white sun hat.

It wouldn't do to catch the eye of a mage this powerful. A traitorous drop of sweat trailed down her neck and between her breasts.

"I'll ask again." Cynthia stabbed her shovel into the soil. "How can I trust you? Maybe after five or ten years, I'll change my mind."

The stranger laughed. He flared his magic outward and Cynthia shuddered. The soil vibrated. The weed died in her hand. The air rippled.

"When the time comes, you'll have a feeling who I am. You'll recognize my magic." He said confidently. He turned to leave.

"Wait," Cynthia bit her lip. "I shouldn't, I know, but a Greengrass always has to get ahead of the market. Any tips for the future?"

The stranger laughed. "Buy all the dragonhide you can. And your little one?"

Cynthia flinched. Daphne was back in the house, sleeping softly, finally. She wasn't an easy baby.

"What about her?"

"Read her the fairytales, the old picture book ones. The pureblood ones."

Cynthia frowned. "They're not my thing. Very…traditional. I'm a lady of an Ancient house, I know, but there's a line. I don't want my daughter reading about all these air-headed obedient Princesses."

"Just trust me." He looked back over his shoulder. "She's going to love them."

After he was gone, Cynthia stayed out in the sun, thinking back on the stranger. She couldn't do nothing, certainly. He was clearly powerful. He probably was who he said he was — a man out of time.

As the shade grew and the sun descended, Cynthia turned back to the house.

She had to tell Peter to invest in dragonhide. She had to find a way to remind herself to give her daughter that bag, a long time from now.

Cynthia sighed. "In for a knut, in for a galleon." She muttered. She'd take down those old fairy tales from the dusty attic too.

Even if they did depict women as vapid obedient airheads, she was willing to do anything as long as her darling daughter would stop crying. It wasn't like Daphne would remember them, right?

Notes:
Daphne is taken. She wasn't ready for Harry's dominance and she might not be ready for Cissy's manipulative tongue. Cissy might not expect what she'll find though. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Daphne schemes to help Harry, but she's got her own mean way of working. She'll need a firm hand.

Want to read ahead to see how Daphne approaches harem politics, see artwork of Sofia the Veela Princess, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Susan, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 47 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text "Oh, Merlin." Narcissa breathed as she stepped into the Leaky Cauldron room. The smell swept through her senses, the heady heady and intensely carnal scent of Harry's cum, mixed with soaking pussy and sweat.

Tracey was stunned and unconscious on the floor, but on the bed…

Narcissa swallowed. Daphne lay, passed out. She had one stiletto heel on and ripped laddered stockings, and that was all. Her face was nestled into a pair of cum-pooled green panties, like Harry had tried to wipe her face clean and then given up.

No wonder — Daphne was a mess, her face, hair and body covered in strings and pools of thick, wet cum. Her hair matted to her face, her face stuck to a stained pillow, her makeup smeared.

She looked like a used whore, her puffy red nipples peeking above the cum-ribbons, like mountain peaks through the cloud.

And between her spread thighs, Harry's creamy cum oozed from her swollen pussy, dripping into a big pool on the sheets.

Harry, Narcissa mused, was not going to get his deposit back on this room.

No wonder he'd called for her. The long wait he'd done for Daphne had made him unleash some pent-up frustrations — it looked like he'd filled her cunt, came on her face and perhaps again on her tits and stomach.

It was difficult to tell with Harry — this could all be the result of one load.

Narcissa took a deep breath in, drinking in the taste in the air itself. She stripped to her underwear, since there was no way of climbing on the dirtied sheets without staining her dress.

Slowly, she crawled toward the crime scene. Daphne's red lips were puffy, lipstick smeared — Harry had not been gentle. And her hair was clumped together, the girl's beautiful hair now matted and frizzled, knotted with cum. He'd probably wiped his cock with her.

Narcissa bit her lip. She could imagine it all, seeing the evidence.

He hadn't been gone long — her face was still covered in glistening wet jizz, from cheek to chin.

"At least he left satisfied." She muttered, seeing the state of the girl. Daphne was sleeping or passed out, she wasn't sure which, but it would make this easier all the same.

Narcissa wasn't proud of her hunger for Harry's cum, but she couldn't deny it, either. And without the prim girl to judge her, she could get started.

She parted the girl's legs even further and dipped between them. Narcissa breathed her in, pressing her face against Daphne's pounded pussy, rubbing her face against the obscene mess. The spatters of cum on her thigh, the almost-reflections of Greengrass' own juices, but all of that was nothing compared to the river of dense milky cum dribbling from her swollen cunt.

She pressed her lips against it, shuddering with pleasure as she licked and slurped. But when she sucked some of the cum up, she realized that this river had two sources.

"What the fuck?" She muttered. She parted the thick globules of seed with her hand…and realized that Daphne's asshole was oozing cum too, a ring stretched and used. Her plump asscheeks were red with fingerprints.

"No…" Narcissa mumbled, feeling light-headed. Her chest ached. Harry had never…he'd taken every which way, but never like that.

But why?

Did he not like her ass? Did he not love her? Had she not shown him that she'd love him in every way possible, fulfill his every fantasy?

The more she thought about it, the more she looked at Daphne's used bottom, the more it upset her. Daphne had something of Harry's that she didn't.

Her, Harry's first, his most. She blinked and realized she was crying. She swallowed and realized she had a lump in her throat.

Slowly, she gathered herself.

You have to be strong.

She couldn't lose her place in Harry's heart to this new girl, this beautiful girl who'd be his wife, who'd somehow already claimed a unique role as Harry's 'ass-girl'.

Daphne would have to be taught a lesson. First, she needed the girl off-kilter.

She renewed her efforts, pressing her face back into the filthy mess.

"Mmm," Daphne purred sleepily as she woke. "Harry, don't make Tracey do that—"

"Not Tracey, not Harry." Narcissa said firmly, spreading the girl's thighs wider.

She enjoyed Daphne's shriek, her look of alarm and shock as she sat up straight. Daphne tried to her snap her legs shut, to wriggle away, but Narcissa's grip was firm. She had plenty of practice holding Helena in place.

"Oh, fuck!" Daphne squeaked. "W-what are you doing?!"

Narcissa sniffed primly, as best she could when her face was coated in cum and when she was looking up at the younger girl from the junction of her dripping pussy. "Harry ordered me here to clean you up. And you are his now, aren't you?"

Daphne gaped, trying to pull herself up the bed. "Yes, but I don't want—stop that!" She gasped as Narcissa slurped noisily.

"I'm doing what our Harry wants." She glared. "Harry likes his girls to obey."

Daphne's blue eyes broiled with feeling, but whatever she said got cut off by a sudden 'oh' when Narcissa slithered her tongue firmly into the girl's cunt.

The young Greengrass beauty shrieked and whimpered out a chorus of warnings and threats, but her resistance was undermined by the cute biting of her puffy lips, by the rolling of her hips, and finally her head fell back onto the pillow, her fight gone. Narcissa smiled in triumph, suckling a particularly big globule from her thigh.

"He really used you." She commented after smacking her lips. "Like a Knockturn Alley whore."

Daphne's hands scrunched up the sheets. "Maybe he enjoyed having someone younger." She said icily.

Narcissa snorted, accidentally taking some jizz up her nostrils. "When you're older, you can learn to be more than just a set of holes for him to empty himself at. You can, believe it or not, try and pleasure him at the same time."

Daphne scowled down at her, but her toes curled as Narcissa licked over her clit. "H-he seemed pretty happy for our first time. And as his wife, I'm sure I'll get plenty of practice."

Narcissa glared. "As his Mistress, I already have. But if you don't want advice on pleasing him, then by all means…" She trailed off and then, with a deep breath for courage, she attached herself to the girl's seeping asshole, lips stretched around her rosebud and tongue delving in. A creamy flow of viscous creampie streamed into her mouth, like the foam from the top of a Butterbeer.

"Oh, Merlin fucking fuck—" Daphne screeched, her hips arching from the bed, fingers clawing the sheets. "Do we—I mean," She breathed heavily. "Did he really ask for this?"

Harry hadn't, but Daphne didn't need to know that. "It won't be - mmmph — the first time." Narcissa said, her voice muffled.

Daphne wrinkled her nose. "H-how can you just—"

"Experience." Narcissa peeked up, well aware her face was covered. "I can tell you how to do everything Harry wants but…" She trailed off teasingly.

Daphne was silent for a moment. "What do you want?"

Got you. She wiped her lips. "I want the memory of you and him for my Pensieve." She paused. "And I want you to put an image in his head of you and I together."

Daphne goggled at her, speechless. "Y-you want that?"

Narcissa gave her a flat look. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't want him to forget his Mistress for his new wife. And like it or not, given our roles, we need to work together."

Daphne blinked rapidly, her head falling back to the pillow as Cissy continued her diligent clean-up work, making the Slytherin beauty shudder. "I can't believe y-you're like this, now. It's unbelievable. I used to admire you, at the parties. You looked so composed, so in control—"

Narcissa trailed her finger up the girl's creamy cunt, her eyebrow raised. "You can't feel him? You can't imagine why I've changed?"

Daphne fell silent. "You're right. I'll…I'll give you the memory."

Cissy gave her a firm pat on the pussy, to make her tremble, to get her attention. "This is the basics on Harry."

Despite her compromising situation, Daphne listened eagerly.

"He expects food on the table, whatever the time. Five-thirty, hot dinner. Midnight, hot dinner." She rolled her eyes fondly. "House elves help, but at the end of the day, he wants dinner served by his wife, cooked with love, and to eat with you."

Daphne nodded, wincing as Narcissa began to scoop up the splatters of cum. "Do you have to do that right now—never mind. Mother used to give Father a back rub while he ate."

Cissy smirked. "Harry prefers a blow job, but a massage works too." She snapped her fingers. "Blowjobs! Lots of noise, lots of saliva, let him know you're enjoying it. It gets messy," She wrinkled her nose in amusement. "But you know that already."

"Hah-bloody-hah." Daphne grumped.

"Remember, Harry hates thinking that he's the only one getting any pleasure out of it."

Daphne frowned. "Isn't he?"

Cissy looked at her, unimpressed. "You've tasted him, haven't you?"

Daphne blushed. "Good point." Her tongue darted to the side of her lips subconsciously, to the cum that glazed her face.

"He wants a clean house." Narcissa continued. "I'm not talking carpets and counters. I mean not bothering him with the small stuff. He doesn't care about the gazebo breaking in the storm, or the landscaping team coming next week, or the charms on the fridge faltering. We manage the house and he doesn't need to know about it."

Daphne nodded. "Okay. Do I still tell him about my day? And can I put on some clothes now?"

"Harry told me to clean you up." The Malfoy mother said firmly. "And you're still leaking."

Daphne blushed. "I think that'll be the case for the next week."

Narcissa ignored her. "You tell him that you missed him. You tell him you thought about him all day. And then you tell him that Lady Selwyn threw a garden party, and Lady Blishwick said her sex life is nonexistent."

"Why would Harry care?"

Narcissa jutted her thumb firmly into Daphne's lower lips, causing the girl to squeak. "Because if Lord Blishwick isn't fucking his wife, then he's at the brothel with the whores, which means there's blackmail leverage. Harry needs to know that."

Daphne's mouth formed an 'O'. "But what about Lady Blishwick?"

Narcissa did a double take. "Who cares? You're in his family now, that takes precedence over all friends. A good wife puts her family first." She swept her platinum blonde hair behind her. "Your mother is planning your wedding, it'll be at the Greengrass home. She wants to fly the Greengrass flag a little higher than the Potter flag."

Daphne shrugged. "Okay? Harry's not going to care."

"No, not okay." Narcissa scowled. "Your family is still your family, but you need to care more about Harry now, about House Black and House Potter."

"But Harry won't care—"

"But people will notice, and they'll wonder who wears the trousers in your relationship." Narcissa chided. "Let me tell you a story about your mother."

"My mother?"

"She had friends who Peter didn't like, so she got rid of them. There's a curse breaker who travels the world, pretty lady, she gets rare potions ingredients for your House. Your father took a liking to her—"

"He did?" Daphne said slowly.

"So your mother used her personal allowance to purchase this curse breaker's flat from her landlord. She ups the rent and guess what?" Narcissa said, clamping her hands down on the girl's thighs. "Now, when she comes to town to sell her rare ingredients, she also gives your dad a few hours in freebies."

"What? My parents did that?" Daphne said with amazement, looking a little sick.

"And that woman was Cynthia's friend." Narcissa emphasized. "You understand?"

"It's a mean world, huh?" Daphne said slowly.

"It doesn't have to be. Lean on me." She told her. "I've got plenty of experience running a big House."

Daphne looked at her with more than a little irritation. "It's not like I'm a Muggle. I was brought up to marry well. I know these things."

"Do you?" She asked softly. "How are you going to react if someone comes and asks you for a loan?"

"I wouldn't bother Harry with it." Daphne said confidently.

"Wrong. Purebloods are the biggest lender of loans after Gringotts. The goblins need to run like a responsible bank, with Ministry regulation and oversight. But we can loan out with more aggressive interest rates and less paperwork." Narcissa smiled coldly. "And more punishing methods for non-payment. If someone wants money, Harry needs to know."

Daphne was struck silent. "What would you do, then?"

"Personally?" Narcissa paused. "If I got a shopkeeper telling me they needed a loan, I'd tell Lucius. Lucius would send some thugs to break their shop up and burn their merchandise. Suddenly, that same shopkeeper doesn't just need a loan, he's offering equity for investment and protection."

Daphne's eyes widened. "I have a lot to learn, it seems." She said quietly.

"But remember, that's the Malfoy playbook. Marrying Harry Potter is a different story — your actions don't just reflect on him, they are him. People will presume that everything you do, he ordered. You speak with his voice. If you pull the same trick Lucius did and those thugs get caught and start squealing, it's a massive black mark on Harry's name."

"I understand." Daphne nodded. "Give me another test case."

Narcissa thought about it. She was glad the younger girl was looking to her for advice, at least. "Let's say you want to get Harry a gift for Christmas, and you want to get him some Mudblood — Muggleborn girls, I mean. Girls he can be rough with and not worry about bruising."

Daphne took a shaky breath. "Is that expected of me? Harry seems to get enough sex as it is." She scowled. "I mean, can't he just use…me? Or you, I mean."

Narcissa scoffed. "Harry's still a man, honey. Trust me, you're going to need help in the bedroom. Or are you telling me you'll be up for a repeat right now? Because believe me, Harry is."

Daphne winced, trying to shift her aching body. "I get your point."

"Don't forget," Her fingernails dug into the girl's thigh. "Harry needs girls to grow stronger. His safety depends on it."

"Okay, okay!" Daphne hesitated. "I umm…blackmail or pay some girls for a night."

"Wrong." Cissy said solemnly. "Muggleborn girls have no sense of pureblood politics or noble propriety, of keeping things out of the public eye. They'll go mouthing off about Harry, good or bad, and the story gets around. Maybe Rita writes an article about Potter paying for sex."

"But…" Daphne trailed off, hanging her head.

Narcissa snapped her fingers. "You offer them a temporary job in the House. Consulting, babysitting, housesitting, magic research, anything. Then you get them to sign an Unbreakable Vow not to say anything." She pursed her lips. "To be honest, if you want girls for Harry, just come to me. You can lean on me for a lot of things."

"I know how to do some of the expected things." Daphne argued. "I can operate in high society, I've been taught."

"Have you?" Narcissa said doubtfully. "It's different being a wife than a daughter. You have to make friends with all of the wives, you have to charm every husband." She sat up on her knees. "Let's say a conservative pureblood Lord comes to you at a party. He says Harry is Dumbledore's pet, that he isn't protecting pureblood interests. What do you say?"

Daphne gnawed on her lip. "He's doing what's right for Britain."

"No." She shook her head. "He doesn't want political platitudes. This isn't a common voter, this is the Lord of a powerful conservative family."

Daphne tried again. "Harry values traditions more than anything — that's why he married me, because he wanted his wife, the mother of his children, to value those same traditions. Believe me, he wants to protect our institutions and our traditions, more than you know, even if he has to tiptoe in public, in papers." She looked unsurely at Narcissa.

"Perfect." Cissy clapped her hands. "It's always a good idea to make it seem like Harry's putting on a front for the mainstream — people love to think they're in on the secret, that they're getting the joke."

Daphne nibbled on her lip. "There's a lot to think about."

"You're not going to get much sympathy — there's few witches with as much power as Lady Black."

"Nor as much responsibility."

Cissy smacked her wet lips. "I think you can see the privileges." She said dryly.

Daphne rubbed at her brow. "I feel like I've got a snake baring its fangs right over my clit — forgive me if I don't feel grateful yet."

"Wait til Harry brings out the parseltongue — I almost went to St Mungos."

"I was speaking metaphorically." Daphne muttered.

"Speaking in tongues, you could say." Narcissa wiggled her tongue mischievously, showcasing the messy cocktail in her mouth.

Daphne didn't look amused.

Cissy laughed. "Relax — remember, the weight of the House is on Harry's shoulders, not yours. Your job is to support him. And, as much as I hate to admit it, my job is to support you. When in doubt, you talk to me, you talk to Harry."

"Really?"

"I'm sure I don't have to explain to a Greengrass that a noble House is a network. Even though your father runs your estate, he still employs accountants, lawyers — Merlin, everyone from gardeners to tutors. Right?"

Daphne winced as another flow of cum began trickling out of her. "Harry's House will be run a little differently, I'm guessing."

"Wives, Mistresses, concubines, researchers." Narcissa confirmed. "But it's a support network all the same."

"A network I can trust?" Daphne said doubtfully.

"Not al—mmm, he tastes so good—not always." Narcissa said truthfully, eyes closed in bliss. "Want to know the good news?"

"I can get dressed and we can pretend this never happened?" Daphne grimaced, trembling under Cissy's talented tongue.

"No. You're the wife. You get the most access to him, the most influence. If one of his girls fucks you over, you talk to Harry, she loses her cushy position, her money, her standing. You can trust that the other girls don't want that, if nothing else. You have the power."

Daphne winced as Narcissa hooked her finger inside, like she was cleaning a water flask. "First order then — how long does recovery take? I feel like I've been hit with the Hogwarts Express…and then it reversed."

The older woman laughed. "He'll probably be more gentle in the future, unless he thinks you really like it rougher."

"Fuck." Daphne muttered. "Can't exactly lie, since you're going to see it in the Pensieve. He had me screaming like Warbeck's backup banshees."

Narcissa smiled proudly. "Harry is a man in every sense."

"And the sex is going to be the easiest part, from the sound of it." Daphne groaned. She let her head flop back onto the pillow, her hips circling slowly as Cissy lapped at her asshole. She smiled up at the ceiling. "I'm excited, though. This is what it's all about. Supporting a good man." Daphne arched her hips up to meet Narcissa's tongue, her hands leaving the sheets to slide through the older woman's hair. "The best man." Daphne added softly.

Narcissa pushed her back. "I see that you're getting used to your position quickly. Don't let it go to your head." Her lips pressed together thinly.

Daphne's eyes snapped open. The younger girl clutched onto Narcissa's hair tightly. "Why do you want the Pensieve memory?"

Cissy glared. "I just like seeing him in action. Wouldn't you want to see him in all his glory?"

"But he has your daughter, doesn't he? He told me." Daphne said slowly. "You can indulge your…little fetish anytime."

Cissy was silent too long, because Daphne's smile grew. The younger girl reached under her pillow and withdrew a gleaming emerald buttplug. "He hasn't taken you like this, has he? That's why. Because I already have something you don't."

Daphne just laughed at Narcissa's withering glare. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Narcissa snapped. "I've had him in more ways than you can possibly imagine. We've made love, we've traveled, we've—"

"But never back there." Daphne realized. She held the plug close to the older woman's face. "He's had me using this for weeks."

"It's hardly something to be proud—"

Daphne shrugged. "Isn't it? A permanent reminder of him, a token of his lust—"

Narcissa grabbed her necklace and held it up. "I have a token of his love."

Daphne smirked. "That's cute. I'll have his ring, soon." She examined her fingers mockingly.

"You're awfully arrogant, for the new girl."

Daphne sneered down. "You're quite stuck up, for the Mistress that just sucked his seed from my behind. Tell me, is that high society etiquette too?" Daphne smiled in satisfaction. "I bet Harry just wanted to give you a lesson in rank, didn't he?"

Narcissa smiled sweetly back. "Who said he ordered me to?"

Daphne's face went blank. "But—"

"He told me to clean up, he didn't say how. We'll always obey him, but we can decide what that looks like." Narcissa withdrew and muttered an incantation — the soiled sheets twisted around Daphne's hands and ankles, tying her to the bed.

She grabbed the cum-pooled panties and stuffed them into Daphne's mouth before she could shout. Narcissa let the cum she'd gathered on her own tongue dribble out over the girl's face. " Get it? Wife or no wife, be very fucking careful, because Harry can't protect you." She said coldly.

Narcissa sighed with contentment as she finger-painted Harry's seed over Daphne's face. "See, when you complain to Harry about this? I'll tell him the truth. I was helping you — his cum makes us stronger, more connected to him. The more sex we have with him, the power he can pull from our bonds, the more memories we take from him, he takes from us."

She leaned in close, her tongue extending to lick from her skin, like glaze from a doughnut. "My final lesson? Why I was so happy to clean you up, my way? Because his cum is gold. It's our currency to buy time with Harry, to push our name onto a rota Harry doesn't even know about." She licked Daphne's nose. "We barter, fight, trade and blackmail for it, for time with him. Apolline gets fucked the most, because she trades her sex tips."

Narcissa clicked her fingers. "Granger just got bath-time with him because she gives out tips on making him laugh, stories about his younger years."

She shifted herself above the wide-eyed girl, hoisting up her skirt as she sat herself down firmly over the girl's face. She cradled the girl's head roughly. "We're obsessed with making him happy, and the more of his seed we take, the safer he is, the happier he is. Understand?"

She rocked back and forth, grinding her wet cunt against Daphne's face. "All the girls will hate you, slut, because you'll get the one thing we all secretly want. The vow of marriage, that bond of forever love."

Narcissa sighed as her pussy drowned out Daphne's gurgles. "But when he comes home, it's to my house. He comes to my bedroom, and I decide who he finds in it. I decide who's there when he eats, to rub his back, to feed him, to blow him. I decide who wakes him up with their lips around his dick, and I decide who fucks him to sleep."

Narcissa slapped the girl's face, the loud crack resonating in the room. "So if you fuck with me, something goes wrong. The Floo stops working, the wards accidentally block you, the owl doesn't reach you in time. You turn up in a dress when he's ordered everyone to wear a school uniform. You wear blue when he's asked for pink. You wear cheekies when he's asked for thongs."

Daphne was choking, her face red, but Narcissa paid no mind as she rocked herself towards nirvana, one hand on the bed-frame to steady herself as she fucked Daphne's face, the wood creaking in the rhythm of her satisfied moans.

"Yes!" She cried finally as she flooded Daphne's face with a glistening spray, reaching her well-deserved climax. Daphne was a mess — hair matted with cum, face glistening with Cissy's squirt, skin red, eyes bulging.

Even still, she was beautiful, Narcissa thought with irritation.

She squeezed the girl's cheeks to make her eyes bulge all the more.

"Learn the lesson." Narcissa said harshly. "Stay in line, know your place. Don't rock the broomstick. I'm still Narcissa Malfoy." She plucked the panties from the girl's mouth and as Daphne gasped and spluttered, heaving for breath, she leaned in to the girl's ear. "And if you think my sister is the fanatic, evil, bitch of the family, it's only because you haven't met me yet. This? This is me playing nice."

###

When she returned to Hogwarts, Daphne placed her wand on her pillow, so it wouldn't spark. Then, she sat on her bed, placed her hands on her knees and seethed.

Her fists clenched, but she wouldn't scream.

She wouldn't lose control.

She was Daphne Greengrass. And while she may be a very changed Daphne Greengrass since twenty four hours ago, or even six months ago, she was still an educated, sophisticated, lady.

She may have learned some things about herself — she was head over heels, brain-fuzzy, ten love potions deep, would die for him and be grateful for the opportunity, obsessed with Harry Potter.

She loved getting…boarded in the rear carriage, she couldn't deny. And she was, ready or not, a wife to be. A fiancee, basically, even if all Harry had given her was the emerald plug in her behind, not a ring.

But even with all these things, even though Harry made her beg to be taken in the bottom, had wiped his cock with her hair, it didn't mean that she found it acceptable to be second place in anything, to anybody.

Especially second place in being Harry's.

It simply wouldn't do.

And while queen bitch Malfoy seemed to enjoy being captain of the Harry's Head Harpies, it didn't mean Daphne had to accept being the new girl in last place.

It was time to rise up the ranks.

First step — she had to ensure her competition stayed in their place. Hannah was a gormless fat-titted breeding cow, and Daphne would be happy for Harry's harem to be filled with girls like her, but she was always an easy route to Susan Bones.

That simply wouldn't do.

Susan Bones wouldn't be good for Harry. Her dead Aunt made her less politically useful, and the girl would handcuff Harry with her blind morality, her loyalty to losers.

Anything that put Harry in danger was unacceptable, and darling Harry wouldn't see Bones for the poisoned chalice she was, blinded by the girl's admittedly full figure and ample chest. He'd be less powerful and less safe with Susan's goody two-shoes nonsense, which meant Daphne would have to nip it in the bud.

Daphne snatched up her book-bag and took the steps up from the Slytherin dungeon two at a time. Susan would be leaving the Great Hall by now, and she had to catch her before the redhead went back to blubbering into her pillow.

While she walked, she planned her approach. Susan was a lot of things, but she was desperately, proudly, independent — the sort of girl who'd write with her fingernail rather than ask for a quill.

Just as planned, she saw a glimpse of the girl's red locks turning the corner close to the Hufflepuff common room, under the Great Hall and near the kitchens. Interestingly, she was coming from the hidden kitchens and not the Hall — ol' Susie was stress eating and didn't want to be seen, Daphne figured.

"Susan!"

The girl turned and frowned when she saw her, face wary. Daphne regretted her reputation — but soon she'd be Harry's wife. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"Daphne." Susan said evenly.

"I just wanted to say I'm so sorry to hear about your aunt." She said sympathetically. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you." The redhead said plainly.

"I am glad." Daphne shrugged. "Although, I suppose every cloud has a silver lining."

Susan's eyebrows drew in. "My aunt dying…" She said slowly, her face turning red. "Has a silver lining?"

"Oh, no, that was clumsy of me, wasn't it?" Daphne said sweetly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant, well, you know, Harry, his hero complex, he's so attracted to helpless little orphan girls. He might marry you out of pity, even with the political benefits having…jumped away."

Susan growled, her face set into a sneer. "Slither back into the fields, Greengrass. Or better yet, fall asleep in a bath. I don't want to hear anything from your forked tongue." She clenched her fists. "And I wouldn't want Harry's pity, either."

Daphne gave a mock gasp. "I didn't mean to offend. I'm just saying, I wouldn't blame you, that's all. Now you're all alone, I mean. I just figured, now he doesn't have the ability to talk business with your Auntie over family dinners—"

"Shut up!"

Daphne continued. "You'd realize that the opportunity is closing, right? I thought you'd be throwing yourself at him like a dirty slut, like your friend Hannah. I really admire your morals."

Susan vibrated in place — Daphne could practically see the steam pouring out of her ears. "I don't need Harry, or your Slytherin little power games, whatever this is. My family has a name and a voting bloc strong enough not to need him or you."

Daphne nodded thoughtfully. "The voting bloc that your aunt grew, right? The one that only trusts her, that signs twelve month deals to assign their votes to your control. What happens when those deals over?" She put a finger to her mouth innocently.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Susan snarled.

"Don't I?" Daphne shrugged. "Maybe not. But tick-tock goes the clock…I just hope Harry will still be interested in a few months, for your sake. Especially with your new…diet." She turned on her heel. "Don't worry. Maybe you've got a pet owl you can kill to keep Harry feeling sorry for you."

Daphne smirked as she walked away, hearing the shriek of rage from behind her. A Hufflepuff wouldn't curse her from behind, she knew, but Susan would stew about this encounter for the rest of the night.

And nothing would be a bigger turn off to Susan than the thought Harry would marry her out of charity.

"One down." She murmured.

###

Daphne viewed her new prey.

Cho Chang was in the library, as she often was. The front two tables of the library often had to displays — the first was a stack of common books the first years needed, because Pince was tired of babysitting the giggling kids while they searched every aisle.

The second was a spread of Daily Prophet papers from the last month, as well as some Quibbler tabloids. The Muggle Studies teacher Charity Burbage had started the practice unintentionally — she'd laid out an array of Muggle newspapers in an attempt to educate the purebloods, but Draco Malfoy and his goons had taken offense to that, and now the Slytherin students overlaid the Prophet every morning, just to hide the Muggle nonsense.

Which was why Cho Chang was in the library, ostensibly studying from thick textbooks, but also ensuring that the papers positioned most prominently just happened to be headlines about Cedric's affair with a gay rentboy.

Daphne would have given her some credit for the sordid and morally bankrupt lies that they undoubtedly were, but since she'd seen Harry and Cho falling out of a broom cupboard, she imagined it was Harry's idea.

It was his sort of deviousness — that was why she loved him.

And why she had to protect him — Cho Chang was beautiful, but she was a foreigner, new money tied to China. It would have been fine if she was to be one of Harry's whores. Daphne would have encouraged it, even — better his bedwarmers be exotic, rather than blonde and blue-eyed like her.

But this crude newspaper play, her pureblood status, her families' long and desperate attempt to fit in with the British noble society? No, Cho Chang was angling for a ring.

Harry's status in the political game would be shot — because whether it was right or not, whether it was because of the dreaded racism word, none of the old British families trusted the Chinese. What did they want? What gave the Chang family the power to throw money around as they had for decades now?

Harry could grant the name of Lady Potter to anyone, but she couldn't bear to see him crushed under the foot of the shadowy powers in China, all because he fell for Cho's pouty dick-sucking lips, the snap-shut trap of her desperate Chinese-clunge, like an Oriental Venomous Tentacula, except instead of injecting venom, it just sucked away his life, his House, his future.

Daphne wasn't racist.

She was a realist.

She perched herself on the table beside to Cho — the Ravenclaw had positioned herself right next to the paper table. Even though Chang had smartly rid herself of the DA traitor Edgecombe, she still had herself an entourage.

She was that sort of girl — the popular girl, the pretty girl, the one that had to make sure everyone knew it, all while acting demure and kind. She must have been livid when she was forced to act like a mourning wife, Daphne thought with amusement.

Fumbling the bag with Potter for a date with walking dead Diggory? That was an all-time fuck up, akin to Susan not jumping on the same dick that had her best friend walking like she'd been gang-banged by the whole Bulgarian Quidditch team.

Daphne winced as she perched on the table — after having Harry herself, she could sympathize with Hannah. Sitting down was going to be a no-no for a week.

Cho looked up from her book with a raised eyebrow.

"Chang." Daphne greeted, idly flipping through the old papers. CEDRIC'S GAY LOVER SPEAKS: LAST ROMP NIGHT BEFORE THIRD TASK LASTED LONGER THAN MY NEWTS.

Her lips twitched. Rita Skeeter had skills, it couldn't be denied.

The next paper shouted. RENTBOY'S TRAGIC TEARS: 'I WISH HE'D ENTERED ME, NOT THAT MAZE'.

That one was a little on the nose.

"Greengrass. What do you want?" Cho said, all her minions frowning in unison with her.

Daphne sighed theatrically, holding up the newspaper. "It's just so terrible, what they're saying about Cedric, isn't it?" She made sure her voice was loud, thankful the library was crowded. Everyone was stocking up on books they needed for their homework, before the Christmas break. "I mean, they're staining the name of your true love, the man that held your heart!"

Cho's smile was very tight and very thin. "It is terrible. I only knew him briefly, tragically—"

"Why," Daphne held a hand to her forehead, throwing her head back in dismay. "If I lost my first love, I would never marry again. I couldn't bear it!" She looked round at the watching students. "Morgana was made for Merlin, after all, wasn't she?"

Cho gritted her teeth, her smile fixed. "I'm grateful to have the strength to move on, and while I'll always miss him—"

"Oh, the tragedy of it!" Daphne cried. She waved her wand and conjured a black rose that she placed between the pages of Daphne's book. "Everyone!" She said loudly. "Christmas is coming, and a a moment of silence lets the Dark Lord win, so instead, let's give her a round of applause for the courage of this widow who will celebrate alone. The most romantic story of all, the woman watching the fireplace by the Christmas tree for the man that will never come!"

She held a hand to her chest.

"I'm not a fucking widow—" Cho muttered, but her words were drowned out by the clapping of the crowd. Daphne noticed her little sis Astoria was leading the applause, always in on the mischief. In fact, it was mostly the younger years that cheered. The older students kept out of it, smart enough to know that anything involving Daphne was dangerous.

"Merry Christmas, Cho." Daphne said sweetly. Her smile disappeared as she caught sight of an angry Madam Pince pushing through the students. "Time to go." She ducked, scampering away.

Mission accomplished.

###

The next girl, Daphne approached warily. Hermione Granger was in the owlery again, collecting her special order — another huge stack of hardcover books.

Daphne waited by the door as the Gryffindor girl excitedly unwrapped them.

"My first, first edition." Hermione giggled to herself.

Daphne rolled her eyes — this had all begun when the girl had been obviously claimed by Harry, wearing expensive robes and necklaces and Potter red ties, chokers, earrings or even socks. She'd started spending Harry's money — not on clothes or jewelry or putting one's enemy in the gutter, like any normal girl would, but on books.

Every night, Hermione would be seen trotting from the owlery, carrying a wobbly tower of big tomes. It was a big invitation to fuck with her — a Trip Jinx at the least, Daphne thought — but nobody wanted to fuck with Harry's girl, even if she was a Mudblood.

Daphne had no such compunctions — Hermione was dangerously smart, but that didn't mean she couldn't be fucked with. Daphne didn't mind competing for Harry's heart and time with another wife, but not his Mudblood best friend.

She threw up a Silencing Charm — this time, she didn't want to be overheard.

"Granger."

Hermione jumped a foot in the air.

"Daphne!" She squeaked, hiding her books behind her.

"Relax," Daphne rolled her eyes. "They're books, not drugs. And you need all the books you can get. Everyone's seen that your grades have dropped."

That was true, ever since Harry had claimed her. Daphne imagined it was difficult to study with your feet pointing at the ceiling until the early hours — she was looking forward to finding out.

Hermione blushed, but her jaw set firmly. "Glad to see you standing up — how many healing potions did you have to take after Harry ruined you?"

Daphne almost smiled — that was the one thing she liked about the otherwise annoying Muggleborn. She had fight.

"I'm sure I'll get used to it, once we're wed." Daphne said casually, watching the bushy-haired girl's eyes narrow.

"What do you want, Greengrass?"

"It's not what I want, actually." Daphne examined her fingernails. "Harry wants me to do his Potions homework." She lied.

"What?" Hermione's mouth went slack. "No way — I do all his homework. That's—that's my thing."

"Aww, don't worry." She mocked. "You'll still be his good little researcher. I'm just better at Potions, don't take it personally. Some things are…in the blood, right?"

Hermione harrumphed. "I'm very well capable of writing twenty inches on the uses of powdered asphodel root, thank you very much. I'll do it, and I-I'll do an extra credit ten inches on what happens when you mix it with wormwood!"

Daphne shrugged. "Suit yourself — it'll probably be the only ten inches you get this month, since Harry's busy with me."

"Oh, hardly, Harry always has—"

"By the way," Daphne interrupted loudly. "If you're doing his Potions work, can you brew up a birth control potion?"

That stopped Hermione short. "But Harry uses a charm on himself to stop unwanted pregnancies."

Daphne grinned. "Oh, my mistake. Not for stopping birth, for inducing fertility." She sighed happily, playing with her long hair. "He wants me pregnant as soon as possible — he needs his heir, after all."

Hermione gaped, running her hands through her hair, her books forgotten. "Are you kidding me? No! I-I don't take orders from you!"

Daphne took a step forward threateningly. "You're a researcher for our family, now. His House, my House. You do whatever projects we ask for. I ask you for something, you'd best ask how soon do I want it."

Hermione fell silent, but she glared back after a moment. "I'm going to Harry!"

"Sure," Daphne shrugged. "If you want him to see you as the little girl who comes crying for sugar-Daddy every time she gets her feelings hurt."

"Y-you're such a bitch, Daphne." Hermione said quietly.

"I'm just stating facts, Granger." Daphne said softly, crossing her arms. "Enjoy your books, but don't order anymore." She swept her blonde hair over one ear. "After all, his money is my money now."

###

"Cissy?" Harry said worriedly as he Flooed in. Usually, Cissy greeted him with a passionate kiss, dressed to the nines. Today, she was wrapped in a fluffy towel and crying on the sofa.

"H-Harry!" She coughed. "It's nothing."

Harry pushed her gently back down as she tried to rise. "It's not nothing. What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing!" She tried to unzip his trousers. "I'll make you some tea. Have you eaten? Do you want to go to bed?"

"Cissy." He said firmly, holding her. "What's wrong, my love?"

"I told you—"

"Cissy, don't make me spank you." Harry told her sternly. "You know I want to."

She vibrated and then stood up. She looked at him and then with a deep breath, she stomped her foot. "I'm your Mistress!"

"You are." He agreed.

"I was your first! I love you and you know I'd do anything for you."

"I know that, baby."

"A-and I've always said I'll fulfill every fantasy. I dressed up like a nurse and your teacher and I even did that thing with the milk and the cow pattern dress—"

"I remember." Harry said quickly.

She put her hands on her hips — her towel slipped down her body, revealing her large bare breasts. "Then why, if you wanted to have sex back there, wouldn't you take me?!" She glared.

"Oh, sweetheart." Harry laughed. "Is that what this is about?"

"This is not a laughing matter." She turned, her towel falling to the floor, and peered over her shoulder at her ass. "You love my ass, don't you? I don't understand."

Harry looked at the ass in question — thick and peachy, shaped like a heart, flaring from her breeding hips. Narcissa placed her fingers underneath her plump cheeks and bounced them as he stared, making them jiggle enticingly.

"I do, baby." He snapped his hand out to spank her, making her cheeks ripple and return back to perfect tautness. "It's not because I don't want you, love." He pulled her back so she was sitting naked in his lap. "I always want to be sweet with you, beautiful, because I love you so much. Even when I'm playing rough, I want my princess to feel loved. I want to kiss away all your bruises and make love to you, just like our first time."

"I do love it when you hold me and take me slowly." Cissy admitted, trembling as he attacked her neck with kisses.

"And taking it back there?" Harry said. "That's for very naughty bad girls. Dirty girls."

Narcissa whined. "I can be your dirty girl!"

"You're my angel princess, Cissy. I put you on this pedestal and I only occasionally like to take you off it to debase you." Harry teased.

Narcissa tugged at her lip as she thought. "You…you could be sweet, back there, you know."

Harry's cock throbbed underneath her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Narcissa crooned, shaking with excitement. "Next time you come. I want you to put it in my bottom and Helena's too."

"Is that right?" Harry laughed. His life — where he had gorgeous women begging him to assfuck them.

"I-I'm putting my foot down." Cissy said authoritatively, stomping down — which had less of an effect, muffled by the plush carpet, and given she was naked on his lap.

"Consider me put in my place." Harry said, groping her ass like a teenager.

Narcissa moaned as she rocked in his lap. "It's tight and thick. It's a…it's a big booty, isn't it?"

Harry burst out laughing at hearing the strange phrase come from the prim woman. "What was that?"

Cissy blushed. "Did I say it wrong?"

"Where did you pick that up from?"

"I'm not saying!"

"Cissy."

She moaned and hid her face in his chest. "I gave Helena a Quick-Quotes Quill and I told her to leave it in the Durmstrang locker room."

Harry scoffed. "Why on earth?"

Her voice was muffled. "I wanted to know what guys want, since my love won't tell me his fantasies." She pulled back to look in his eyes, her own glistening with tears. "Are you sure you're happy with me?"

"Don't be silly, love." Harry chided. "I'm more happy than any man has ever been, and twice as lucky."

She nuzzled his neck. "Always tell me if there's something, anything. I'll do it all."

"Okay, beautiful." Harry reassured her. He spotted some parchment on the coffee table. "Is this the Durmstrang transcription?" He picked it up and read. "I swear, winning a match makes me so fucking horny. I wish I had a big booty witch with a thick ass that can make it clap." He read dryly.

Cissy looked over her shoulder seductively as she rose from his lap. "I can make it clap." She shook her thick ass without using her hands, her cheeks bouncing together, wobbling like jelly. And sure enough, her generous bubble asscheeks clapped together, a glorious chorus, like an orchestra to announce her upcoming sodomy. "Do you like that? Is this what those boys meant?" She looked through her hair strands.

Harry watched, mesmerized. His girls never failed to surprise him. "You are something special, sweetie." He shook himself out of his stupor as Cissy climbed back into his lap.

"It'll be so good, I swear." She promised. "Way better than Greengrass. She's got a nice bottom, I suppose, for such a slim girl. But I'm thicker, aren't I?" She said proudly, sliding her hands down her figure. "A woman's curves. An ass like two Bludgers."

"Like two Bludgers?" Harry scanned down the parchment still in his hand and found the offending phrase. "Cissy, you've got to stop reading this stuff. Trust me, you make all my dreams come true already, things these Durmstrang boys can't even fantasize about."

"Okay, darling." She said obediently. She sighed happily. "Did you enjoy Daphne? It looks like you did."

"I…uh, yeah." He said sheepishly.

"She is trouble, my love." She tugged on his earlobe. "But I'm glad you took her. She'll help no end in getting support from the conservatives."

"I'm sensing a but coming, and not the Bludger kind." Harry quipped.

"But she'll need a lot of direction from me, at first."

"Is this another girl's squabble kind of thing?"

"What squabble?"

"I look the other way, but I'm not completely oblivious, honey." Harry said wryly.

Narcissa kissed him chastely. "We don't worry about it because it's girls stuff that's not important. I'm managing it all — I just want you to give me a…" She rocked forward on the hard cock bulging through his trousers. "Longer leash in breaking her in."

Harry held her hips as she ground on him. "Why? She loves me the same as you all do. I thought you all would find some common ground in that." He sighed. "I need her to be a good wife — she's got a big role to play."

"And she will be." She promised. "But trust me," She said, with a twinkle in her eye. "As one arrogant pureblood bitch who needed breaking in, she needs time. And she'll need the stick more than the carrot."

"Okay, sweetheart." He patted her ass. "I trust you." He paused for a moment. "Are you saying you're fully broken in then?"

Cissy pressed her bare tits against him, bouncing in his lap. "Fully tamed, sir."

Harry grinned as he pinched her cheeks. She was still a little shaky, needing some love and reassurance. And, even though his balls were empty and aching from how much he'd unloaded in and on Daphne, he wanted to comfort her.

Luckily, he knew just what she liked.

"Why don't you get me a butterbeer and give me a nice slow blowjob, huh?"

Narcissa stared into his eyes. "How long?" She demanded.

"Thirty minutes?"

She crossed her arms, scowling. "An hour!" She argued.

"Okay, sweetie."

"Promise?" She bounced in his lap excitedly.

"One whole hour. And go put on that Quidditch referee uniform."

She squealed in excitement. "Will you cum all over my face and breasts?"

"If you're a good girl." He said genially.

"I love you, I love you, I love you!" She showered him in kisses and then scampered from his lap gleefully. He watched her go fondly and as soon as she was out of sight, he held his aching balls, willing them to work once more.

"I bet Voldie doesn't have to deal with this shit." Harry grinned to himself.

###

An hour and a half later, Harry extricated himself from Narcissa's clutches. His beer was long since empty, and Cissy had long since finished cleaning his cock and balls, and had settled into a submissive trance of nuzzling and kissing his groin while he stroked her hair tiredly.

His balls hurt — it wasn't easy being king.

"Wha?" She moaned blearily as she had her favorite treat taken away.

"I'm going to bed, baby. In Hogwarts, though, I've got people to see."

"Sleep with me." She complained. "I'm very cuddly."

"That you are." Harry laughed, pulling her limp form to her feet even as she groaned. "But I also have errands in the morning, and you tend to make me very late."

"I'll be a good girl." She said hopefully, hands behind her back.

"That's the problem. Goodnight, love. Thank you for this evening. You're a dream come true, every dream."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she kissed him into the fireplace, an odd two-step marching kiss, their goodbye routine.

"Goodnight, my Lord."

In a flash of green, he was back in Hogwarts, in the Chamber of Secrets. A few minutes later, and he was back in his nightly bed — Hermione's bed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in his own bed.

Hermione scooted her behind back at him as he slipped under the covers. Her perky bottom was clad in white panties patterned with little yellow lightning bolts.

"Cute." He swatted her ass.

"Stole them from Ginny." She sighed as he held her, snuggling tightly for warmth.

"Won't she be mad?"

"She's not really talking to me anyway." She said. "Apparently, she doesn't like me getting 'broomsticked' by her all-time crush. Although she tried to pretend it was just because I didn't tell her immediately."

"Broomsticked?" Harry said, bewildered. Where did his girls keep getting these phrases?

"Ginny's words, not mine." Hermione giggled. "So…Daphne, huh?"

Harry fell silent. Hermione, more than any of his girls, didn't like talking about his other conquests. "For the power she'll grant me." He explained.

"She's very beautiful."

"Uh, yes. I suppose."

"I got an emergency owl from Narcissa. All of us did. About your new…proclivities."

"Uh-oh."

"Really, Harry? That's what you like?"

Harry blushed. "I…well, you see, it was a dark room and I wasn't really looking…"

Hermione sighed. "You're lucky I read French philosophy."

"You've lost me."

"Marquis de Sade, one of the most depraved men to ever exist, always enjoyed…that sort of thing."

"I wouldn't ask it of you."

"I should think not." Hermione harrumphed. Her fingers toyed with his. "Daphne will be the lady of the family, I suppose, if you can call her a lady. One of two."

Her voice was soft, absent of any emotion, neutered and logical. It was when she spoke in that tone, Harry knew, was her at her most vulnerable.

"But never to replace what you are in my heart." Harry promised, kissing her neck.

"She's very clever, of course." Hermione continued, as if she was narrating a documentary. "But she relies on textbooks and her family's potion training." She stilled. "And she has to learn that she'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

"Did she say something, Mione?" Harry said, frowning.

Hermione seemed to ignore his question. "She blackmails and steals people's notes to get ahead in class. But I just trade my notes, and I achieve same results, you know?"

He couldn't see her face, and when she shook her head slowly, he got a mouthful of bushy hair.

"Be careful, Harry." She clutched his hand around her waist. "She's trouble."

"So I keep hearing." Harry murmured. "Don't worry, I'll give her a firm hand."

"A firm hand, huh?" She said coyly, pushing her ass back at him. She moved his hand to her breast as she slowly, almost imperceptibly, arched her bottom up and down.

Harry winced — his balls hurt. Cissy had basically needed an hour to coax a load out of him, after the obscene cum-bath he'd given Daphne, using all three of her holes.

"You know," Hermione said calmly. "Lavender told me that boys getting blue balls is almost as painful as getting pregnant."

Lavender hasn't got enough brain cells to make a Quidditch team, Harry thought.

"I doubt that." He said out loud. He didn't have blue balls, he had empty balls, he wanted to say. But Hermione wouldn't want to hear that he'd given every drop of seed to other girls.

"It made me feel so guilty about the other day." She said, sliding her cheeks up and down his shaft, her warm well-cushioned buttocks enveloping his dick, which was hardening despite his best will.

"I really wouldn't worry—"

"It made me feel like the time I took your Firebolt away from you. I thought you'd never talk to me again, back then, like you'd just throw me away." Hermione said mournfully. "You and Ron both. Ron was so angry, but you weren't happy either. He told me that you and he were never going to talk to me ever again."

"Ron and his big mouth." Harry frowned. "I never said that."

She turned in his embrace, biting her lip. "Why did you make me such a horny little cow?"

"I-what?" He said, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.

She slapped his arm. "I'm guilty because I didn't get you off one little time! And all while you do your stupid Hogwarts Express thing on all these b-bitches!"

"Hermione!"

"I can say bitches if I want." She said threateningly.

"Okay, alright!"

She deflated. "And I've felt horny and guilty this whole night. I don't even want to keep doing that Animagus research with you, because I'm just going to turn into an actual horny little cow."

Harry sniggered.

"It's not funny!"

"It's not." He agreed quickly.

She slapped his arm again.

"Ow!"

"Did you know my Ancient Runes homework only got an O?"

Harry eyed her warily. "Isn't that the best grade?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I always get an O star, for extra credit."

"I'm sorry?" He said certainly.

She sighed. "Never mind. I'm just saying, my grades are dropping."

"I really think you'll be fine." Harry kissed her.

"You're messing with my head." She complained, even as she tried to rub her nose against his. "I love you too much. I feel cold when you're not around. I drew a love heart all over a book I borrowed from Madam Pince, you know? I wasn't even thinking."

"She's going to kill you."

"I know." She giggled. "And I don't even care, that's how bad it is."

"That is bad. I'm not a doctor but you sound lovesick." Harry smirked, rubbing her naked back.

"I even wrote a poem yesterday." She groaned.

"Can I hear it?"

"No chance. It was as bad as Ginny's fresh pickled toad."

"You know the twins wrote that, right?"

Hermione grinned. "I saw her old notebook before she threw it away, I'm not so sure." Her smile faded and she clung to him desperately. "Tell me you love me?"

Harry's heart ached. "Sweetheart, there is no place in this world, no timeline, even, where you wouldn't be at my side every minute of the day, if I could make it so."

"That's nice." Hermione admitted, rubbing her wet cheeks on his stubble jaw. "I'm not sure I'll ever stop being scared of…being thrown away."

"Then I'll never stop reassuring you that I won't." Harry promised. "But…I can't do that with just sex, can I?"

Especially when my balls are empty, he thought to himself.

"Sex doesn't hurt." She said cheekily.

Harry begged to differ — his balls felt like they'd been beaten by Fred and George's best struck Bludgers.

She began inching down her white panties, until they were around her thigh, and she'd bravely brought his fingers up to slide through her wet petals. "I know I sniff and tut and, well, disapprove, but I'll never — yes, just like that — I'll never stop loving you." She whimpered as his fingers slid into her, holding his arm with both hands as she rode his fingers. "Whatever girl you're with minutes before you come here, leaving her perfume on you. However…Cormac McLaggen'd you get."

"You can't verb Cormac, Hermione." Harry tutted, bending his fingers inside her.

She moaned. "It's hot that you know what a verb is."

He snorted, kissing her neck as she practically straddled him from the side. "Does this mean I can run the Hogwarts Express on you?"

"What's that again?" She spat out the strand of hair in her mouth, a twinkle in her eyes. "Several hours with a break in the middle for sugar and for me to get in my school uniform?"

"Your parents are dentists, there's no chance we have sugar here."

"Unless…" Hermione swept her hand under the pillow and pulled out a Deluxe Sugar Quill. "Ah hah!"

"What have you done with Hermione Granger?"

She giggled as she wriggled on top of him, taking grasp of his hard cock. "I needed the Deluxe version that lasts for hours, in order to practice for my big, hard, boyfriend." She dove down and lathered his cock with her wet mouth, her large brown eyes staring up at him adoringly. She pulled off with a pop and licked his shaft from base to top.

"Mmm, Mum and Dad would diagnose me with an oral fixation." She giggled around his cockhead, twisting her palm under the ridge of his cock like he'd taught her.

Despite his aching balls, Harry groaned with pleasure. Hermione was getting very talented.

"Glad you've got the sugar, Mione, but it might be a while before I give you any cream." He threaded his hands through her hair. "Its, uh, been a long day."

"That's okay." Hermione's eyes sparkled. "Maybe I should get changed for Hogwarts early — I always do, after all. Close your eyes."

Harry did. He heard a rustling.

"Switching Charms are such a pain." She grumbled. "Okay, open up."

He did and saw Hermione in her Hogwarts uniform, except it wasn't recent.

"My first year uniform." Hermione rubbed her thumb over her lip as she swayed from side to side. "Do you think it still fits?"

It didn't, not even a little — her gray pleated skirt barely stretched to her upper thigh, her thighs pouring from ripping, stretching stockings. Her blouse didn't come down to her belly button and the gap between each straining blouse button was large enough to see plenty of her tits from every angle.

The top four buttons weren't even done up, since there was chance of getting them close.

"The tie still fits." Harry said, his throat dry as he devoured her with his eyes.

She giggled and turned slowly — from the back, it was even more slutty, her supple milky-skinned asscheeks clearly visible under a skirt that gave up as it reached midway over her shapely ass.

"This train might go to Hogwarts and back." Harry said slowly as she backed up slowly, into touching range.

"I'll need feeding then." She murmured smokily, as he took her cheeks in hand, squeezing them reverently.

"Time to board." He lifted her above his lap, her panties long gone.

She giggled. "You're so silly." But she descended all the same, biting her lip and whimpering as she sat slowly onto his lap, his cock reaching into her wet depths.

Harry didn't move, letting his brainy beauty settle down gently until her soft cushioned ass was sitting on him, skin to skin.

She worked her hips slowly, the moment intimate as she lay back against his chest, her eyes closed as she rotated her hips. "Feels so good." She smiled blissfully.

"Me too, sweetheart."

After while, she was ready to work her hips up and down, one hand on his arm to support herself, her feet planted either side of his legs.

Harry sat back against the pillows and enjoyed the show, and then the sounds as she began slapping down on him, her wet warm cunt squelching as she rode him, his balls clapping against her cheeks.

Hermione arched her neck back to kiss him feverishly. "Tell me something smart." She begged.

"Is that what gets you going?"

"Please! Something about the Animagus—oh, fuck me, so big—"

"In North America, the Animagi are called skin walkers, because of old Native American tales about them."

"Yes!" She shrieked, vibrating on his cock, her head arched back so far he could see the whites of her eyes, her face red. Harry pinched her nipples under the blouse — there was plenty of room to thread his hand under it, gapped from her skin from tits that this first year blouse hadn't been built for.

"More, more." She begged, gushing around his cock as she humped him. "I love it when you're smart."

"Um," Harry was having difficulty concentrating. "You know you have to keep a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month to become an Animagus, even when eating or sleeping. But there's an interesting theory that if you have sex with the leaf in your mouth, your Animagus might pick up traits from your partner—"

"Fuck, oh, oh!" Hermione came on him as he reached round to finger her clit, spraying her sheets with an impressive waterfall. Her scream almost deafened him.

"Oh with an asterisk for extra credit?" Harry joked.

"So smart, so smart." She chanted as she came down from her high, half-turning for a fevered kiss. "Imagine how smart our children will be."

"You like questions and answers while having sex, huh?" Harry chuckled.

"Is it obvious?" She sighed happily as he wrapped his arm around her lower waist, his palm against her mound so he could push against the cock that bulged through her.

"Want to hear the final riddle from my mysterious blackmailer?" Harry teased.

"Don't tease me right now." Hermione begged. "Do you really have it?"

"I do."

"I'm going to get it, this time. No hints." She begged.

"Are you sure you can concentrate?" He smirked, feeling her soaking and stretched pussy lips as he leaned her back so she was lying against his stomach, his knees up so he could drive into her.

"Tell me!" She gasped as he bottomed out in her, her hand over her stomach where she could feel him.

He summoned the note from his jeans and read it.

"This is the last riddle. You have everything you need to figure it out. I don't want your money. I want your attention. You've looked into my eyes, but you never really see me. If you can't figure it out, then you're not the man I thought you were."

"Ugh." Hermione grouched. "I knew it would be a woman."

"What word of only three syllables contains twenty six letters?" Harry finished.

Hermione howled as he wrapped his arms under his tits and began pounding her from below. He pistoned into her furiously, trying to fuck his cock as hard and as deep as he could — her pussy was always vice-tight, like it was challenging him to reshape it.

"Ow-ow-ow-yes! Ow-lphabet!" She wailed, her hands snaked behind her and around his skull as he used her.

"Huh?"

"Alphabet! I got it right, I got it right." She cried happily, her whole body quivering in a full-body orgasm.

"My smart girl." Harry kissed her neck, though she was lost in her own twitching, spasming, paradise.

When she was recovered, she was practically limp. "You didn't come yet?" She moued in disappointment.

"Sorry, baby. Like I said, long day."

She whimpered as she slowly slid his cock out of her, her pussy creaming rivulets of white goo down his veiny shaft. Then she rolled over and built herself a stack of pillows.

"What are you doing?" Harry raised a brow.

"You didn't marry Daphne yet." She said incomprehensibly.

"Huh?"

"A pureblood noble that's pregnant in school would look weird." She announced as she lay back on her pillow-stack and spread her thighs, blushing and unable to meet his eyes. "But a Muggleborn researcher?" She nibbled on her lip demurely. "Would that get you off, Harry? To breed me? Right now?"

"Fuck, Mione." Harry groaned as he took in the sight of her. In her ridiculous first year outfit, tits, thighs and ass all bursting out, it was never more clear that she was a woman now. A woman with a wet creamy pussy, legs spread and asking to be bred.

Hermione snapped her blouse in two, the buttons pinging everywhere, but she pulled it aside and began palming her breasts. "Won't it be so humiliating?" She said softly. "If I have to waddle, barefoot and pregnant, into Professor McGonagall's class?"

"Hermione." He breathed out, kneeling between her legs, his cock aching to spear into her.

She looked up at him and bit her lip sexily. "Will Mrs Weasley send a Howler? Will Ron even be able to look at me?"

He ran his cock through her gooey pussy lips, coating himself in her free flowing dew.

She wasn't done. "I'll have to tell my parents that their daughter is a teenage mother." Hermione gnawed on her lip. "I don't want them to hate you, so I'll tell them that I begged you to breed me."

"Fuck, Hermione." He said softly. "What's gotten into you?"

She spread herself for him, parting her petals. "You, apparently."

He slid inside her, looking into her eyes as he filled her completely.

"It's okay, Harry." She caressed his cheek. "Use me. Breed me. It's what I want."

He growled and began fucking her hard and rough, grabbing her lush asscheeks in order to spread her even wider. She was so tight and slim and small, it made him dream of making her belly bulge with his child. Her cunt was milking him, hot and clasping onto his cock, so tight that it felt her hand was jerking him.

Hermione was in his head as well as under him, kneading her tits, eyes wide as she begged for his load. "Please, Harry, breed me. Put me in my place. Let everyone know that you've fucked my ambitions out of me. Yes, just like that, so rough!"

Harry felt like an animal, rutting into her, the room filled with the smell of her pussy and their sex.

She smirked at him as she saw he was getting close. "Oh, Harry, your dick is too big." She caressed the bulging skin in her pelvis as it moved back and forth. "When I'm pregnant, you can't hurt the baby." She fluttered her eyelashes. "You're so smart, my love, can you think of any other way we can have sex while I'm pregnant?" She teased coquettishly.

That thought sent him over the edge, spilling his seed with a roar, his balls unloading all they had. He collapsed onto her, her hands stroking through his hair, legs wrapped around him as she soothed and nurtured him as he spurted his last.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." She sang into his ear. "Give me every drop."

"Fuck me, Hermione." He sighed when he was done, limp and finished.

She giggled. "Knew that would get you off."

"Minx. You know I'm under a charm, right?" He said blearily.

"Only takes a second to take it off." Hermione said quietly. "One day."

"One day." He agreed.

She kissed his forehead lovingly. "Padma, by the way."

"Huh?"

"Padma. The answers to all the riddles. Popcorn. Age. Dictionary. Mushroom. Alphabet. Padma." She rolled her eyes. "She's not as clever as me, but she does try. I should have known it was her, she always gives confusing answers — that's why the Professors don't give her extra credit."

Harry gasped out a laugh, drained and tired. Padma — the girl he'd screwed over at the Yule Ball, too busy mooning over Cho.

This was a surprise…but she was a beauty, with a brain to match. And, he thought guiltily, a twin.

"My Mione, wielding the sharpest wit and the keys to my heart." He held her tightly, still inside her. "If I have a throne and an army of lovers, I'll still choose you to be at my side."

She kissed him, sighing contentedly. "I would follow you to hell, as much as I wish to stop you from descending." She gazed into his soul. "I could disapprove of your actions, be disgusted by your misogyny, despise your ideals, and still never imagine a world in which I don't love you."

Harry could say nothing to that, so he simply kissed her. They rested for a long while.

"Speaking of fiery depths, how's it going with Susan?" He said finally. "What did you tell me last time, about her?"

Hermione huffed. "I said she was going to need the carrot more than the stick."

He snorted. "Cissy just told me the same thing about Daphne."

"Daphne needs a whip and a gag, more like." She said darkly. "I'll give you an update on Susan soon, promise. I have a…campaign in motion."

"A campaign, huh?" He extracted herself from her with a groan. "You know you don't have to get me Susan, right? You don't need to prove anything to me."

Hermione snuggled closer. "I want to. She's got a good heart — she might able to stop you from the wrong path. Dark Lord Potter is not that great a name, you know."

"You mean she's nice so she won't mind me spending half my time with you?" He said knowingly.

She blushed. "That, too." As he opened his mouth, she held up her hand. "I know, I know, I don't need to worry. Honestly, it's not Daphne or Narcissa that worry me." She held his arm tightly. "It's Ron."

"Ron?"

Her smile was bittersweet. "The friend that couldn't keep up with you."

"We're still friends."

"Not like before."

Harry couldn't deny that — he lived a very different life. He was a different person.

"I'll carry you, if I have to." He promised. "Where I go, you go."

Hermione yawned sleepily. "Thankfully, I can do things Ron can't." She smiled cutely, her eyes closed, her fingers brushing over his cock.

He waited until she was almost asleep. "I don't know about that — Ron's got a big mouth too."

"Harry!"

He burst into laughter at her affronted look.

###

In the morning, Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement, rather than the Great Hall. Like he'd requested, Daphne was there.

She was dressed the part of a noble wife, in a wine red vintage dress, a medieval beauty transported to modern day, a gown with long lace sleeving, a décolleté to show her fair pale skin and the curve of her chest. Cleaned up as she was, he could almost forget the state he'd left her in.

She bowed her head as he entered, pouring him tea from the pot.

"Good morning, Harry." She said shyly.

Harry wasn't fooled — Daphne was a snake beyond compare.

Still, he let her seat him in the loveseat. He let his silence frustrate her while he sipped on his tea. Her hands worked on the knots in his shoulders, but she said nothing, because he gave her nothing to work with.

But when he heard her take an intake of breath, to wiggle her forked tongue, he snapped into movement. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her forward roughly, so she fell over his lap.

Harry ignored her squeal as he tore her dress from her lower half, until he was finally greeted with her ass, clad in sheer red panties.

He yanked her panties down to her thighs and smacked her hard, a loud crack made that her shriek. Her face reddened along with her ass as he spanked her, again and again.

She writhed and cried, but she didn't wriggle free or complain, not even when her beautiful pale skin was marked with a burning red handprint.

Her cries turned to whimpers when she began to drip into her lowered panties, her thighs squirming, her ass arching up for him.

"I figured you out long ago, didn't I, Daphne?" Harry said lowly.

But she hid her face as he caressed her burning skin, flinches turning to fidgets as his touch turned from pleasure to pain.

"Tell me why I did that." He ordered.

"I don't know." She said sullenly, but she gasped as he took a rough hold of her plump asscheek.

"Don't you?" Harry asked. "All my girls are complaining about you, and you don't know why?"

She looked back at him through her golden blonde tresses, indignant even with her streaking tears. "I was just reminding them of their place."

"Yeah?" He took hold of her emerald plug and tugged it back and forth. "Maybe you need reminding of your place, slut."

"I don't. I'm yours." Daphne promised eagerly, her ass lifted for him. "But I have to make waves with your chosen, my Lord, or I won't be able to act as the wife you deserve."

Harry snorted. "I need your support, Daphne, not your petty games or your Slytherin bullshit. If I get more stories from Narcissa or Hermione, I'm going to plug your mouth, not your ass, you understand?"

She glared at him, but that glare quickly faded to a glum look.

"I said, do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord." She said obediently. She swayed her bum from side to side, and he was almost hypnotized by the rhythm of her quivering pussy as it glistened in the light, the gleaming of her plug in her ass.

"I want you to be a good girl, Daphne. I know that's hard for you."

She placed her hands behind her back, crisscrossed teasingly. "I want to be your good girl, my Lord."

Daphne had never found a game she didn't want to play.

"I want all your energy directed at getting me girls, making me happy, making me powerful. Not giving me headaches."

She was silent for a long moment. "I understand. I need…"

"Discipline?"

"Direction." Daphne finished, squirming as he played with her plug. "Tell me what you want and I'll get it for you." She promised.

He saw her cunt trickle. "You like that idea, huh?" It didn't matter if she did — there was no chance he was fucking her. His poor balls needed a break.

"I…I like the idea of dominating others for you." She admitted. "So I can see you work. So you don't do that stuff on me." She said hurriedly, but she was fooling no one.

"Uh-huh." Harry thought for a long moment. Maybe she wasn't so different from Hermione after all — Hermione wanted to get him Susan, to steady her standing in the group, to make his heart kinder.

Maybe Daphne was the devilish version of his best friend, the one that would entice down to sin and sodomy.

It was a thrilling thought.

"I have blondes and brunettes." He said slowly. "Susan won't bend for me, not yet. Cho won't let me fuck her until marriage."

Daphne said nothing, completely still.

"So…" Harry caressed her cheeks, watching her flesh goose up at his touch. Two beautiful cheeks. Beautiful things came in twos. "I want you to get me something new."

"Something new?"

Harry smiled. "Twins. I want twins."

Notes:
Cissy's manipulative tongue meets Daphne's slithering one - Harry's girls are going to have to be careful of their newest member. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - it's Christmas time, and while present Harry unwraps his presents, past Harry goes looking for a Horcrux.

Want to read ahead to see Fleur's next date, see artwork of Hannah's Christmas outfit, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Daphne, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 48 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text "I don't know, Harry. I really don't think it fits." Hermione tugged her knitted Weasley jumper down, trying in vain to make it stay below her bare pussy that peeked from between her thighs as she tried to hide herself from the girls' watching eyes.

The jumper was emerald green and had a big white H initial on the front.

"Nonsense, it fits well." Harry gave her a thumbs up. "I can't throw it away, Mrs Weasley knitted it for me for my first Hogwarts Christmas. It's one of the first presents I ever got."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Probably the last one I'll ever get. I bet she thinks I stole you away from Ginny."

Harry grinned, stroking Helena's hair idly as she nestled her peachy bottom in his lap. The young Malfoy girl was wearing a Christmas corset, white feather trims at the top and bottom of a red velvet corset, but her panties had been lost somewhere.

Christmas at Malfoy Manor had begun as a debaucherous affair, with Cissy and the girls determined to bring out all the stops. All of them were there, except for Daphne — Harry had thought the cheerful Christmas spirit might be punctured by Daphne's Scrooge-like temper.

After an enormous meal, they'd all settled in the living room for drinks and party games, with the victors being granted the honor of relieving Harry in whatever way he chose.

Helena had won the initial game of who could throw the most gnomes, the girls competing to degnome the garden while Harry sprayed the girls down with the garden hose. The blonde beauty had a vicious throw on her, as it turned out.

As such, she was grinding and shaking her sweet cheeks against him, building him up to deliver her prize, while they watched the girls pour drinks ahead of the next game.

"I would prefer some good wine." Marie sniffed as Hannah poured Firewhisky into shot glasses. The Hufflepuff girl wore a strange thing she called a romper, which Harry had never heard of — it seemed to be a shirt with attached shorts. Taut short-shorts, too small for Hannah's bubble butt, her ass cheeks bulging from her hemlines.

The romper was red, with the words HOE HOE HOE printed all over it.

"Shut up and drink it." Hannah giggled, tipsy — she'd already had a few, her face as red as her romper.

Marie hiccuped, far more classy in a satin red slip dress, long legs bare. She had drunk too much, her heels hanging loosely from her toes.

"You should try to be more sophisticated." Marie said primly.

"You should try taking that stick out of your ass." Hannah countered.

"I'm just saying that Harry likes a lady, not a hoe. You don't need to show everything, all the time."

"It's Christmas, who cares?" Hannah downed her shot. "And maybe if you had more to show, you'd show it off too."

"I have plenty to show, you English cow." Marie growled, leaning forward to tug on Hannah's pigtails. Hannah responding by pinching the French girl's nipples, until they were both screeching and wrestling on the carpet.

Narcissa watched in dismay as her cream carpet was colored in booze.

Hermione shook her head, smirking. "So vulgar, aren't they, Harry?"

"Disappointing." He agreed absently. He was barely paying attention, distracted by Helena's soft moans as she slid her wet snatch up and down, lubricating his hardening cock.

Hermione shook her head. "Perhaps I should make a sort of handbook for your less…educated lovers." She hugged herself, biting her lip.

"I like that idea." Narcissa threw her head back, lying on the carpet with her head against the armchair as Apolline suckled the whipped cream from her breasts. Cissy liked to give him some visual spectacle when her daughter was working on him, and Apolline was always happy to help. "I can write a section on cleaning Harry's cream up."

Apolline cleaned the cream from her lips. "And I can give tips on blowjobs." She cheered.

"I meant more behavioral advice." Hermione scowled. "Like, always drink in moderation."

Harry grinned to himself. He'd thought Daphne was the Scrooge of Christmas, but Hermione always surprised him.

###

The chilly breeze brought the strong smell of salt into his nose, and it was like the wind gusts were timed to accompany the rushing waves below, battering into the large rocks they stood on.

"Why are we here?" Amelia frowned, shivering, her hands holding onto the hem of her black layered ruffle skirt to stop it from blowing up. A charm stopped the rain above her head, but she was still wet, because the wind-swept rain came from every angle, and if the rain didn't get them, the sea-spray did.

Harry didn't answer, his eyes closed as he pushed through the memories that came with each churning wave. In his mind, Tom was laughing at his fellow orphanage children as they cried, stranded on the towering cliff, surrounded by angry waves and sheer drops.

"Harry?" She asked.

He shook himself. "Horcrux."

"What?"

"Tom — Voldemort — he split his soul into objects to grant himself immortality."

Amelia gaped at him, her skin paling. In the stormy evening, her red hair was like a lighthouse, even though it was soaked to a dark shade and stuck to her skin.

"We're here to find one." Harry said quietly. As he grew in power, it was like he could handle more of Tom's mind, able to wrestle it into organization, a filter that opened slightly. When he claimed Daphne, the memory of Tom hiding Slytherin's locket came to him.

Here, not far from the orphanage, the cliffside Tom had been brought for sea air and views. Although the other kids hadn't gone so far as this dangerous rock outcrop, except from the couple Tom had brought with him for entertainment.

Amelia gathered herself, but she looked a little shaken. "I'm glad you changed your mind about changing the timeline."

I haven't, he didn't say. But he'd realized that destroying this horcrux was the one action he could take that wouldn't affect the future timeline. It was well-defended, protected with layer after layer, because Voldemort had no intent on moving it or checking it.

None would find it, so Harry could destroy them without repercussions.

A skipping stone that cast no ripples in the waters.

"I told you, didn't I?" He said firmly. But her reaction was why he'd brought her — he wanted her to think he was on her side. Maybe then she'd let her guard down — he had to fuck her before she fucked the whole world over.

"You did. Are we expecting danger? I'm not dressed for it — you could have let me go home before we left the Ministry." She blew a wet lock from her mouth. Soaked through, her red bra shone through her white blouse.

"We should be fine, but Tom's protections are less than charming." Harry raised his brow at her underwear and her high heels. "That bra would show through even if you were dry, you know?"

She smirked at him. "I'm still a woman in a man's world, Harry. I'm not afraid to play the game." She plucked at her blouse. "Honestly, sometimes I just forget what skin I'm showing. It's not easy being a lady."

"Not the Amelia I remember."

"That way didn't work out, not in time, so I'm going to cheat a little."

"You and me both." Harry muttered under his breath — he could barely hear himself think with the sound of whipping winds and frothing waters.

He led her to the edge of the rock, to the jagged niches that Tom had made long ago, slippery footholds that led to the boulders that tried to stay above the waterline, like swimmers treading water.

Harry led them down and leapt from boulder to boulder, making liberal use of Sticking Charms to stop from falling. Amelia followed hesitantly, but he caught her every time.

With each jump, he'd hold her wet curvy form, looking into her bottle green eyes. With each jump, he pushed his luck a little more. A too-tight hug, a kiss to her forehead, another to her lips. On the last boulder, he caught her with firm hands on her plump ass, underneath the skirt that flapped high in the wind.

Amelia bit her lip, shivering as he kneaded unashamedly. "Hardly the way to treat a soaking wet woman."

"Unless you want her a little wetter."

"I thought Lords were gentlemen." She took his hands and unpeeled them. "Not teenagers with crass tongues."

"I thought Ladies were pure and modest." He teased, pulling her red thong up a little so that it appeared from where it had disappeared between her ample ass-cheeks.

Her lips twitched. "I guess we're both setting poor examples, but if I must be man-handled, perhaps you could do it in warmer climes?"

"Let's hope the next horcrux is in the jungle." Harry agreed. "Lumos." His wand cast golden light on the cliff-face, on the fissure below that the dark waves vanished into.

Amelia wasn't paying attention, wringing the water from her skirt. "Dry me off? I feel like a Grindylow."

"No point. We're going into the cave."

"Cave?" Amelia peered over. "Oh, Merlin, Harry, I'm not a strong swimmer."

He looked her over. "It might sound like I'm just trying to get your clothes off, but you really don't want to be wearing clothes if you're not a strong swimmer. The weight is enormous underwater."

She looked at him dubiously. "You've got a real boy who cried werewolf thing going on, you know — no girl is ever going to think you virtuous."

"That boy was right eventually." His wand came out — Amelia's skirt whipped to her ankles, her blouse unbuttoning itself.

Amelia was left, hands on her hips, half scowling and half-blushing as he stared at her beauty. She was undeniably gorgeous, an hourglass figure like everything she ever ate went to her tits or her ass. Her long red hair stuck to skin that was quickly covered in raindrops, and it didn't need to soak her slightly sheer bra in order for him to see the hard-nipples that poked through, her full melons being cupped from below.

Like Cissy, she wore open cup shelf bras to support her large teardrop shaped breasts, because there were few other bras that could support a chest like that. Harry thought he'd like to reborn as a shelf bra.

Down below, her little satin thong was barely concealing her smooth mound — wet as it was, he could see her pussy outlined behind the fabric, before she shifted her thigh to hide from his perverted gaze.

"Are you quite done?" She growled.

"Not even close, but I suppose we should be going." He sighed. He stripped himself to his boxers and heard her choke.

Amelia was wide-eyed and coughing.

"What?" He looked down. His cock was poking from the leg of his boxers, semi-hard. "Whoops." He grinned. "It's not easy being a lady." He pulled down his boxers, trying and failing to cover his large cock.

"Merlin's sweet gray beard." She muttered. "I wish I hadn't given you advice with Susan now. She might not survive."

"Don't be impressed." He gestured to his bulging boxers. "It's not me, I've hidden a a Boomslang in there." Harry winked at her before falling backwards into the water. It was icy cold, but the swimming came easily to him. Ibn Maw had once made Tom swim lengths in freezing cold water while fending off his Legilimency and curses both, for hours and hours until the water ran red.

But as he swam, it wasn't Tom's swimming lessons that came to mind, but Marie's — in Lac d'Annecy, the hot springs underneath warming the lake water, with the Alps in the background. She'd felt like a woman for the first time as she wore a bikini, getting glances from the boys treading water.

The more time he spent with his girls, the more memories he took from them, which wasn't always a good thing — he wasn't sure he wanted to know how it was to feel like a woman finally, her father's little girl no longer. But his brain was already a scrambled mess, so what more could it hurt?

While it wasn't like Marie had new spells to gift him through their bond, her breaststroke was perfect. Towards the dark mouth in the rock face, he led a struggling Amelia, his wandlight casting strange refracted shimmers. In the cave, the slimy walls were narrow and oily, a tunnel longer than he expected.

Harry idly thought that it felt like he was swimming into a massive vagina. Perhaps he was going mad — it was difficult to control his two minds of past and present, and in the future, Harry was certainly enjoying his Christmas break, entering a much tighter pussy.

Finally, the steps led up to the freezing cave. Amelia cursed loudly as they left the water, shivering — Harry let her stomp around, taking in the view of her from behind, her thong riding up and askew so her pink asshole peeked from each side of the fabric.

Time for business.

Tom's magic was thick and recognizable.

"There's nothing here." Amelia griped.

"Quite the opposite." Harry murmured, seeing enchantments and wards, many and layered. "There is an entrance." But rather than look for it, he looked inside his mind, searching his memory, Tom's memory.

"Well, can you hurry up?" She growled. "I'm going to freeze to death."

"Aren't you a witch?"

"You've got my wand." She snapped.

Harry looked down — so he had. He had a new bad habit of subconsciously summoning wands when others looked angry — yesterday, Hermione had stubbed her toe and he'd immediately taken her wand from her without thinking. A defense mechanism from Tom, no doubt.

"Sorry." He swished his wand to make her bra and panties warm and dry and returned her wand.

"Can't you summon my clothes too?" She asked. "I can't summon through that much water."

"What's that? I have water in my ears."

"Really funny." Amelia muttered, but she'd stopped stomping around now her underwear was warm, her skin returning to color.

"Blood wards. Ibn Maw's favorite." Harry muttered. He held a Severing Charm on the tip of his wand and over his skin, splattering his blood over the rocks. The wall lit up in a silver arch and then vanished completely, the rock replaced by a black void.

"Who? What?"

Harry didn't reply, walking into the darkness. Amelia scampered after him and then ran into his back when he stopped at the edge of a murky black lake, vast and wide. He couldn't see the banks, but he could see the greenish light in the centre, a glow like the Killing Curse.

It was all just like Tom's memory. Except that Tom's memory was blurry, coming through in glimpses, bits and pieces, which was a common side effect of memories that were forced to the fore — one of many reasons why Veritaserum wasn't used liberally in court cases.

Harry did know there was a boat, but he couldn't see it. But he could feel something hidden. Tom's signature in the air, on the edge of the rock rim where the murky water began.

"You keep talking to yourself, you know." Amelia said.

"Oh? Am I?"

"Dumbledore does the same thing." She hugged herself, peering into the black lake.

"Ah, clever." He murmured. Disillusionment charms that were inscribed into runes on metal chains, then those runes had been disillusioned with another layer of runes, a deep loop of rune on rune.

"He does that too."

Harry pulled a green chain from thin air, and coiled it up in a shriek of clinking metal, before a tiny glowing green boat rose out of the water.

"Can you make it any bigger?" Amelia asked. "It looks too small."

Harry gave her a side-eye. "You've never engorged a boat, have you?"

"No?"

"It's the same principle behind why you don't engorge your house. The joins, the seams, it all gets destroyed. If I Engorged it, we'd start taking on water in seconds."

"Well, unless you want me to sit on your lap, then—"

"As enticing as that sounds, I think we'll just fly." Harry wrapped his arm around her tightly and rose up into the air, unaided.

Amelia squealed in surprise, holding onto him with a deathly grip.

He was wobbly, especially unbalanced by a second person, but they careered jerkily over the cloudy water.

"There's things in the water!" She exclaimed.

From above, that was clear. Marble white patterns swirled on the misty water, like there were spiders making webs underneath the surface, but when Amelia cast a Lumos, the patterns solidified into bodies. Their open eyes staring up unthinkingly.

"Bodies!" She shuddered.

Harry gently hovered down onto the island in the centre of the lake, where the green light emanated. "They won't harm us." He told her. The Inferi wouldn't wake if they hadn't already — he figured that there was enough of Tom about him, in him, that they weren't roused to danger.

But these dead souls were a reminder of what this place once meant to Tom, all the people he'd lured here, or killed and then brought here. This was a place with meaning — these cliffs, not far from the orphanage, was where Tom had realized he wasn't just different, but better.

Better than the fearful screaming kids with nothing magic about them, scared of a sharp drop or a stiff wind.

Some of those kids lay in the lake, even now.

"Since when can you fly?" Amelia gazed up at him, breathless.

He shrugged.

"Why do powerful wizards always act so mysteriously? It's like you're all protecting your secret magic cabal." She rolled her eyes. "Can the Dark Lord fly?"

"Indeed he can."

"Why did he hide a boat, then?"

"He was a younger man, then."

Amelia hummed. "How did you even find this place?"

"Secret magic cabal." Harry pointed at the stone basin in the centre of the island. "This is what's important." They stepped up to see that the basin contained an emerald liquid. "The Horcrux is underneath the liquid. To drain it, we need to have sex."

"What?!"

"Just kidding. Would that have worked?"

Amelia glared. "Can you be serious?"

"Sex based magic is a thing." Harry defended. "And, if I didn't know exactly what this was, it might have been preferable to what we would have to do. This is a very dangerous potion."

"What does it do?"

"It induces a terrible madness and thirst. Pain beyond measure." Harry said somberly. "It was a potion used by South American indigenous tribes when their shamans were anointed, a ceremonial mind-altering experience."

"How can you possibly know that just by looking at it?" Amelia crossed her arms, incidentally pushing up her bust, her nipples partly popping from her bra.

Harry couldn't explain that - how Tom had attacked a tribe member, possessed his mind, learned their ancient secrets and then burned acres of the Amazon jungle to ensure those secrets never trickled down to anyone else.

"It's the green shade." He said sagely. "Thankfully, the magical properties are diluted by Boomslang skin." Harry reached into his boxers and withdrew a vial of patterned shedded snakeskin. "I told you I had a Boomslang in there."

"I…" Amelia exhaled loudly.

Harry emptied the vial into the basin and stepped back as the liquid began to hiss. A minute later, and the green potion was as clear as water.

"Thirsty?" He asked.

"Not even for a thousand galleons."

Harry drank the water himself, until the basin was dry and the locket was revealed.

But as his fingers closed over the golden locket, he heard a groaning from behind him.

Not from Amelia, but from a hundred raspy throats.

"Harry…" Amelia said slowly.

He turned to see the lake waters rippling, figures in ghostly white emerging, the tar-like waters sludging down their forms.

The Inferi were coming.

He grabbed Amelia's waist and tried to rise up into the sky, taking flight. But the island below them cracked like the rockbed of an arid desert, and through those cracks, pallid white hands reached around his ankle, tugging him down.

Harry spat fury, stomping the fingers that stopped them from fleeing. He sliced curses down at the cracks, buying them time. If not flight, then…

"Fire."

"What?" She didn't look away from the army of the dead that rose, faces with sunken cloudy white eyes, climbing onto the island rocks, behind and in front.

"Light them up!" Harry snarled. There was no space for hesitation. "Fiendfyre." He called.

The flames burst from his wand, skin-drying heat surging. A glow became a ball became a storm, the semi-sentient flames yearning to consume. The air sucked from the room, the moisture drying on his tongue.

He tore the fire high, made a wall into a protective ring.

The fearsome blaze stymied the Inferi army. For a moment, he thought it enough, but then they came.

Through the flames, staggering and lurching, dropping to their knees. Climbing over those that fell, shrunken hands reaching out.

Harry wrenched his flames towards him, even as it threatened to break fire.

Let me free. The inferno begged him.

Next to him, Amelia cast all manner of fire spells, but the army of ghostly bodies was close.

Too close.

Through the flames — but all Harry had to do was bring his Fiendfyre wall closer. His eyes narrowed in concentration, biting through his tongue, muscles straining, veins bulging.

Do as I say. He ordered, mustering all his power.

Somewhere in the future, their two minds connected, Harry roared as he came inside Helena, teased to completion by Apolline and Cissy.

And in the past, a spark through time and mind, it was Harry who lost control. The Fiendfyre roared away from him, breaking free of his chains. It seared towards the lake, the bodies still climbing from the waters.

Their protective ring was gone.

"Fuck!" Harry swore, watching their shield go. He brought his wand high, and when he snapped it down, a long coiling flame-whip cracked through the heads of the coming Inferi.

He slashed and struck, again and again. Heads rolled, staring through sunken expressionless eyes, but it wasn't enough.

Fetid breath blew on their skin. The Inferi were upon them. Their bony hands clawed at Amelia, arms enclosing around her flesh, lifting her flailing feet.

"Harry!" She cried, but he couldn't kill them fast enough.

Without the Fiendfyre, he couldn't create fires large enough, hot enough. He could conjure arrows, ropes, candles, even Bluebell Flames, but he couldn't conjure the unconjurable, like thick black oil to coat the Inferi in flammable death.

He changed tactics, needing close control now the enemy was close enough that he could see the whites of their eyes, smell the rot of their flesh.

Wizards had long tried to use other things as a magical focus, unsuccessfully embedding cores in swords and staves. But Harry had always wondered why one would ever made a sword into a wand when you could just make a wand into a sword.

"Diffindo." A Severing Charm, but not released. He held it at the tip of his wand.

The Severing Charm was invented by a seamstress, Delfina Crimp, in the fifteen century, seeking less destructive magic to alter her fashion creations. But it was not Voldemort who'd taught him its full powers, but Apolline — the Veela used it like a master to tailor her clothes — there wasn't a dress she hadn't cut the hem of, or altered the neckline.

Apolline used the charm like an artist, and she was the canvas, ensuring that her skin was always showing for him. Cutting crotchless holes in her lacy things, making ladylike blouses become very slutty, cutting thigh-baring slits in her skirts.

And all her Severing Charm knowledge had transferred to him, through long nights and pleasant mornings spent under her, behind her, or fucking her into the pillows.

He'd always known he could hold the Severing Charm at the tip of his wand and run it down like a pair of lethal scissors, but now he knew the seamstress Crimp had also dabbled in blacksmithing.

And she'd learned to hold a Severing Charm while she cast an Incendio, creating burning cuts to carve armor plates and smith swords.

"Incendio." His pink-tipped Severing Charm became red hot. The Fire-Making Charm could be fuelled with magic and rage, and the red glow grew three feet in length.

A wand became a sword.

Hands reached for him. Slimy fingers without nails dug into his legs and back. Mindless mouths exhaled gurgles and bubbles. He was surrounded.

And behind the icy invaders, a glimpse of red hair, Amelia was lifted towards the burning lake, the void of no return.

Smoke filled his throat and his coat of sweat felt like liquid panic, swarming, overwhelming. But his hands burned, because he'd fucked up his charm chain — his wand was on fire, searing his skin away.

That pain was his wake up call.

He swung his wand-blade furiously, a sword with the sharpest edge. Heads toppled onto shoulders, arms lopped from shoulders. And with every swing, he saw more of Amelia, cutting a path to her. He met her eyes through a torso carved open, a window to the soul made in a body without a mind.

"Fucking die!" Harry growled, reversing his wand under his shoulder and stabbing back to remove the hand on his shoulder. He reversed again and lunged forward, slicing left, right, ahead, his footwork graceful.

Marie had taken some fencing, or was it Daphne? It didn't matter. He was made up of all that lay under him.

Harry cut himself to freedom, but the Inferi were still coming. And Amelia was about to be pulled into the waters, the red waters that reflected the uncontrollable Fiendfyre that swarmed over the lake, an inferno that forced the Inferi from their sleeping place and then burnt them to ashes.

He thought quickly. Thanks to future Harry's Christmas pleasures, his control over the Fiendfyre was lost. He needed flames, and his sword wasn't cutting it.

But future Harry's intrusion into his own mind wasn't a complete dead loss. Cissy emptied a bottle of champagne over her breasts as the crowd of girls cheered, her forfeit for losing a card game of sorts.

And, over a decade in the past, a block slid into place in Harry's mind.

Alcohol.

Alcohol burnt.

He couldn't conjure oil.

But there wasn't a teenage boy at Hogwarts who hadn't conjured wine, trying to extend a party after the Firewhisky ran dry, trying to get a girl to bridge the gap between tipsy kisses and drunken surrender. They all regretted it, the wine undrinkable, the girls sobered by the awful taste.

But undrinkable wine burned all the same.

"Engorgio." Harry made the stone basin so large that it broke the pedestal below, crushing it into pebbles. The basin grew bigger than him. And when it was large enough, he murmured another spell.

"Harry!" Amelia shrieked desperately, on the edge of the lake.

His sword became a fountain of red wine, and in his panic, the fountain became a torrential gout. The basin filled up, barrels and barrels of wine. An overpowered Incendio made the red become a hissing blue, a basin transformed to a makeshift oven stove and made giant.

"Always drink in moderation." Harry muttered grimly.

He toppled the basin.

The liquid flames burnt through the island, a waterfall of liquid death. These flames couldn't be walked through, couldn't wrench free of his control.

Harry took aim at Amelia, working on instinct. There was the smallest gap in the bodies, a spell he could hit her with, a chance to save her. A shield? It wouldn't protect from liquid flame. Freeze her into stasis? It would freeze her heart, or be melted to nothing.

A levitation to freedom? Levicorpus, perhaps? But she'd be wrenched into the smoke over the island, asphyxiated.

Amelia. Susan. Cedric. Bubble-Head Charm.

The thoughts chained quickly. Harry summoned all his magic, taking aim under the shoulder of an Inferi, as the wine avalanche washed toward her.

Tom's accidental mind-merge had taught him many things. But more than spells and runes, dueling and incantations, it had taught him that power broke rules. Tom worshipped power because it broke the rules of magic. Powerful mages changed the elements, brought down buildings, destroyed armies, brute-forcing spells, making magic bend to their intent.

Harry forced all his power into the Bubble-Head charm, willing it to take the form in his mind. The blue spell flew through the smallest of gaps to hit Amelia in the face. And instead of a bubble of oxygen around her head, a translucent protective bubble formed around her entire body.

Just in time, before she disappeared under the blazing flood. His cascading wildfire swept the Inferi from their feet and burned them to a crisp. Their second death was worse than their first — a sulphuric stench of burning flesh, torched rags melting skin from bone, bones that cracked and split loudly.

It was a gruesome death, a scene Harry watched with fear in his heart, searching for a sight of Amelia.

The Inferi were swept back towards their lake, and as they vanished, he saw a blackened bubble emerge, hovering above the ground.

"Finite Incantatem." Harry ended the charm, and from the bubble, Amelia dropped. Coughing, covered in ghostly white hand prints, her underwear torn from her body, but alive.

Harry swept her up as she choked and spluttered. She wiped her wet eyes, shuddering, but he couldn't wait for her to recover.

He cast Bubble-Head charms over their heads and then rose off the ground, taking flight. As he directed them toward the cave exit, the Fiendfyre whipped at them, a blaze with a mind and an anger to match. Flames with shapes, fists and snakes and crackling with purpose.

Harry countered it with wind, pushing fire and smoke back, creating a small path to freedom. Back through the tunnel, their feet trailing through the icy water, flames at their back.

Until finally they were out of the cave, and the Fiendfyre was left to consume itself and die. Harry Apparated them to his room in the Leaky Cauldron. This timeline had few wards that could stop him, and certainly not the newly erected Apparition wards the Ministry had put up, trying to stop the reappearance of the masked madman who'd torn up the Diagon Alley street.

Amelia was beautiful naked, but she was exhausted and vulnerable. In this room, the room he would fuck Daphne in, years from now, Harry threw away the thought of pushing Amelia's limits. She was miserable and wet, covered in bruises, glorious red hair matted to her skin.

His wand worked away. A robe to clothe her. Bath filling with warm water. Teapot pouring itself into cups.

Amelia looked at him gratefully.

"Thanks," she croaked.

"Relax." Harry told her. "That was…dicey."

She snorted weakly. "Inferi."

"Disturbing, aren't they?"

She bit her lip, shaken. "Glad you were there."

"Thanks for coming with me. I'm sorry." He said genuinely. "I thought I had a handle on whatever Voldie would throw at us."

"You did, just about." Amelia said quietly. "At least we got it, right?"

"We did." Harry pulled the golden locket free and frowned. It was not ornate, like Slytherin's locket should be, like it was in Tom's memory.

And where the portrait should be, there was a tightly wedged piece of parchment.

He read it out loud. "To the Dark Lord — I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B."

"It's a fake." Amelia groaned.

Harry crumpled it in his fist and squeezed it, letting his anger out. Harry didn't know who R.A.B. was, but Tom did. Regulus Arcturus Black.

As the paper tore in his fist, the memories came back to him.

Voldemort asked Regulus for the use of his house-elf Kreacher, and used the poor little bastard to test the defenses.

But if Regulus had stolen the Horcrux…perhaps Kreacher hadn't died after all. Perhaps he'd reported back to his master, told him what the object was, what it did.

Harry brought his hand to his face, trying to feel the magic of the parchment. It wasn't old — Regulus had stolen this recently and probably given his life for it. Perhaps he'd been one of the Inferi Harry had burned away.

He swallowed the bitter taste of failure in his throat.

He hadn't just wanted a horcrux because he could get it without tangling time. He'd wanted to study it, to hold it in his hand. Surely then, he'd remember how Tom made them, the incantation and magic of it, so that Harry could make his own Whorecrux.

To seal a splinter of a bondmate's soul away in an object, their bond hidden away until he could break it free in the future.

"Where is the real one?" Amelia interrupted.

"Regulus Black took it. A defection." Harry murmured, lost in thought.

Amelia swore. "It's probably hidden away in his vault or stashed somewhere."

Harry paused. "What do you know of him?"

"Regulus?" Amelia frowned. "He hasn't been heard from in a year? Eight months, maybe. Everybody thinks he's dead."

He gnawed on his lip. It was unlikely that Regulus knew how to defeat that rare potion in the basin. If he'd drank it, been dosed with an unquenchable thirst, he'd have gone to the lake and never come back up, claimed by the Inferi.

But if the locket was gone, then someone must have taken it.

Someone like the house-elf, Harry surmised.

If Kreacher had it…

"I think it's in the Black family home." He said slowly.

Amelia looked at him dubiously. "How are we going to get in there?"

"I know someone." Harry gave her a guilty smile.

"Bellatrix? You trust that crazy witch?"

"No." He crossed his arms. "If I ask her to take it, she'll just as likely tip off Lord Voldemort. She's still playing us both, getting tutored by us both, letting us both think she'll join our cause." He grimaced. "She might even tip him off in the future and he'll know we're hunting his Horcruxes."

"Not if she never joins him." Amelia reminded.

"Right." Amelia didn't know of his plan to bond women here and reawaken them in the future. She still thought he was happy to fuck timelines up.

No, he realized. He couldn't get that horcrux, not yet. He could probably get into the Black home sooner or late, playing the socialite, but he couldn't pop in there, destroy their wards, break the place apart looking for the horcrux. That would attract Tom's attention.

"How, how, how…" He murmured. How did he make a Whorecrux without a horcrux? There was one other horcrux he was sure of the location of.

The diary he'd stabbed in the Chamber of Secrets, that Lucius Malfoy had slipped it into Ginny's school supplies.

He had to get into Malfoy Manor. Unfortunately, he mused, it was unlikely that the Narcissa of this year would be as welcoming as Cissy was currently.

###

"Is that enough whipped cream?" Cissy said uncertainly, spraying another thick coil of cream between her thighs.

"It's a fun game, Cissy." Apolline giggled, tipsy. "It is not meant to make us fat, oui?"

Harry looked down at his girls. The games had moved onto Exploding Snap, though this version was Strip Snap. Since the girls didn't have many clothes to strip off in the first place, and Narcissa had thrown a tantrum when she lost in the first round and had to take off her long sheer lace teddy, they'd made an amendment to the rules. Last girl to snap had to cream themselves up, if they were already naked.

"Cissy," Harry said slowly, drinking in the thoughts of his other, past self. "Where did Lucius keep his dark artefacts? He had a diary he gave to Ginny in my second year, a horcrux."

Cissy squeaked as Apolline spread her cream around her groin. "I don't know for sure, but anything dark would have been kept in the cellar under the drawing room."

"You're certain?"

She nodded.

Hermione sighed loudly as they turned over another round of cards. "You cheated again, Apolline."

"I did not!" The Veela said, affronted, the bell jiggling on the end of her Christmas hat. Her tits jiggled too, spilling from her Christmas bodysuit, which was more like a fishnet than lingerie.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "When you see two identical cards, you hit the card with the top of your wand."

"I know that! I have the Troll in my deck and I tapped first, so I win!"

"But the Mountain Troll cards have already been played, so how are they in the deck again?" Hermione cast a Finite on them, and the Trolls were revealed to be Bowtruckles.

Apolline deflated. "Zis is a stupid game." She declared.

Hermione pursed her lips. "You can't play the same trick twice."

"'Arry needs me to pleasure him." She argued. "I do not zink Helena did it properly." Her accent always got thicker in passion.

"Harry loved it." Helena squeaked quietly, tired and unable to argue effectively from being laid back on the chaise longue while Marie slurped noisily at his cum oozing from her gleaming, creamy, debased pussy. Marie had come second at degnoming. "Right, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, distracted by his thoughts. "You can't play the same trick twice." He murmured.

Couldn't he?

###

Harry Apparated into Malfoy Manor. Even in the past, it was almost the same. A vast roaring fireplace heated a luxurious room, but the carpet was covered in thick beige shag rugs, the sort that never made it into the next decade.

Narcissa rose from the piano in the corner, fumbling for a wand.

"Who are you?" She snarled. Harry was wearing the same slight glamors he used when he met with Bellatrix — himself but not himself.

He batted away her spell, feeling nostalgic for their future, the time he'd taken her, the love they'd made. She was an unparalleled beauty, even now. More svelte and slender, but her recent pregnancy had made her figure full. He was surprised by the innocence in her blue eyes — she had those sharp cheekbones, an aristocratic face, but the better-than-thou sneer had yet to develop. So too, her grace — she snapped spells forward with more anger than composure.

"You dare to attack me, Lord Voldemort?" He answered, flexing his magic to the full. The mirror fell from the wall. The glassware shattered. The house itself trembled in its foundation.

She gaped at him, her wand dropping to her side.

"M-my Lord?"

"Did you expect a monster, Narcissa?"

"N-no, my Lord, you just don't look like the last—"

"I can control the deepest roots of magic, Narcissa." He said silkily. "Did you really think I cannot control your appearance? Where is your husband?"

She bowed her head. "He's at Gringotts, My Lord."

"Good. I require something from your cellar, under your drawing room."

She looked startled. "But?"

"But did you think I didn't know all your husband's secrets?" Harry said arrogantly. "Quickly now, girl."

"Y-yes, my Lord." She pulled aside the large luxurious rug and muttered a spell. The carpet shifted to reveal a trap door, which she pulled up by the hook.

"Do not move." Harry instructed her sternly. The cellar was dank and musty, and more so as he descended down the steep flight of stairs. Through a heavy door, he found himself in a room of stale air, with wooden shelving on either side.

"Lumos."

Dusty books stacked on each other, while dirty silver instruments whirred away on the shelving, emitting little puffs of smoke. A shadowy Foe-Glass reflected his wandlight.

The cellar reminded him of Dumbledore's office, though he imagined Malfoy's artefacts were much more evil.

It didn't take him long to find. Even in the den of strange things with murky magical signatures, the horcrux stood out. Especially since he'd held it before, seen it before.

The diary of Tom Riddle.

He couldn't destroy it, not now. If he did, Lucius wouldn't be able to give it to Ginny. The diary wouldn't possess her. Harry couldn't save her.

It would change too much, maybe even his personality, his friendships.

This wasn't like the locket, an artefact with no future to alter.

It didn't matter. He just wanted to examine it.

Harry took hold of it gently, closing his eyes.

As soon as his fingers gripped him, he was taken away. Another piece of Tom's memory unlocked — a memory of creating this horcrux. Moaning Myrtle, dead from the basilisk, the murder that would create the first horcrux.

He saw Tom cradle the diary reverently. He saw the incantation used, the rush of magic that sparked from toe to ears. And he felt first-hand how to do it himself, to create the darkest of artefacts.

Harry sat back with a heavy thump, sweating. It wasn't purely a murder that had to create a horcrux, he understood now. It had been for Tom — because it was the only time he could flare up every piece of his soul, awaken it to begin splintering. When Tom killed, he felt such a rush of power, a rush that echoed along his bond to the Death Eaters, a reciprocal loop of glee and rage and power. And with that power, he could muster the might needed to create a horcrux.

"Fuck me." Harry muttered. He realized that he too experienced power flare ups like that, surges in his soul and his bond.

But not from murder.

From the moment of climax.

When he took Daphne, claimed her, his conquest complete, he'd felt it then. A surge in his bond. A moment of invincible power and feeling indescribably alive.

His power swarmed over his bond and he got an understanding of his girls and their links to him, the links that came from their souls. At that moment, he knew, he could take a piece of their souls. And like Voldemort, place it in an object.

He looked down at the diary, that which held a piece of Tom, his spirit.

It was a window into the man's mind and soul, at that age at least. What did it matter to Harry? He had Tom's mind in his own, a much older Tom at that.

Still, the object felt powerful. He couldn't take it, but he wanted to.

One day, this would go to Ginny. Poor girl — she'd never stood a chance against such a powerful object. It was a wonder that she hadn't more ill effects from her months long possession by the horcrux.

Harry shook his head and left the diary behind before ascending up the stairs.

In the drawing room, Narcissa wrung her hands nervously.

What could he say to her? What could he do?

The woman he loved would waste away for a decade and more, lost in her loneliness, her heart turning cold without love or affection, married to a monstrous man who had no time for her, a man that poisoned the mind of her son.

Even with all of his power, he couldn't change that.

Somewhere in the house, he could hear a baby crying.

He took her chin in his hand. She trembled at his grasp.

Slowly, softly, he kissed her, trying to imbue all his feelings and sorrow, his love for the woman that she'd come to be.

At first, she fought him, frowning, but then she sank into his kiss, moaning.

He broke away. "Do not worry, Narcissa."

She looked at him, bewildered.

Harry gave her a sad smile. "You'll find love one day. I promise."

He Apparated away.

###

"Presents!" Narcissa shrieked with glee. "Presents, everybody."

"Not yet, Mother." Helena rolled her eyes as she met Harry's eyes. "It's just Hedwig with some things, it's not time yet."

Harry smirked. Cissy was desperate for presents, more because she wanted to give him gifts than receive them. He'd given her some Edible Dark Marks ("They'll make anyone sick!" George quipped.) from the Weasleys' shop as a joke, and she'd reacted like he'd proposed.

Hedwig soared through the open window and dropped her parcels. She stood around proudly as the girls fawned over her.

"You're going to get a big head, girl." He told his old friend as he opened the first envelope.

Hedwig stared at him balefully, like she was saying 'and you have room to talk?'.

The parcel contained a knitted scarf in Potter red. The accompanying parchment smelled of woody perfume.

Harry,

Ron and I thought we 'd send you our Christmas gifts at the same time, since Hedwig was here. Thanks for the Chaser gloves, they're brill! Mum's been teaching me to knit this Christmas break, can you believe it?

Maybe this scarf will help you get through winter.

Ron keeps writing Lavender with a dumb look on his face (don 't tell him I told you). The twins are hidden in their room making explosions, if they're not at the shop. Charlie is in Romania with his dragons and I think Bill's running errands for Dumbledore.

So …I'm bored! I can't spend any more time getting lessons on femininity from Mum.

I thought I 'd write you instead to say thank you. I've always been the ignored little sister trying to get some attention from my brothers. I thought that would change in Hogwarts, but I didn't manage to find my place in the world there either. (You already know I did some dumb things out of loneliness).

But that changed, kinda, this year. In the DA, you took the time to teach me, to talk to me, to see me.

It meant a lot.

So this New Year, my resolution is to be a better friend to you. To be more than the little girl I know you see me as, the girl who puts her elbow in the butter dish and can 't get three words out. I've even taken down my old Harry Potter poster!

Your friend, hopefully, Ginny, who 's putting her silliness behind her.

Harry smiled to himself. She was sweet and even if he barely had time for his friends as it was, he wouldn't say no to better ones. He should, he reflected, have at least one female friend who he hadn't fucked or wasn't trying to.

He felt guilty, and he knew he was being selfish, but he didn't like the idea of Ginny getting over her crush on him. She was cute, and getting cute as she got older. Maybe she'd be a smokeshow in a year, and what then?

Don't be a Dudley, he told himself. At some point, he had to realize he couldn't have all the presents.

Ron's parcel contained a rolled up poster of a Chudley Cannons manager leaning against the Quidditch hoops, wearing a bright orange three-piece suit. Vintage, it looked like — the man was rocking a mighty moustache.

Merry Christmas, Harry! This handsome man is Benjamin Barrell. He was the Chudley Cannons gaffer for our golden period in the 1971. We didn 't win the league, but we came second.

See, he wanted to be a star seeker, but he never made it out of the school teams.

Instead, he became the greatest manager Quidditch has ever seen. He invented the Thimblerig Shuffle, he revolutionized how you could use the Porskoff Ploy, and he made the whole league change the rules about timeouts.

Under Barrell, the Cannons never won a single thing. Because we 're the Cannons, we fired him at the end of the season, naturally. But the next year, Puddlemere United stole his tactics and won the league, before every other team caught on. Every fan still knows his name to this day as the last great thinker in Quidditch.

Reach for the stars, Harry — I 'll settle for being your Benjamin Barrell.

Merry Crimbo,

Ron.

P.S. Any chance of that photo we spoke about for Christmas? Don 't tell Hermione.

Hermione read the letter over his shoulder and snorted. "They're a good sort, Weasleys. What photo?"

"Fleur."

"Of course." She sniffed disdainfully. "Boys." Her face softened as she dropped it on his shoulder. "Still, I'm glad they're behind you."

Harry smiled to himself, staring at Barrell in his bright orange suit. "Me too."

###

Ginny's heart thundered in her chest as she saw the familiar owl knocking at her window. Hedwig, as regal as ever.

She bit her lip as she opened the window. Harry's owl dropped her a parcel.

"Thank you, Hedwig." Ginny said breathlessly. She didn't even want to open it until Harry's intelligent owl went away, like Hedwig would spy on her, but Hedwig hooted as if to say she was busy and flew away immediately.

Ginny tore the parcel open. It was a new poster, a blown-up photo from Harry's recent photoshoot with the Daily Prophet. It was Lord Potter looking stern, all burgundy robes and imperious glory. But then he shifted and winked, and Lord Potter became just Harry, full of mischief and trouble. Scribbled on the poster was Harry's white writing, the same autograph he gave to everyone. 'Never stop following your dreams - HP'.

First, she carefully, reverently, stuck the poster to her wall, smoothing it free of creases.

Inside the parcel, there was something else; a small note.

Friends? Of course. But Hermione recently taught me that all friendships have hidden depths.

Merry Christmas, Gin.

She read the note five times. And then she jumped on her bed and screamed into her pillow, kicking her legs behind her.

Harry had written back!

And best of all, he'd written back suggestively.

It had worked.

She bounced to her bedroom door and ensured it was firmly locked. She pressed her ear against it, just to make sure that everyone was distracted.

Then, she unlocked her desk drawer and carefully withdrew her Potions textbook. Between those pages, she'd taped a single, yellowed page, a page stained with blood.

She dipped her quill in ink.

"Guess what?! He wrote back." She scrawled.

The ink shone brightly on the page and disappeared, like it was sucked into the page.

It took a long time, much longer than it used to, but the ink oozed back. "That's great, Ginny. I'm so happy for you. I know that he'll see you for the lovely young woman you are, in time."

Ginny bit her lip, feeling that ever present thrill and guilt that she did every time she wrote in this single page, this remnant of her diary.

She checked her locked door again.

She knew it was stupid. But she also knew that Tom had been reduced to nothing now, a mere shade of what he had been, just a tiniest fragment of spirit resting in the last, bloodied, page of the diary.

She'd had to go to the Chamber of Secrets to get it, but that had been easy enough, once the memories of her possessed actions had returned to her in fragments, in her dreamland. She could remember the strange hissing phrase she'd used.

A single solitary page was all that was left of the diary, after Harry had stabbed it and taken it and her to Dumbledore. Just a page that Harry hadn't noticed, wafted behind a pillar.

But to Ginny, it was everything.

Her first friend. Her only real friend, the boy who understood her, who talked to her, who saw her as something more than the poor scrawny girl that Harry would never look at.

Besides, Ginny thought, it's not like I'm killing chickens again. She never blacked out or walked in her sleep or woke up covered in blood.

She had him under control.

"What's the next step?" She wrote.

"If you want him to see you truly, you'll need to weaken the competition. He has too many suitors."

Ginny stared at the ink for a few seconds. She didn't like that idea, but Tom wasn't wrong.

"I'm not going to do anything against Hermione." She wrote.

"Of course," Tom's ink glowed on the page. "I would never suggest anything like that. I know she's your friend. Besides, Harry wouldn't part from her, from what you've told me. He seems very loyal."

Ginny smiled, thinking about him. Harry had become a man this year — he was so tall and handsome and commanding. "He is."

"But," came Tom's reply. "We need to stop him from making another bad choice for himself. Perhaps, is there another girl that you think Harry would look at rather than you? Another red-haired pureblood beauty?"

Ginny stared at the page. She nearly upset her ink bottle in her hurry to write back. "Susan. Susan Bones. She's a redhead and she's really beautiful."

The diary was silent for a long moment, leaving Ginny to bite at her lip. She didn't want to do anything bad — she wasn't going to fall for Tom's madness again.

"We're not going to hurt her." Tom assured, like he knew what she was thinking. "We just want to put her out of the race."

Ginny hesitated, her quill on the page.

Tom's ink oozed forth. "Unless you want her to become Lady Potter instead, of course?"

She was as still as a statue for a long minute. She wasn't going to hurt Susan, but Tom's advice tended to be mean. But, in matters of love and war, wasn't everything fair? Ginny had never had anything to call her own, not really.

She looked at the poster on the wall. Harry winked at her. His writing shimmered in glowing ink. Never give up on your dreams.

Ginny clenched her jaw and scribbled a reply. "What did you have in mind?"

Notes:
Oh, Ginny. She scribbles into a frying pan and writes letters to the fire. Susan best watch out. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Fleur wants to make a mark on Harry, but even he doesn't expect how she's going to do it. Plus Harry meets with his riddler and finds out what they want.

Want to read ahead to see Fleur's next date, see artwork of Apolline being Patronused, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Daphne, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 49 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text Now Harry knew how to make Whorecruxes, he wanted to get started. But while he might have been able to finagle his way into Bellatrix's panties, he was wary of starting with her. He didn't want to fuck up his best chance of implanting a spy into Voldie's Inner Circle.

Hermione had agreed with him. "Make your first Whorecrux with someone less valuable." She wrinkled her nose. "I can't believe I'm calling it that, now."

While past Harry searched for a suitable target, the Harry of the present had just barely recovered from his Christmas fun to set up a date with Fleur.

"She can still be your Christmas present." Apolline had told him eagerly.

Harry thought his gift still needed wrapping. Fleur was still trying to control their relationship, trying to make him lose control and fall into lust. It didn't matter, really, but he wanted her to know when she was claimed that she'd already been conquered.

Still, his chaste aims wavered when he met her in a London pub. Fleur was dressed for catching eyes, although catching eyes sounded like hooking in one or two glances with a metaphorical fishing rod. Fleur's version of catching eyes was more like a convoy of fishing trawlers.

She was clad in black leather trousers, shiny and seemingly painted on, gleaming and reflecting the dingy orange lights of the pub. A white t-shirt was almost as tight, cut to show her slim midriff, her tits pushing the shirt away from her skin. Her blonde hair was loose and more wild than he usually saw it.

The pub's day drinkers couldn't look away. Harry could hardly blame them.

"'Arry." Fleur kissed both his cheeks. "Where is ze one place you always wanted to get your cock sucked?" She placed her hand on his thigh as she sat on the stool next to him.

The bartender coughed and made himself busy.

"What happened to good morning?" Harry joked.

She rubbed his crotch. "I will give you a good morning, je te promets." She said smokily.

"I thought we might eat something—"

"I will choke on your seed, oui?" Fleur leaned over to nibble on his ear. Harry had to watch himself — within moments he was hard and had somehow gotten his hand trapped between her warm thighs.

"You're such a romantic." He chided.

She looked at him, unimpressed. "I'm not 'earing a non."

Harry sighed. Who was he kidding?

He thought about it for a minute. He'd already fulfilled a lot of his fantasies, and thanks to the girls on Christmas Day, many more he hadn't even thought of. He'd taken Draco's mother, he'd fucked Hermione in her bed and his. Hannah had held her tits together while he fucked her jugs and finished on his face.

But most of those were Hogwarts fantasies…there were others, in the long dark summers between school years.

"There is one place." He said slowly.

"Parfait." Fleur took his hand and tugged him out of the pub. Harry took the opportunity to take in her ass, jiggling in skin-tight leather. For their watching audience, He took a meaty handful of her asscheek as they left, his own way of tipping the bartender.

"Take me zere." She ordered.

"It's not exactly paradise." Harry warned.

"Paradise is for me to take you." She said arrogantly, putting her hair in a scrunchie behind her.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." He muttered, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pulled her into a side alley.

A short pop later and they were home. An old home anyway. Privet Drive, which hadn't changed at all, the same row of boring boxy houses. The hedges were all equally neat, except for the slightly unkempt bush of Number Four, which Harry noticed with some satisfaction.

Not so easy to maintain the house and garden without slave labour, Auntie?

"I grew up here." Harry said, with more bitterness in his voice than he'd expected. He'd barely thought about the Dursleys since he'd left it for Malfoy Manor, that fateful day — it was a wonder how quick it was to overcome childhood trauma with the aid of MILFs and eager schoolgirls.

Fleur wrinkled her nose. "Ze banalité of ze banlieue."

"Suburbia," Harry agreed. "The only place too dull for the Dark Lord to find me."

The Veela teenager hooked his arm. "I shall brighten eet up."

Harry knocked on the door to Number Four. Surprisingly, he felt guilty. The neighbors would be watching, casting aspersions on the blonde bombshell in tight leather. Petunia would get catty comments asking if she'd rung the wrong number when calling for pizza. Vernon would be asked if he had a new niece.

"Ça va?" Fleur looked at him quizzically.

He shrugged. "Even when you don't care, and you know you don't care, and you know you shouldn't care…"

She looked at him knowingly. "You still care a little, non?" She patted his hand. "Zat's a good thing, 'Arry."

The door swung open. Despite himself, Harry took relish in seeing Petunia's lips thin, her eyes widening on seeing Fleur, the worry lines in her forehead scrunching together along with her eyebrows.

"You shouldn't be here." Petunia said quietly. "You left, we didn't kick you out."

"Pet, who is it?" Vernon shouted, over the sound of the blaring TV.

"I've only come back for a minute." Harry stuck his foot in the doorway before it could slam shut.

"Pet, is it the council about the bins again, I told them already—" Vernon swallowed hard as he came around the corner. His skin colored red, and then puce on seeing Fleur. His fat jowly neck wobbled, his mouth opening and closing.

"Hi, Uncle." Harry waved — Vernon didn't seem able to tear his eyes away from Fleur.

Vernon's beady eyes narrowed. "Boy! W-what are you doing? You're not welcome here! You left without so much as a thank you, or even a note. Do you know how much you made your aunt worry—"

"Not at all, I'm certain." Harry said dryly, pushing past Petunia. "I'm not staying, don't worry. I just need something from my room, I'll be ten minutes."

"Thirty." Fleur interrupted, a soft blush on her cheeks. "I'm Fleur, enchanté."

Petunia scowled, shutting the door hurriedly. "You can't bring your freak whores here." She hissed.

Fleur's mouth dropped in surprise.

Vernon blustered. "Well, see, she's, I mean, very wank—welcome, welcome!" He caught the eye of his wife and flinched. "But not if she's a freak! We don't want your sort here."

"Dad, you're missing the best part! Kevin's about to fry those burglars." Dudley called from the next room.

"Like I said," Harry scowled. He didn't like anyone, not even Fleur, seeing his unpleasant home life. "We'll be a few minutes."

Fleur had to press against the wall of the entry corridor to shimmy past Vernon's bulging belly, his leering eyes hungry.

Harry was one step up the stairs when he heard Dudley's loud exclamation. "Him!" Dudley jutted into the corridor — the boy was oddly shaped. Big, his shoulders broad and biceps large from boxing, but he hadn't lost his belly yet.

Harry's cousin caught sight of Fleur. "Hi-hey," He corrected. "How you doing?" Dudley tried, in a strange American accent.

"Je vais bien." Fleur tried, her smile sickly sweet.

"Yeah, you are — what?" Dudley said as he parsed Fleur's reply. Behind them, Petunia's lips were bone white.

"I-I'll call the police!" She threatened.

"N-now, now, Petunia. I can handle this." Vernon crossed his arms, trying to show his toughness.

Harry thumbed his nose. "I'm going to grab something from my room, then I'll be out of your life."

Dudley turned from his parents to Fleur to Harry, trying to make sense of it all. "You're dating little Harrikins?" He scoffed.

"Oui." Fleur said.

"Just friends." Harry repeated, out of muscle memory. He winced at Fleur's icy look. "Good friends," he amended.

"Good enough to know 'Arry is très grosse." Fleur smirked, but her French was lost on Dudley.

"You can wait in here while Harrikins is searching for his teddy bear, or whatever it is." Dudley gestured through to the living room. "We've got a big TV, look." He added.

"I want him gone, now. And his whore!" Petunia screeched, her fingernails cutting into her palms.

"Tunie, Pet, calm down, I'll deal with this." Sweat was pouring down Vernon's face. "Listen," He adjusted a tie that he wasn't even wearing. "Lady, uh, I mean, mademoiselle," The red-faced man smoothed his moustache. "Why don't you and I wait in the garden. I've got a new car now we're not having to shelter and feed the boy, it's not a lease like next door—"

"Pardon!" Fleur said loudly, her eyes shooting daggers. "Pardon, Madame, Monsieur. 'Arry has to give me his Christmas present."

"We're using your room as storage." Petunia interrupted triumphantly.

Harry rubbed his forehead. "I just need ten minutes—"

"Thirty." Fleur interrupted again, running her long tongue over her pinkish-red glossy lipstick. She ducked under Dudley's arm to grab a cushion from the armchair. "I'll just need to borrow this. Bon!" She said cheerily and darted up the stairs, past Harry, her high heels making indents in the carpet. That, more than anything, would have angered Petunia, but she was gaping in shock as all three Dursleys finally understood her intent.

Harry and the Dursleys watched her go up to the second floor in a kind of stunned stupor, all eyes locked to Fleur's supple sweetcheeks bouncing up the stairs, in her tight leather leggings.

"I won't last long—" He scratched his neck. "I mean, we won't take long." He followed Fleur up the stairs sheepishly.

In his old bedroom, he closed the door with a sigh of relief, ensuring it was locked.

Fleur pulled her t-shirt off to reveal her beautiful well-rounded tits, creamy and full. She knelt on her stolen cushion eagerly, by his bed.

Harry, meanwhile, was taking in his old home. How had he ever lived here? The smallest bedroom, big enough only for a single bed, a nightstand, a desk and a dresser.

His gaze flitted to the wastepaper basket by his desk — after he masturbated to thoughts of Cho or Hermione or Fleur, he'd lie on the bed tiredly and throw his tissues into the bin. That felt like a long time ago, now.

Now, his girls cleaned him up with whimpers and moans.

Harry sat on his bed heavily, smoothing down the sheets. His bedroom was still full of Dudley's old broken toys and unread books. Scratched paint on the chipped wall where the Weasleys' had pulled away his prison bars.

His desk held an owl cage that Harry had never returned to collect.

Hedwig and I are both free. He thought, smirking.

Fleur's fingers undid the zip of his jeans, unlatched his button.

"Zis is where you lived? Your home?" Fleur tugged down his boxers, her hungry eyes taking in his growing cock.

"Where I grew up." Harry corrected. "It wasn't much of a home."

She inhaled deeply, her hands wrapped around his shaft. "Super. I can smell all your le foutre in this room."

Harry didn't know how Fleur could smell all the times he'd wanked, but maybe Veela were like cum-detectives. He groaned in satisfaction as Fleur began jerking him off slowly, breathing in his musk. Downstairs, the Dursleys argued loudly.

Fleur looked around, frowning. "No photos or magazines?"

He stroked her hair, admiring how small her hands looked around his cock as she stroked his skin up and down, all the way. Her fingers trailed his precum from his head over his cock gently, her palms cold around his hot member.

"Just memories and imagination." He said with a little nostalgia. There'd been countless nights, polishing his wand, thinking of little fantasies. Hermione lifting her skirt in the library. Cho in the locker room showers. Fleur thanking him for rescuing her sister. "You, in your swimsuit." He added.

"Oh?" The Veela's perfect pink lips formed a little 'O', but Harry knew she wasn't surprised. "My swimsuit?"

"You know perfectly well, you cocktease." Harry growled.

Fleur smiled coquettishly. "It was a leetle tight, non?" She jerked him faster, the slap-slap-slap sound loud enough to hear outside the bedroom. One hand teased his full, heavy balls.

"I 'ad to oil myself to wear it." Fleur admitted. "And ze back kept disappearing between my derriere!" She giggled. She stuck her tongue out and ran it around the rim of his head. She fluttered her eyelashes and looked him in the eye. "'Arry, could you see my pussy?" She pouted.

"You know that everyone could, you slut." His fingers tightened in the sheets. "Everyone saw your cameltoe."

"Non!" Fleur cried in mock surprise. She tossed her hair behind her and suddenly swallowed his cock, choking noisily as she forced it down her throat, gurgling and slobbering until her lips pressed against his skin.

Fleur seemed determined to be as noisy as possible, to fulfill every fantasy he'd had. Glurk-glurk-glurk, she bobbed, eyes tearing up and running as she sucked and swirled her tongue. Harry knew they could be heard all the way downstairs, his groans as loud as her moans and nasty whorish slobbering chokes.

Fleur pulled out all the tricks, pumping his shaft as she blew him, tongue lapping and flicking all over his cockhead. Her cheeks hollowed out, her throat bulging, until she'd switch tacks and thwack his cock and precum all over her face.

Thirty minutes later, his silver alarm clock rang noisily. The clock he'd salvaged from this very room and repaired, one of Dudley's many victims.

Fleur moaned in disappointment at the noise, reaching out to silence it without even taking his cock out of her mouth. "Sho-shoon—" She said around his dick.

She withdrew with a loud pop, her eyes big and mournful. "'Arry, you want to cum on my face, oui?"

After half an hour of this obscene edging blowjob, Harry was happy to come wherever.

"Ze best place, non?" Fleur said happily, pumping him with both hands, a long string of saliva and precum stretching from her lips to his cock. "Marie says eet degrades, but non! Eet's a gift!" She bit her lip as she thought. "Cum inside and you could be imagining someone else!" The thought seemed to offend her.

"But cum on my face? Zat's for me!" Fleur batted her long eyelashes again, jiggling her tits for his pleasure.

"I'm going to cum." Harry grunted.

"S'il te plaît." Fleur begged. "Shall I countdown?"

"Huh?"

"Ten." She smirked as she rapidly jerked his cock. "Because I'm a ten, non?"

"Modest, too." Harry hissed as her hands tightened.

"Nine. Non in Germán is nein, a word I will never say to you." The beautiful Veela winked, twisting her hands, her tongue lowered but not touching his reddened head.

"Fuck, Fleur."

"Eight, because I 'ate ze thought of missing a single drop of your cum." As if to prove the point, she dove down to attach herself to the trail of precum that trickled down his veiny dick.

"Mmm. Seven, ze most magically powerful number, non?" Fleur cocked her head. "And I theenk seven is ze most cum loads I can drain from you in a day."

"Seven?!" Harry gasped as her manicured glossy fingernails tickled his skin.

"Oui. You would sleep so well." She insisted. "You theenk you can't cum so much, but zat is because you 'aven't been wiz me."

Harry probably could do it, he thought — he'd damn near done it on Christmas Day, rotating between his girls. After several Firewhiskeys, his head had hurt almost as much as his balls.

"Six." Fleur's slick palms stroked expertly. "Six is ze number of girls you can fit on a big bed." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Would you like zat, 'Arry? One to lick your behind, two on tes couilles, one to ride you, and two on either side to kiss and cuddle." She giggled. "Seven in ze bed, like a ritual's beginning, non?"

"Fleur, I'm gonna—" But her hands tightened at his base, cutting off his coming load. Harry's hips jerked uselessly.

"Five." She continued, like she'd done nothing. "For ze five uses I 'ave. My derriere, my pussy, my mouth." She gave him a two handed wave, taking her hands off his dick, making him let out a sound that definitely wasn't a whimper. "My 'ands."

Her silvery blonde hair had escaped her scrunchie, strands splayed over deep blue eyes. She gave a mock gasp, nibbling on the hair that found its way between her lips. "Eet's almost a shame, non? Five uses and only one cock…but you wouldn't do that to me, would you, 'Arry? Share me with your friends? What do you English say? Gang bang?" She tested out the words, the phrase very foreign from her French tongue.

Her jerking was now so frantic, his precum so excessive, that her hands were frothy and sticky as they stroked his cock. An intense wave of pleasure was building in his core, his hips arching from the bed, and he was enraptured by the sight of her; open-mouthed, splattered with the drips of his precum, panting, tongue white-tipped, her nipples hard as she knelt between his legs.

"Four. Four times a day is how much I wake up during ze night wiz sticky thighs and wet sheets, thinking of you." She looked at him with wide, mad eyes, and Harry got a sense of what he'd done to her, with his, Apolline and Marie's deliberate plan to drive her insane.

"Three." She shuddered as his cock throbbed, balls tightening, ready to unload. "Three 'oles. Ass, mouth, pussy. Three 'oles you could take forever, 'Arry." Fleur begged, her eyes smoky, her cheeks tinged with cosmetic blush, or was it Veela magic? "And oui, you can switch between them." She pouted as his cock flinched in her hands. "You like zat thought? To take my derriere and then make me suck you?"

Fleur giggled, swatting his cock. "Naughty 'Arry."

"Two." Her nose wrinkled cutely as she thought. "Two pillows — zat's how many pillows you should put under my stomach, when you want my behind. Face down, ass up." She kneaded his heavy load as he neared release, his breath caught in his throat, unable to even moan. "Ze Veela's natural position."

"One." Fleur let go of his cock completely as he came. Harry groaned in dismay as he came, robbed of the sensation, robbed of the tight warmth of her hands. His cock twitched and spasmed as he unloaded a mighty load all over her, over her face, over her tits, splattering black leather leggings in long white streaks.

He made to take himself in hand, but she grabbed his wrists, holding them apart while she was hosed down like she was standing in a water fountain. Fleur moaned and turned under her manually cranked shower Harry-head, all while Harry groaned and growled, his long-edged orgasm ruined.

Finally, cum-coated, Fleur creaked open one thick glob-covered eyelash. "One, for un petit probleme. For some reason, you won't fuck me." She glared through her cum glaze. "Why?"

Harry couldn't answer, breathless from disappointment and anger and unable to even explain himself.

Fleur licked her fingers theatrically. "Mmmm-mmh. I 'ave had zis before. A star seeker in Beauxbatons." She rolled her eyes. "Zis boy's friend came up to me, said I should meet him. I theenk to myself, I am Fleur Delacour, non? If zis leetle boy wants me, 'e should come to me."

Harry just glared at her — he wanted to rage about his ruined orgasm, but it was difficult to be angry when his balls were empty and he was watching the hottest cocktease of his dreams lasciviously clean his cum.

I'm going to make Apolline pay for her diva daughter. He thought unfairly.

"But non." Fleur fingered a heavy load from her cheek and into her mouth. "Nnhg-uhh." She closed her eyes, shivering. Had she just come? "Z-zis boy wanted me to meet on 'is terms, not mine."

She scowled at him suddenly. "Everything in life eez about sex, except sex. Sex eez about power." She looked at him knowingly. "So do not theenk because I am blonde and beautiful and not so good at English, zat I am stupid. I know what you want."

She stabbed a finger at him, and then noticed it was dripping with cum, and stuffed it in her mouth. "You wanmpf me to bemmpgh." She said, almost incomprehensibly. She took her finger back out. "You want me to beg." She repeated. Her eyebrow arched up, thinly plucked and elegant brows, less classy now they were dripping with his seed.

"Fleur, for fuck's sake, you did all that just to make a point—"

"You want me to lick your toes?" She licked her lips. "To lick your cum from ze carpet? To beg to lick your trou du cul?"

"Fleur, it's not like that—"

She swallowed his cock all the way to the base and then kept pushing forward, like she was trying to gulp him down, forcing him to yank her by the hair from his sensitive glans. She giggled breathlessly, giddily. "You want me to beg to be chained to your bed, non? You want Fleur Delacour to get on her 'ands and knees and say 'mets ta bite dans mon cul.'"

Her body was so curvaceous that she could lean forward on her knees and twerk her ample asscheeks behind her, to emphasise her point.

"Je suis desolee, 'Arry." Fleur said mournfully, cleaning his cock with her long tongue. "I 'ate to tease, but you tease me, I tease you, zis is fair, non?"

She twisted between his groin and ended up on her back, arched like she was playing a game of limbo, all in order to rub his balls over her lips. "I will beg like ze filthiest 'ore. You can stuff all my 'oles. What more do you want?" She batted her eyelashes up at him from between his legs, her hands kneading her tits. "What more do you want, 'Arry?"

He had to think about it, his resolve tested. He wanted to throw her onto his childhood bed and fuck her so hard that Aunt Petunia had to throw all the sheets away.

But in this room was where he'd had only Hedwig, fantasies and letters. Letters from good friends like Ron, who'd been one of the many boys Fleur had humiliated last year.

Harry remembered all the cock teasing. Fleur's gasp of faux-dismay when her skirt caught on a thorn in Herbology, her little blue panties displayed for all to see.

The broom rides in the weekends, flashing glimpses of her pussy mound in her white knickers as she flew over the students enjoying the lakeside.

The theatrical productions; fixing her shoelaces, adjusting her stockings, dropping her bag. The endless complaining about the cold castle while she was wearing a thin satin blouse, her nipples poking through.

How she'd called him a 'leetle boy'. Her disbelief that he could even be associated with the champions.

And then, when he'd proved her wrong, even when he'd rescued her sister, she'd hugged him tightly by the lakeside. He could still remember the mix of shame and thrill when he was pressed against her wet body, in that ridiculous undersized swimsuit, his cock hardening into/against/through her cameltoe, just millimeters of gleaming spandex away from fucking her.

She'd felt it, noticed it, because how could she not? The finishing blow was when she'd withdrawn and given him such a look of…amusement, derision, mockery, all at once. That look was imprinted into his mind, even if it hadn't stopped him from wanking at the memory.

Harry didn't want her to beg, he realized. He wanted her to break.

In his mind, he thought all the things he wouldn't say. 'I want you drooling like Alice fucking Longbottom. I want you mindless and panting like a bitch in heat. I want you to imprint my dick on you so deep that it feels like the fucking Dark Mark.'

He wasn't proud of it. It was a base misogynistic desire.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to follow through.

Fleur's long tongue slithered over his balls, making out with his drained nutsack, the girl effortlessly comfortable bent over and upside down.

"Let's get out of here." He ordered. "I'll take you home, since I'm guessing you're not hungry anymore."

Fleur made a little moue of disappointment, but she didn't argue.

"I…I haven't finished cleaning up." She blushed — Harry was always surprised at what embarrassed her, given that she was happy to be fingered in the opera and suck his cock in the toilets, not to mention her loud dirty talk and cock-slobbering gurgling while his family was downstairs. But her addiction to his cum was, somehow, still humiliating to her.

She hadn't even really started cleaning up — her silvery blonde hair drenched with thick jizz strings, her face plastered from eyelash to chin, her tits spackled white like the time Uncle Vernon had tried doing his own plastering. Her long black leather leggings were coated in slimy cum running down her thighs.

"Don't bother." Harry decided. "You can do it when you get home."

He opened the bedroom door for her.

"A-aren't we going to Apparate?"

"Can't Apparate in the house." He shrugged. "Blood wards." He wasn't sure the wards were still up, since he'd barely spent any time here that summer, but he wasn't going to miss the chance to show off Fleur.

Fleur bit her lip, took a deep breath and then broadened her shoulders, taking his proffered hand.

Harry led his teenage topless bukkake'd not-girlfriend down the stairs. He wasn't ever going to be able to bring a girl home to meet the parents, but this was a damned good substitute.

Fleur threw her hair back, her heels clipping on the stairs, her eyes seductive — she was treating this like a model's catwalk.

His family was waiting downstairs, red-faced from a long hour arguing, their yells petering off as Harry and Fleur appeared. Aunt Petunia held a landline phone threateningly, like she was going to call the police. Dudley was trying to hide a Polaroid camera behind his back.

As they descended, Uncle Vernon choked. Aunt Petunia paled, her hand shaking as she tried to steady herself on the wall.

Dudley swallowed loudly, his hips jerking three times — he'd just came, Harry realized, with a touch of disgust.

"Merry Christmas, everyone." He said softly. This would be the last time he saw them, he imagined. "I…I wish you would have treated me like family. I know it wasn't easy, having a child you didn't expect, one that could never fit in. But," His hand tightened around Fleur's. "I was just a kid." He shook his head, exhaling a hard breath, a breath that expelled a release he'd needed. "I was just a fucking kid."

Harry and Fleur walked between them to the door.

"You have a lovely 'ome." Fleur attempted brightly as she passed Aunt Petunia.

He thought that would be it. But when he opened the door, Aunt Petunia's hand grabbed his own, her nails digging into his skin.

"W-we put a roof over your head and we fed you." She glared. Her eyes wavered from his hard gaze. "Maybe we weren't perfect, but you weren't easy, changing your teacher's hair color, talking to snakes! You don't know what we had to do to hide your freakishness!"

"You only ever had to choose, just once, to be kind." Harry said quietly. "And you never were." He unpeeled her sharp talons.

"W-we'll still be safe here, won't we?" She asked.

"I…probably. I really don't know." He had Tom's mind in his — and Tom had never known of his Muggle home.

"My sister will be grateful, even if you aren't! She'll know what we did, what we sacrificed!" Her shrill voice carried after him, into the driveway.

Harry didn't turn back, but the anger swelled over him. "You let me believe my mother died in a car crash and let me sleep in your cupboard, cooking and cleaning and working every free minute. I don't know much about my mother, but she knew about love and sacrifice. I can't imagine a world where she forgives you."

Uncle Vernon pushed past his wife angrily. "Now, see here boy, I won't have you spreading rumors that we abused you just because we taught you the value of discipline—"

"The last Christmas I had with you, Uncle." Harry turned, his voice silky and low, like Voldemort's. "I was locked in my room. I listened to you three dine on a turkey bigger than Dudley. I brushed my teeth five times because I was so hungry and then, when you'd all gone to bed, I stole a stale hot cross bun from the bread bin, because you'd locked the fridge with a padlock."

Vernon's jowls wobbled as Aunt Petunia's giraffe-neck swiveled both ways, fearfully looking for any listening neighbors.

"The only thing you ever taught me was loneliness." Harry's hand trailed down Fleur's bare back to her bottom. "And the things I've done out of that loneliness…" He took a short, sharp breath, his gut hurting. "I don't know if my mother will forgive me either."

He walked away, leaving them behind forever.

Fleur, taken aback, looked at him and then back at the Dursleys.

"For goodness' sake, girl, cover yourself up before someone sees!" Petunia hissed.

"Y-you can hide in here, if you want." Dudley said from behind his parents.

"No, she bloody well cannot—" Petunia growled.

"C'est bon." Fleur winked at them. "I shall take care of 'Arry where you failed, d'accord?" She sashayed away, swaying her hips behind her.

She called over her shoulder. "I too will give him buns for Christmas."

THWAP! Fleur spanked her ass, making her supple buttocks wobble under the leather as she walked away.

She smiled thinly as she heard Vernon groan at the sight and the subsequent yelp as his wife elbowed him. They began arguing loudly.

"They'll never be happy." She told Harry as she joined him. "Zat is ze ultimate revenge, non?"

Harry was silent. It wasn't a revenge Tom would ever settle for — he preferred pulling intestines out and measuring their length against his victim's relatives.

"Because it's Christmas?" He decided. "It'll do." He took a handful of her plump asscheek and squeezed. "It'll do."

###

Harry waited at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour. He edged his seat closer to the patio heater which made the outside seating bearable in the winter cold, glad that Cissy had dressed him in the warm thick robes she'd bought for him, complete with a fur trim hood.

He fidgeted with the note he'd received after he'd scribbled a note identifying his riddler as Padma. Even with her mystery busted, the note still held another riddle, but this one was much easier.

What am I?

I 'm frozen but I don't need a blanket

I can be licked but I 'm not an envelope

Meet me tonight in the place where the flavors you can pick

Cone or spoon, come give me a lick.

He hadn't exactly needed Hermione to solve it, though that hadn't stopped her from giving him the answer. Her fetish seemed to be helping him solve problems — he was pretty sure she'd had a mini-orgasm just by buttoning up his jeans the other day.

Harry then had to wrench free of Apolline, who had been enraged and apologetic at her daughter's act of disobedience, and eager to make up for it.

He'd made it to the ice cream parlour in time, but Padma was late. The chocolate ice-cream in his bowl didn't make the wait any easier — Diagon Alley was no longer the relaxed jaunt that it was once was, after the election day attacks.

Finally, Padma appeared, looking nervous. She was stunning — dusky-skinned and slender, her hazel brown eyes made smoky by deep kohl eyeliner.

The Patel twins were regarded by Dean as the best-looking girls in their year for good reason, and Harry knew they were often thought the most fashionable.

Padma was dressed in the Indian-style robes that only she and her sister wore, delicate pastel pink that lengthened to a swishing dress skirt, embroidered with very elaborate patterns of swirls and florals in real silver metal. Her wrists looked small in gold bangles.

"Ordered some tea for you. I was going to get you ice cream, but I no longer think you're a vanilla girl." Harry quipped.

Padma's lips twitched as she sat down gingerly. "I don't like ice-cream that much, honestly."

He snorted. "So we're meeting here why? Nice and public, for your safety?"

"It's not that I don't trust you—"

"It's smart, don't worry." Harry waved her off. "But I'm not threatened so I'm not threatening."

The Indian beauty blushed. "I wasn't trying to threaten you either, Harry. I just wanted your attention."

"Well, you've got it." He frowned. "Couldn't you or Parvati have just sat down at breakfast with me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "My sister and I have learned the hard way that your proximity doesn't equal your attention. Sis still moans about the Yule Ball, you know."

He winced. That had been a poor move. "I'm sorry. I did apologize to her."

"A date with Harry Potter is a big deal to a girl, Harry." She chided. "She spent six hours getting ready and then got ignored for longing stares at Cho Chang."

Harry took the blow with good nature. "Top ten stupidest things done by a guy, with Ron ignoring you just above it."

Padma wrinkled her nose, amused. "It's quite alright. Boys are silly, even the handsome ones."

"Is that why I'm here?" Harry poked at his ice-cream. "A re-run of a bad date?"

"If only." She smiled, shaking her head. "It's business, I'm afraid."

Harry considered her. The Patels didn't exactly have British aristocratic heritage, but they were pureblood, wealthy and known, even if that didn't make them respected. The Patels, like the Changs, were condemned to be outsiders, regardless of their wealth or power.

"I didn't realize you were doing House business, given your mother and father are still well, I understand." Harry said cautiously.

Ice-cream mischief was one thing, but House business? He wished he had Cissy on his knee. Or Daphne, even — he'd have to warn her off getting the twins for him, if House business was involved. Merlin knew what the ambitious and malicious girl would do to Padma otherwise.

"Father isn't as young as he once was, so I step in where I can." She said delicately, taking a sip of her tea. She was all grace, even if British nobility hadn't accepted her.

He hesitated. "What's your industry again, remind me? Retail, right?"

"Father uses the same rhyme to everyone that asks. Butchers, bakers, clockmakers." Padma smiled fondly. "Groceries, really, and supplements too. The witches that think their little baby boy won't grow tall without Essence of Dittany all the way from Bangalore."

"Smart business. Good money, I'm sure."

"We do alright." She deflected. "We do a lot of business with the Changs, because the Brits don't trust either of us. They give us their potent magical black snow from a valley in Sichuan, we give them plants that only grow in West Bengal, and we don't ask each other what we're going to do with it."

"Black market imports? I best call the Aurors." He joked.

"I haven't even started on the off the books money yet." Padma promised.

"I'll pretend to be suitably shocked."

"If I thought you would be, I wouldn't even mention it. But that sight of Narcissa Malfoy and you, way back then, made my family realize that you might be willing to get your hands a little dirty."

"Very dirty." Harry agreed. "I'm an orphan so nobody ever told me to wash myself."

"A explanation you have to make to many girls, I'm sure." Padma said dryly.

"Padma!"

She smiled without embarrassment. "I can be a little dirty, too. Onto business?"

"Let's."

"Let's say you're a respectable man who wants to treat a girl with very little respect for a few hours or a night."

"It's a stretch, but I can imagine it."

"I thought you might." Padma's lips twitched around the rim of her teacup.

"I'll use my Mistress—"

"You don't have one, or you want something new."

"I'll chat up a Muggleborn witch, or I'll hit up one of the brothels."

Padma snapped her fingers. "But you're a very respectable man and you're rich. You don't want to go to the brothel and end up with Rita Skeeter getting a picture of you, red-faced and sweating all over some tart, before she gives a tell-all interview, with the quotes dangled into the public's eager beak, day after day, for two weeks."

"I see you're familiar with Ms. Skeeter." Harry grinned. Padma was fun.

"And you don't want to be blackmailed by Lucius Malfoy, may he rest in peace—"

"In pieces." Harry added solemnly.

Padma continued like she hadn't heard it. "So what do you do?"

Harry twisted his lips. "I'm guessing you're going to tell me."

The gorgeous Indian girl leaned forward — her kohl-darkened eyelashes were longer than any he'd seen. "You come to us." She whispered, despite the charms they'd both cast around the table.

"I'm listening."

Padma stared at him firmly, gathering her courage. "My family and the Changs. We source girls from China and India, giving these stuffy Brits what they want; the ability to let loose on their 'little bit of exotic'." She said with mild disdain.

Harry almost choked on his ice-cream. "I can do some dirty business, Padma, but I'm not really interested in teaming up on your sex trafficking work."

"Except there's no trafficking." Padma's big brown eyes gleamed. "We don't bring the girls here. We take the guys over there."

"Impossible with any volume." Harry declared. "International Apparition is tiring even for me, so you'd need a chain of Floo's, or carpets, or Portkeys. Portkeys would be easiest, but you'd need Ministry…" He trailed off.

"Ministry stamps and Ministry Portkeys." Padma said smugly.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "And Cho's mother is high up in the Department of International Magical Co-Operation." He remembered. "Sino-British relationship management."

"She has to greenlight Portkeys all day long, so who's going to notice?"

Harry whistled. It was a money-maker that would be difficult for anyone to uncover, since they had Ministry insiders. "Where do you send them?"

"Macau, mostly." Padma shrugged. "The Las Vegas of Asia, so they say."

"All that work for a quickie?"

She shook her head. "This isn't about sex, Harry. This is a VIP escort for a long weekend of freedom. Two girls on your arm while you walk in the front door of the casino, no papers or cameras. And when you're done, you go to shop at the…less regulated markets of China or India, for curse-layers, illegal potions, mercenaries. Even exotic pets."

Harry thought, sucking on his spoon. "Foreign country with foreign girls and only one way home? Seems dangerous."

"For a weekend of anything goes and the knowledge that it won't follow you home?" Padma exhaled. "It's lucrative."

"What are you guys bringing to the table? Sounds like House Chang could run it solo."

Padma tapped her temple.

"Oh, wait, don't tell me." Harry winced. "India, the origins of the arts of mental magic."

She nodded at him appreciatively. "Knew you were smart. It's in our blood, after all — Indians invented meditation thousands of years ago. We have more Legilimencers than any other country."

The cogs turned into place. "And some of them are even pretty girls that are good in bed?" He figured.

Padma smiled. "So when our customers, far from home, plied with drink, collapse onto the girl they've finished with…"

"Your girls really get to work. Legilimency at their weakest and drunkest. That's beautiful." He offered.

"Thank you." Padma crossed her arms, her chin high.

"I'm guessing this isn't an invite to try it out."

"I imagine you're not in need of our services, with Lady Malfoy's charms." Padma said, shaking her head. "Couldn't believe what I was seeing at first."

"Neither did I, in the beginning." Harry admitted. "She's changed, though."

"I'll take your word for it. Where you come in is…we have a problem. Lord Chang—"

"Wants to do it all on his own—"

"Wants to give up the business entirely." She corrected. "He's trying to go legitimate — he finally thinks he can be accepted into British nobility after all these years. Maybe by marrying his daughter off to you — I bet she's been after you this year?"

"Ouch. You mean she's not just after my pretty green eyes?"

"Difficult to believe, I agree. This business," Padma pursed her lips. "It's more money, more necessary, than I want to admit. We can't let him destroy it and we can't run it ourself."

"I'm…not really keen on getting involved between your two Houses." Harry said slowly. "Especially with the rumors about House Chang and House Patel."

There were many that thought the two Houses were propped up by their country's government or backers at home, countries eager to make inroads into the notoriously insular British society.

Angering Chang or Patel — it could be akin to pissing off China and India.

"You don't believe all those silly rumors, do you?"

"I don't believe anything but even without the rumors, I can't help you, sorry. I couldn't change Lord Chang's mind, even if I wanted to. I don't have the power."

Padma snapped her head up, her gaze locked on his. "But you do, don't you?" For a moment, he was lost in her hypnotic hazel eyes, and then he was in his mindscape, feeling her featherlight touch creep across his brain, searching back through his day.

Harry growled and pushed Padma from his mind just in time — before she got an image of Apolline, her huge creamy tits straining at the top of a leather corset he'd made her wear.

"Not a good idea!" He snarled, his wand above the table, glowing red.

The Ravenclaw girl held her hands up in conciliation. "I only wanted to see. Those are some mighty Occlumency defenses — I'm sure your Legilimency is just as good."

Harry breathed heavily, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion. "Don't do that again, or we're going to have trouble." He snapped.

"Sorry." Padma said genuinely. "You kicked me out before I got anywhere, as I knew you would."

"Your people have the mental arts, why are you testing mine?" He said, irritated.

She leaned toward him. "We have powerful Legilimencers, yes, but this is beyond that. We don't want to just see what Lord Chang is up to. We don't want to move against him at all or we'd be moving against his Chinese backers, whoever supports him. We don't need that type of bad blood. He needs to abandon his plans all by himself, if you know what I mean."

Harry looked at her in dawning realization. "You don't want to know what he's thinking, you want to make him think it. To make him want to stay in the business of his own accord."

Her deep brown eyes gleamed. "To plant a seed that grows to become an action."

"Planting an idea is…" Harry lost himself in thought. This was beyond Legilimency. The concept was theorised, fantasized, but he only knew of it being done once.

And the man that did it was merged into his mind.

"Dangerous work." Padma accepted. "Which is why we're coming to you. The most powerful wizard we know."

"The most powerful wizard in reach, more like." He muttered. "What's in it for me? Let's not pretend that whatever you saw with Cissy is leverage enough for this."

"Cissy, now, is she?" Padma arched an eyebrow. "She must be working hard." She teased. "I still see the little boy staring up at the Great Hall stars, you know."

"Maybe I can change that." Harry said challengingly.

"That's the offer." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing the long gold necklace that descended into the valley of her cleavage. "Me and Parvati."

To her credit, she didn't look away, her eyelashes fluttering seductively.

Harry grimaced. "With respect, as lovely as you two are, I'm not looking to marry either of you. Or both of you."

He didn't elaborate — marrying the Patels wasn't good politics. Cho Chang was arguable, since even the most racist of British nobles recognized the benefits of Chinese power and money. But the Patels?

It wouldn't help him, as attractive as the twins were, and as smart as their family business seemed to be.

Padma's tongue darted out over her deep burgundy lipstick. "Here's the Beater's bat, Harry. Both of us…as girlfriends. House girlfriends, yours without the need of a ring. A connection to India, our wealth, our knowledge, our unique…industry. All without having to wed us."

Harry whistled. "That's a lot to give up, isn't it?"

Two Pureblood daughters forever unwed. They'd have a certain acknowledgment as his girlfriends, but it was hardly the same respect or power as a wife. An unkind tongue would have said they were the same rank as concubines.

Padma tilted her head. "If Chang's plans go ahead, we stand to lose it all anyway. We see where the wind is blowing — we're happy to tie ourselves to your flag." She looked down demurely. "And personally, I'd be…eager."

Harry looked at her doubtfully. "This business of yours is really worth so much? You can't do it without Chang?"

"Even if we could find alternative transportation than Chang's Portkeys, the customers like Macau." Padma sighed. "And if we lose this income, we lose our wealth and our ability to…"

"Get info on British power players, some of whom are Ministry connected, no doubt." Harry finished dryly. Info that they gave back to the Indian government for blackmail and leverage, no doubt.

Padma pressed her lips together, unhappy. "We'd probably move back to India and Father would marry sis and I to some old fat guy with the right connections. We really, really don't want that. We grew up here, remember?"

"We?" Harry crossed his arms. "You're sure Parvati wants this, too?" Parvati could be a giggling gossipy mess at times, but they'd always been friendly.

"I speak for my sister." Padma confirmed. "She doesn't speak for the family like I do, though — loose lips sink ships." She gave a long suffering sigh. "And Parvati does like to talk."

Harry hummed in thought.

Padma eyed him nervously. "I…we'd be good girls for you, Harry. Even without a ring on our fingers, we'd be so proud and honored to belong to House Potter." She toyed with her necklace. "Parvati and I would be very grateful, together."

The Ravenclaw girl reached out to finish his melted ice-cream, lapping at the creamy spoon as she locked eyes with him.

"I…I'll need to think about it." Harry said, distracted.

She licked her lips, smiling. "Do."

###

Harry settled down on the wooden chair in Hogwarts' kitchen, watching as Daphne gathered things on the table for him. The kitchen was free of house-elves, thankfully, allowing them to talk through Padma's proposal.

The blonde Slytherin gathered an assortment of biscuits, cakes, fruits and jams, everything he might desire for their late night rendezvous. Then, without an order, she lifted her skirt and settled down his lap, wiggling her bare plugged bottom into his crotch.

She rested back against him and placed his hands firmly under her blouse — Daphne had been none too pleased that he hadn't seen her for Christmas, especially since the other girls had seen plenty of him.

"Tell me again." She ordered authoritatively.

"She wants me to plant a thought deep, deep, inside Lord Chang's mind. So deep he thinks — not thinks — he knows it came from him. A thought that grows into an inescapable idea that he can't ignore."

Daphne turned in his lap, frowning. Her lip gloss gave her lips a rosy shine — she was expecting he'd fuck her face, Harry thought. "That could go wrong in a thousand different ways."

"You know something about it?" Harry said, unsurprised. The Greengrasses were the type.

"Just that it's near impossible." Daphne said firmly. "Father's experimented with it. I told you, didn't I? We do…re-education, sometimes. Tracey is undergoing a type of this. But Father realized it's too dangerous. You go that deep, you lose the sense of yourself, of who you are. You can't tell which part of the mind is you, or even remember who you are. It's not like a memory modification."

"It's been done."

"Has it?" Daphne jolted, causing his dick to shift between her warm cheeks.

"Once. The Dark Lord did it just once." Harry said quietly. Lord Voldemort had been desperate for tutorship by Gellert Grindelwald, to learn his secrets, to know the mysteries of the Dark Arts that Grindelwald had spent decades researching and experimenting with.

Grindelwald refused to teach him and even if he had, the man's cell in Nurmengard was one the Dark Lord could not break him out of.

Instead, Tom had descended into the man's mind. He couldn't Legilimens his secrets away, but weakened and atrophied by prison, the Dark Lord had planted a thought.

I wish I had a son to continue my legacy and experiments.

A thought planted so deep that it became real, promising enough that Tom continued to sit on a little wooden stool outside the man's cell, wearing a guard uniform, day after day.

Until one day, Grindelwald had looked at him and entered his mind. Grindelwald taught him the darkest of magic in the space of Voldemort's mindscape.

"It wasn't easy." Harry said slowly. "He never did it again. It scared him, I think."

"Scared him?" Daphne asked, her eyes wide.

"The brain…it begins to attack you when it realizes you don't belong." Harry tried to remember what Voldemort had done. "It doesn't matter how powerful you are when you get trapped in another man's mind."

"It's not worth the risk." She decided. "Especially because you'd need to…have a sealed and calm mind yourself." She said hesitantly.

He pinched her bottom. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Daphne went red. "Only that, I mean, even an idle observer can see that you act as two people, sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Like, you'll kiss me like a loving husband one second, and then you'll be—"

"Fucking you like a cheap whore?" Harry finished, grinning.

Daphne blushed, not meeting his eyes. "Yes, well. It's more the…desire for domination, it seems to come and go, with you."

He grimaced. She wasn't wrong. He must have looked ashen, because Daphne placed a hand on his cheek as she straddled his thighs. "You can talk to me, you know." She lifted her chin arrogantly. "I am to be your wife, not like the others."

Harry stroked her back as he thought. "My…I mean, Voldemort isn't part of me."

"What?"

"He is me. And I am him. We aren't two different people. I'm one person with two moral compasses that both point different ways, most of the time. Two compasses, two memories, two sets of values."

Daphne softened. "A violent potion in a cauldron."

"It's more like…the end of a broom part of a broomstick. So many twigs and some are Harry and some are Voldemort. I can identify the parts, until I start flying, and it all becomes a blur." Harry said bitterly. "And the more I bond with you girls, the more of your memories I take, too." He pointed to his temple. "It's a fucking mess in here."

Daphne thought for a long moment. She rocked on his lap, gripping his cheek firmly, her stormy blue eyes inches from his. "We could do it together, couldn't we? If you had us there, we could help you identify yourself, if you get lost."

"I will need help." Harry admitted. Even Voldemort had needed a team to accomplish it. "Potions, to weaken his mind, confuse him."

"You have your potion-maker." Daphne flipped her long hair back and thrust her chest out. "My family is well-versed in mind-fucking potions. We just brewed a batch for Tracey. What else?"

Harry held his future wife close as he descended into his memories. "I need a team, one person for all three layers. To get that deep, we need to bypass all of the parts of the personality. The id, the ego, the super ego."

Daphne frowned. "What is that? Muggle psychology?"

"Adapted from it." Harry tried to remember. "It's not so much the accepted psychology of the mind, but the best way to break Occlumency layers, to go as deep as possible. It's like you're robbing Gringotts — you don't brute-force it."

"Explain." Daphne said firmly.

"The id is the pleasure principle. You have to break through the layer that contains all sexual and aggression energy, the primal self." Harry hesitated. "I'll need to bring Apolline with me."

Daphne sniffed. "I suppose a Veela will get Chang thinking of pleasure, certainly."

"Then, the ego."

"Like, pride and arrogance?"

"No, like the part of the personality that expresses desires in an acceptable way, a realistic way."

"I don't get it." Daphne frowned.

"Like, I wanted to flip your skirt over and fuck your ass the moment I saw you on the train at the start of the year."

Daphne flinched. "Harry!"

"But instead I came up with a plan to get you to need my protection, my wards, convincing you to jerk me off. That's the ego."

"The asshole side of you, I get it." She growled.

"Haven't we come so far?" He kissed her forehead, amused at her grumbling. "I'll bring you, for that part."

"What?!"

"You're my realist, my pragmatist, my sexy manipulative witch."

"Thanks, I suppose." She griped, but he could tell she was pleased.

"Lastly, the superego. The moral conscience that makes us behave acceptably, responsibly. We'll need to convince that layer of Chang that it's moral to continue their sex trade business."

"Please don't say we need—"

"Hermione." Harry confirmed.

"Ugh."

"She can argue anyone around."

"She'll hold us back with her goody two-shoes bullshit." Daphne muttered.

"She'll do as I say." He swatted her ass firmly, making her squeal. "Just like you. We'll need her to devise the environments, too."

"Huh?"

Harry explained patiently. "We need to make Chang think he's living his real life while we're digging through his brain. Hermione will need to make our mindscapes look just like real life."

Daphne looked doubtful. "Is that possible? To put that much detail into a mindscape? Mine is…unrealistic."

"I know yours. It's very dirty. So many dungeons." Harry teased.

"Stop it," She smacked his chest.

"Yes, it's very possible."

He stood them up from the chair and bent Daphne over the kitchen counter, putting her face and chest first into a marble surface of white flour.

"Harry!"

"Sssh, you." He flipped her skirt up and, with two hands dipped in the flour, coated her ass in the powder. He spanked her, just to see his handprint in white, to make her squeal and shiver. "Hermione will need to make sure that even when Chang's face is right against it, like your face is in the flour, he can't tell it's not real."

"Is this all worth it?" She looked over her shoulder at him, biting her lip with unintentional sexiness.

"You tell me, wifey."

"You said you wanted twins and they are powerful and wealthy."

"You're only saying yes because they won't be wives, equals." He said knowingly, swatting her perky cheekss.

Daphne shuddered, squirming her thighs together. "That's a bonus. But they're a big house with a lot of resources. India's no joke, too. Ten years from now? They could be something."

"Not growing as fast as China, though. If we fuck this up and piss off Chang and China, it'll be like giving Voldemort an ally on a silver platter. Imagine if they funded him?" Harry's face twisted. "That's why I was thinking about marrying Cho."

"She's not right for you." Daphne said instantly. "You can't trust her or her House's backers."

Harry sighed. Maybe she was right. "I can't decide. I don't even know how possible she is anyway."

"Oh?" Daphne said.

"She seems eager, but I heard she had some sort of Cedric memorial in the library just before Christmas." Harry wrinkled his nose. "It's not a good look for me."

"Hmm." Daphne said quietly.

Harry frowned. It wasn't like her not to offer an opinion. "What do you think?"

"If we're all together, we can — ooh — we can do it." She said breathlessly, face pressed against the counter as he clapped her flour-covered ass.

"We'll try." Harry declared. "The twins are a prize too good to ignore."

"I still don't think Hermione can make mindscapes that will fool him into thinking it's real life, though." Daphne worried.

Harry smirked. "No? Did we Apparate here, by the way?"

"What?"

"It's Christmas break, still. How did we get into Hogwarts? Where are the house-elves?"

Daphne flinched, her mouth dropping. Slowly, she stood up. "I'm…I'm in my mind."

He tugged her out of the kitchen…and straight into the corridors by the Slytherin dungeons. "This isn't Hogwarts. She can design it as a puzzle, to help us navigate and escape any dangers his brain sends at us."

Daphne was slack-jawed, her fingers reaching out to feel the texture of the cold stone wall. She scowled at him. "You went to Hermione before you came to me?"

"Sorry." He said genuinely. "It'll take time, but I want to include you. Hermione's my go-to when I need a sounding board, though."

His blonde beauty sighed, touching her own skimpy uniform. "None of this is real."

"Nope."

"The pain's real."

"Yes."

She blushed. "The pleasure is real."

"It is."

"We're really doing this, then?"

Harry stiffened as he felt Hogwarts around him. The pipes were rumbling. In the walls, he heard a voice: "… I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!"

Students walked by the next corridor. "Dippet looked worried at breakfast, did you see?" One asked.

He clenched his fists. This was the problem. His mind was not his own. Tom Riddle lived there too, with his own memories of Hogwarts, his own Headmaster, his own memory of the basilisk.

Tom himself was here somewhere — and probably wasn't friendly.

No matter which girls he brought, no matter the environment Hermione designed, it would still be his mind and Chang's, connected through a spell.

That was the danger and the prize, he thought. The chance to fight his own madness, to go deep enough to define himself, to control the rifts in his mind.

"Harry?" Daphne looked at him anxiously, hugging herself.

"We're doing it."

She gave him an uncertain smile. "It's sort of exciting, isn't it? A whole new field of magic, in a way. It's not Legilimency, is it, really?"

"No." He murmured. "It's not looking into minds, but entering them. This magic doesn't have a name. At its core, it's just me and Chang, connected. Two minds, one wand."

More than two minds, potentially, Harry thought. The basilisk rumbled through the pipes in the wall. The castle trembled.

A painting fell to one side, askew.

"It'll be dangerous. There'll be some things you recognize in there." Harry said. "Some sexiness, some dueling, some things you've seen before, some you haven't."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "But it's going to be an adventure like none other."

Notes:
Such a fun chapter to write - imagine bringing a Veela home to meet the folks. Finally, the riddler's motivations are revealed, but is Harry ready for the Changception? Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Dumbledore has a request, Daphne makes even more trouble, and past!Harry makes his move into 1980s society - and all the pretty 80s girls.

Want to read ahead to see Harry begin the mind heist, see artwork of topless Helena in the garden, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Daphne, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 50 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text Daphne gurgled incoherently, tears sliding down the familiar tracks on her cheeks. Her red puffy eyes glared at him, but she couldn't scream or shout, not with her buttplug stuffed into her mouth. Her hands were Sticking Charm-stuck behind her back, leaving her helpless, her blouse ripped and bra yanked down.

Harry smirked down at her, enjoying the giddiness that always came with the start of a new year at Hogwarts. Admittedly, they weren't catching much of the celebratory atmosphere from the second-floor girl's bathroom, but Harry was having fun anyway.

"Your skin is so soft." Harry murmured as he kept slapping his cock against her face. He wasn't gentle, thwacking his giant cock against her distended drooling lips, her humiliated cheeks.

"Gurff!" Daphne choked around the cold metal of the plug that had just been in her ass. Her big blue eyes kept watering, but she kept them firmly open — trying to use her long eyelashes to stop the trail of warm precum dripping from her forehead.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "Harry?"

"Fuck." He muttered, scowling. He zipped himself up, kicked open the cubicle door and stalked out. "Who is it?"

"Mmmf!" Daphne moaned from the floor, her knees wide, her blouse ripped, her skirt around her waist, her face glistening with precum trails, like she'd been painted with a brush without color. "Donsh leaf meesh!" She slobbered around the plug.

Harry pulled open the bathroom door, using his body to block the view. Outside, Colin Creevey fidgeted nervously.

"What is it?" He said shortly.

"Uh, Harry, you know this is the girl's bathroom, right—"

"I'm using it for privacy, Colin." Harry frowned.

"I thought I heard voices—"

"It's just me." He said loudly. "What do you want?"

"Uh, Dumbledore, I mean, the Headmaster, he wants to see you."

"Why?"

"H-he didn't say." The boy flushed. "I think it's important, though."

Harry stared at him for a long moment. He was hard and horny and eager to return to humiliating his future wife. He was going to coat her face or maybe bend her over the toilet while he rutted her.

But if the Headmaster had called…

He sighed. "Fine. I'll be right there."

"I-I'll wait, I should escort you—"

"I don't need an escort, Colin." Harry frowned. "Go back to the Common Room, I'll make my own way there shortly."

"But—"

Harry closed the door. Colin would talk forever, given the chance.

Daphne stared up at him mournfully — she was angry, embarrassed, but her thighs had the same wet tracks her cheeks did.

He waved his wand to free her hands and withdrew her plug. "I've got to go."

The beautiful blonde was silent — clearly too ashamed to beg for more of his attention, her eyes unable to meet his.

He put his thumb between her lips. "Don't worry." Harry promised silkily. "I'll come by tonight."

"What makes you think I want that?" Daphne muttered.

He almost laughed — her nipples were hard, she was panting, her juices trickling from her squirming thighs. Even kneeling on the toilet floor, Daphne was still trying to be proud.

He took her hair in hand and tugged her hard, making her squeal and topple on to her hands and knees.

He crouched low and yanked her high. She shivered at his warm breath in her high.

"Just for that, I'll make you beg for it tonight."

"I won't!" Daphne grimaced. But she arched for his attention, her curvaceous booty raised so her skirt fell away from it.

"We'll see."

And then he was gone, thinking of Snape and Voldemort and grisly murders, anything to stop him from walking into Dumbledore's office with a hard-on.

By the time he'd reached the familiar gargoyle statue, he'd composed himself. The statue shifted without a password.

Inside the office, the Headmaster was sitting serenely in his chair, but Rufus Scrimgeour was pacing up and down impatiently.

"Lord Potter!" The grey-streaked man cried — smiling didn't suit his scraggy face. He was carrying a walking cane, but he wasn't using it.

"Call me Harry, please." They shook hands. "Congratulations, Minister. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to pay my respects, what with everything."

"You fought off those scum bags, that's all I need." The man's keen yellowish eyes never upturned, even when he smiled. A politician's smile. "That's why I'm here, really."

"Oh?"

"To thank you and Albus both for defending Diagon Alley." He held his chest and grimaced. "Wish I could have done more myself, but I'm not as sharp a wand as I used to be."

"Rufus was quite a duellist, in his heyday." Albus offered, sipping his tea. There was an odd atmosphere in the room, a terseness.

"More anger than power." Scrimgeour waved him away. "But anger goes a long way, even without the Dark Arts."

"Not so helpful as Minister, I imagine." Harry said, crossing his arms. What was this? Like any politician, Scrimgeour wanted something — and he was annoyed that he'd been pulled away from Daphne's vice-tight throat for political games.

The old lion had a raspy laugh, like a ten-a-day smoker. "I'm afraid not. But that's why I'm here. I don't mind admitting it. I'd like us to stand together, to cover up each other's weaknesses."

Harry glanced at Albus, whose face revealed nothing.

"Unity is a powerful thing." Harry offered.

The Headmaster cleared his throat, but when the other two men glanced at him, he only put a lemon drop on his tongue.

Rufus sighed like a long-suffering wife. "Albus disagrees."

"Albus does not." The Headmaster frowned. "I merely see a vast chasm between unity and public relation exercises."

Scrimgeour ground his walking cane into the carpeted rug. "Perhaps Harry realizes what you don't — a strong morale makes for a strong defense."

"I do." Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the Headmaster's bookcase of knick-knacks. This had to be played carefully, no matter how much he wanted to return to Daphne and her perfect bubble-butt. "But I also know a strong defense makes for a strong defense."

The Minister rubbed the obsidian stone at the top of his cane. He seemed like he was perpetually on the edge of irritation. "I've headed up the Auror Office for a long while, Potter—Harry, I mean. I know the value of strong enforcement."

"Your Aurors are a fine unit, I know. I fought with them at Greengrass Manor." Harry complimented. "But we'll need more than boots on the ground. We need to start playing dirty."

"Dirty?" The Minister blinked at him, his strange yellowish eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed spectacles he wore. His glasses were so thin and sharp, Harry imagined they were reshaped barb wire holding the lion back. "We've let the Aurors use the Unforgivables without any punishment or even paperwork."

"A good start." Harry nodded. "Now let's put a bounty on Death Eaters, so Voldemort's new recruits know that they can't walk the streets safely, just like we can't."

Scrimgeour stiffened. Dumbledore coughed out a Lemon Drop onto a small saucer. Fawkes flew by and picked the yellow sweet up by the beak and swallowed it himself.

The Minister crossed his arms. "That…that would look like desperation, like the Ministry can't protect the people. It would look like we're trying to fund a vigilante group."

"The Ministry can't protect the people." Harry said simply. He was done mincing words.

"Now, see here, we've got the best wizards and witches in the country working for us. The last administration let the country down, but we're making Britain strong, we're making Britain stable—"

Harry blew out a long breath, shaking his head. "With respect, you're so far from that. The Ministry got raided with ease. Diagon Alley got infiltrated — we got away with a bloodbath, but we could have had a massacre."

"That was before me—"

"People are hiding in their homes." Harry interrupted.

He thought through the financial report Narcissa had given him before he'd returned to Hogwarts, though it had been difficult to pay attention when she sat on his lap — especially since she'd taken to wearing ass-swallowing tiny thongs that didn't even hide her peeking pink puckered asshole, desperate for him to sodomise her.

"Retails halved, applications for foreign travel are way up, house prices are down, Gringotts is panicking and raising rates on loans, mortgage, ward renewal, insurance."

Scrimgeour scowled. "Yes, because the people need something to believe in, like us, standing together. The Ministry, Hogwarts, Harry Potter."

Dumbledore placed his teacup down with deliberate loudness. He seemed sour, and not from the Lemon Drop. "I must admit, my boy, I too don't favor this bounty idea. It will create a larger divide in our society, as well as putting innocent lives in risk from more public fights."

"Wake up, both of you." Harry snapped. "We're at war. Hunt them down now or face them on a battlefield."

"There are many steps a man can take before he ends up on a battlefield, and he can turn back at any time." Dumbledore said evenly.

"I'll think about it." Scrimgeour interrupted. He straightened his tie. "But for now, I'd like to station Aurors here at Hogwarts."

"No." Dumbledore said firmly. "It is out of the question. This is a place of learning, Rufus."

Scrimgeour placed both hands on his cane, like it was a pedestal. "The parents are afraid, Albus. Students died at Hogsmeade. Students died in Diagon Alley."

"My point, indeed. Hogwarts remains as the last safe bastion of Britain—"

"My point, indeed. This is the last symbol of safety, so we need to protect it."

Dumbledore steepled his hands, any trace of joviality gone. "Hogwarts would be the last place of attack for the Dark Lord."

"Yes!" Scrimgeour cried. "After he's attacked the Ministry and Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, Hogwarts is the remaining last place of attack. Don't you see? Hogwarts. Is. Next."

"Nonsense. Tom would not attack without certainty of victory — and with me and Harry here, he is far from that, I assure you."

Scrimgeour sneered. "He doesn't need to conquer the castle, Albus. One child dies, one more, how many more students get pulled out of school?"

"I didn't realize you were so concerned about education, I'm glad—"

"Oh, don't give me that." Rufus growled. "The Ministry is the biggest recruiter once your precious students leaves, Albus — and if Hogwarts can't produce wizards and witches, then what good is it? The rats flee the sinking ship, the Ministry can't recruit them, the society falls, the Aurors fail, the country falls."

"Kind of you to compare my children to rats, Rufus—"

"Can we stop playing games? You know what I meant."

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "Rufus, I assure you, with whatever power I still hold and whatever reputation supports it — as long as I am here, Hogwarts is safe."

Harry watched with wide eyes as the two men sparred. Dumbledore was still affecting a serene air, but his magic was vibrating. Scrimgeour didn't even pretend to be calm, scowling, gripping his cane hard.

"I can still exact Educational Decrees to make this happen. I'm asking as a courtesy." The Minister threatened.

Dumbledore stood up slowly, his aura growing. "You do not want to test me, Rufus. I saw you as a boy. I saw you learn to Apparate. I saw your first exam."

"You still see all of us as your boys and girls, that's your problem, Albus. I don't even need to use Fudge's stupid Decrees, I can go to the Wizengamot—"

"Do not threaten me with the Wizengamot, Rufus, I gave that body whatever power it now holds."

"Gentlemen," Harry interrupted. "Let's take it down a notch, shall we? We're all on the same side."

"Are we?" Rufus muttered. "Because I'm trying to protect the country."

"I'm protecting the students who will revive this country, long after you and I are gone, Rufus." Dumbledore said calmly.

The two men simmered. The Headmaster took a lemon drop and sucked on it.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He could have spent this hour making Daphne's asscheeks clap. "How about this? No Aurors in Hogwarts, but the Headmaster will do a handshake and photo in front of the castle."

"I do not think that will—"

"Aurors need to be here—"

"Let me finish!" Harry said loudly. "You will both announce a new Ministry-Hogwarts cooperation where select Aurors will be given training by the Headmaster himself. The Ministry can announce they have wards that Hogwarts has consulted on." He raised a brow. "This way, the public can see you're working together."

"What Aurors?" Rufus grumbled. "Your little pet group of allies?"

"This is about the optics, Minister." Harry reminded. "Unity."

The Headmaster eyed him skeptically. "I…I don't like to engage in fickle public relations, nor do I wish to lie, but for the sake of keeping Aurors off school grounds, it is…acceptable."

Scrimgeour was silent. "Will we actually get Hogwarts wards in the Ministry?"

"Rufus, I did not and could not make these wards." Dumbledore explained. "This is Merlin's work, or the Founders. They were here long before me and they will be here long after."

"Nobody has to know that." Harry interjected. "All they'll see is that the Ministry has new and improved Hogwarts-approved wards."

"That would look good." Scrimgeour admitted. "Very well, gentlemen." He clutched his cane. "I…well, apologies if it became a little heated. I'm glad we're working together, in all this."

"As am I." Harry said.

"Indeed." Dumbledore said quietly. "We'll need to compromise and stand together to fight back against Tom's hatred."

"Then I'll leave you in peace. I know the start of a new term is a busy time. Good day, Albus. Harry, let's do dinner sometime." Scrimgeour grabbed his cane and stepped out of the office.

The Headmaster and Harry waited a long minute before they were certain he was gone.

"Merlin." Harry collapsed into the chair.

"Indeed." Dumbledore rubbed his forehead. "I should thank you, I suppose. Even a photoshoot is preferable to having Aurors lining Hogwarts, like the Dementors did a couple of years ago."

Harry nodded, fighting the urge to throw his feet up on the desk. "You can do it. Old dog and new tricks, and all that." He winced. "That wasn't meant to be a jab."

Dumbledore looked at him, amused. "Quite alright, my boy. I surpassed old a long time ago, I think."

"You're still as powerful as ever, don't worry."

"All I do is worry, nowadays." The old man grimaced. "A bounty, Harry, really?"

He shrugged. "You start high and negotiate down."

"What is down from bounty hunting, dare I ask?"

"Death Eaters disappearing without the financial reward?" Harry said hopefully.

"Speaking of disappearing Death Eaters, I see young Mister Malfoy hasn't returned to school this term."

Harry held his hands up. "Nothing I've done, pinky promise."

Dumbledore looked at him doubtfully, but Fawkes chirped happily. Harry glanced at the proud phoenix — did the Headmaster use him as a lie detector?

"I believe you." The Headmaster confirmed. "And Miss Tracey Davis? She too hasn't returned."

Harry shrugged. "Extended holiday, back in a few weeks, from what I understand. It's not me, honestly." Or whenever Daphne's scary family was done 're-educating' her.

The Headmaster shot him a glance.

"She's not dead, importantly." Harry added.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose I should be grateful for small liberties."

"I thought you'd ask more questions."

"I would, if I didn't require your assistance."

Harry grinned. "What do you need? Wait, don't tell me. A small loan? House Potter has very generous interest rates."

"I'm sure—"

"Or love life advice? Who is she? You didn't buy her socks, did you?"

"Who wouldn't like a nice pair of warm socks?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "However, as distasteful as it is, I require your fame."

"Oh, Professor," Harry sighed in mock disappointment. "You want something autographed?"

"Not quite. Dolores, as poor an educator as she was, was still teaching Defense lessons. I need to replace her."

"You've found someone?"

"Professor Snape has kindly agreed to deputise—"

"I bet he was thrilled."

"But I'll need a Potions teacher. Luckily, I know the perfect individual. A Potions Master by the name of Horace Slughorn."

Harry flinched as the memories hit him. Slughorn had been Tom's mentor in a way, the pompous man being easily manipulated by Tom's charm. It had been Slughorn who'd given Tom more knowledge of the horcruxes.

"You know him?" Dumbledore said interestedly.

"Huh?" Harry shook himself. "N-no. How would I? I might I have seen his name in the school somewhere."

"He did use to teach here." The Headmaster confirmed. "He even taught the Dark Lord for a time. Your mother, too. He's truly gifted at Potions but his interest lies more in fluttering his wings as a social butterfly."

"I see where this is going."

"Horace has been missing for sometime. He was afraid the Dark Lord would kill or recruit him."

"You think Voldemort got him?"

The Headmaster fiddled with his glasses. "I do not. Horace has many friends and is very gifted at Transfiguration. His, well," The Headmaster's face slipped into something which almost looked like a smirk, which Harry had never seen on him. "His unique vintage of courage will have kept him safe. Thankfully, I have a lead on his location."

Harry settled down into his armchair. "You want me to butter his bread?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his colorful robes. "I, well, it is regrettable, and it is not a reflection of his character, but—"

Harry goggled. "Spit it out, Professor."

The Headmaster sighed and took his spectacles off to clean them, unable to meet his gaze. "Horace is not a bad man, by any count. But he does have a unwise fondness for the fairer sex, and for those who, ah, still bathe in the fountain of youth."

The silence was long. "Professor, please don't tell me you're inviting a paedophile into the school."

Harry giggled inside his mind. After Voldie in a turban, a fraud, a werewolf and a Death Eater, where does a paedo even rank?

"Not at all!" Dumbledore protested. "He's not like that. Horace is just unwilling to recognize his own age. He likes to favor those young women gifted with beauty."

Harry looked at him doubtfully.

The Headmaster grimaced. "He's never had a formal complaint or any accusations. I thought perhaps, and I am ashamed to ask, that you might ask one of your friends to accompany you. Of course, she doesn't need to do anything!" He added hurriedly.

"Say no more." Harry's smile twitched. "If Slughorn likes chasing skirt, I'll give a trail of miniskirt breadcrumbs that lead him all the way to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if he could escape this universe. "Your easy grasp of a florid phrase is as admirable as ever, my boy."

"I'll take care of it all." Harry clicked his fingers. "Operation old dog, new chicks."

The Headmaster groaned loudly. "Sometimes I wish our relationship hadn't become quite so familiar, Harry."

Harry snorted as he stood and headed for the door. "As long as you're not asking me to find you some pretty witches yourself, I think we're okay."

"Perish the thought."

Fawkes chirped, beating his wings from his perch. It sounded like a laugh.

"Don't you start." Dumbledore grumbled.

Harry laughed as he descended down the steps. "Don't worry, Fawkes. I'll find you pretty chicks too."

Fawkes sang happily.

###

Pansy Parkinson's enchanted letter opener fell from her trembling hands. It stabbed like a dagger into the Common Room carpet, but it couldn't have been as sharp as the pain in her gut.

The words on the letter didn't change no matter how many times she read it.

The little dragon has flown the coop. Adjust accordingly.

Draco had run away. He wasn't coming back to Hogwarts. Whatever stupidity he'd done, whatever that silly bitch Tracey had convinced him to do, it had backfired.

It was over.

It was all over.

Pansy held her ribs, the short sharp breaths wheezing out of her.

The hammer above her had threatened to fall from the moment Narcissa had been revealed as Potter's mistress.

But when the hammer blow came, it felt like a sword that gutted her insides.

It didn't crack her heart, because she'd never cared for Draco. But it destroyed her future, which was worse.

The power base her family had relied on. The betrothal which would have ensured the Parkinson's power and status for generations to come.

The arranged marriage would have made her someone. Lady Malfoy, the queen of all she lay eyes on.

Now, she was weak.

Her face showed nothing. She wouldn't let it. In Slytherin, weak prey got picked apart.

Just make it to your bedroom. Don 't cry.

She stood on shaky feet. But before she could make to the stairs, Daphne stood.

Pansy's sharp manicured nails dug into her palm. Daphne was a shark who'd sensed blood — the beautiful blonde was already smirking.

"Aw, Pansy? Are you okay?" She said with faux-concern. "Do you want a shoulder to cry on? Actually, you'd rather have a robes to cling on to, right? Now Draco's run away, I mean."

"Fuck off, Greengrass." Pansy sneered. "Where's your pet half-blood Davis? Did she run off?" She gasped. "You're going to have rub your cunt on your bedknob now."

The Common Room snickered quietly — nobody wanted to laugh publicly at Daphne, but argumentative entertainment in Slytherin was appreciated and common.

Daphne crossed her arms and tutted in disappointment. "Pansy, darling, you can't be that mean now. When you were betrothed to your runaway bride Draco, yes." She giggled, twisting her hair around her finger. "The Prince of Slytherin."

The title got a round of laughs in the Common Room — Draco Malfoy could be freely laughed at now.

Pansy glared at every one of them. "Draco will return once the mudbloods are purged from Hogwarts. And unlike you, my family won't have to beg for scraps at Potter's table."

Daphne tittered. "Scraps?" She toyed with the emerald pendant that glowed from her cleavage. She tossed her hair back and revealed her gleaming diamond earrings. But she didn't stop there — she grabbed her wand.

Pansy stilled, her own wand sliding from her sleeve into her palm.

But Daphne just used a Cutting Charm to slice down the top of her robes, making her cleavage deeper. The boys whooped as they saw her intricate bra, enhancing her creamy breasts.

"Whoops." Daphne bit her lip. "I guess I'll just have to order another set of incredibly expensive tailored Acromantula silk robes." She shrugged. "Can you afford it now?"

Pansy scoffed. "I'm glad for you that kissing Potter's ass is financially rewarding—"

Her words were drowned out by juvenile cheers when Daphne's robes slid down from her shoulders, hanging barely on her arms, her full bosom pushed up by her bra. "Maybe I'll order another set of custom lingerie, it feels so good against my skin." Greengrass examined her fingernails. Her blue eyes flicked up.

"Oh, what's that skin cream you like so much? Blended Honeywater and Abraxan hair from Austria?" Daphne shrugged. "I'll order ten bottles."

Pansy glared. She knew what the girl was doing. Everyone knew that the Parkinson family, though pureblood, wasn't the richest.

"Greengrass, you'll get all the cream when your daddy marries you to some old sweaty fuck, because nobody on the right side will marry you now. I hear Lord Denwood is looking for his third wife after the tragic loss of the last Lady." Pansy suggested. "I heard her ribcage collapsed — maybe he fell asleep on her. Look forward to that."

Daphne was unbothered. "You really want to talk marriage? Who's going to want Draco's leftovers?"

The Common Room laughed. Pansy blinked quickly, to stop the tears from coming. She wasn't used to this humiliation. Nobody talked to her like this.

"Who's going to want to be tied to House Potter when the Dark Lord rules the country?" Pansy countered.

The Room fell silent — it wasn't done to speak publicly of Lord Voldemort, even if he had his supporters.

Daphne's lips curled. "Haven't you read the papers? Harry fights him off everytime. With Dumbledore by his side?" She whistled. "With the Ministry crumbling, maybe Lord Potter will create a monarchy after he's won. King Potter will probably need a Queen." She fluttered her eyelashes.

Pansy chortled. "You really want to fantasize about being on your hands and knees for Gryffindor's golden boy?"

Daphne shrugged. "Better than fumbling the biggest goldmine in the country like you did. Remember last time we argued like this?"

Pansy didn't — she and Daphne had frequent jabbing conversations. It was how their status was defined. "I don't think about you, you irrelevant whore."

Daphne's smile widened. "Does anyone else here remember?"

The Common Room mumbled assent. Astoria clapped enthusiastically.

"I'll remind you." Daphne said graciously. "I told Pansy that she was a disgusting simpering little whore for Malfoy."

The Room roared with laughter.

"That when she was married, all her pretty black hair will be tugged away while he gives her another stick in her ass." Daphne turned for the applause, always the performer.

"Easy to talk so brave when he's gone—"

"And you, Pansy, told me that it'd be worth being on your hands and knees, because you'd be able to look down at the big fucking diamond on your finger." Daphne clapped herself.

The boys cheered.

"Ain't no shame in that." Goyle shouted.

"It's true." Daphne nodded. "Wizards play for power. Witches play for family and fortune." Her face turned cruel. "And Pansy just lost her fortune."

"You don't know shit, Greengrass—"

"Tick, tock. All the good guys will be choosing wives soon." The blonde beauty pointed at the vintage grandfather clock in the Common Room. "Maybe you can be like the current Lady Malfoy, since you always wanted to be her — work the night-shift on your back."

The Common Room whooped.

"You can be my Mistress, Pansy!" Terence Higgs declared.

Pansy had to leave — she was shaking, her face red. "I'll see how smug you are when you're alternating Crucio's and cocks in the Dark Lord's dungeon, Greengrass." She hissed.

Daphne didn't need the last word — she'd already won. Pansy shouldered past her and up the stairs, her shoulders crumpled, tears stinging her eyes. The Common Room clapped her exit.

Pansy slammed her bedroom door, hitting it with as many locking charms as she knew.

"Fucking bitch!" She snarled, grabbing a bottle of perfume and throwing it at the mirror.

"Really, dear!" The mirror complained as the bottle cracked, liquid pouring down the glass.

Pansy simmered. She couldn't even afford to buy that perfume again. It was a gift from Draco, something she'd begged for.

It had been a fine line, extracting wealth from him without attracting his lecherous attention.

"No longer." She murmured.

She muttered some charms. Her clothes fell to the floor and in the mirror, the Pansy changed. The glamors dropped away.

The nose lengthened and slimmed, from pug to pureblood. The eyes became larger, from narrow to doe. Thin lips became full, rosy.

A black fringe that reached for her unique gray eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lengthened with mascara. Porcelain skin that revealed moving tattoos. A cursive script that swam down her shoulder — WHATEVER IT TAKES.

Little quotes, etchings from her favorite books or from nothing at all. "There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

"Love is a hole in the heart."

More tattoos. A black heart with an arrow through it. A wand with a glowing Killing Curse at its tip. A girl with red satanic horns. An acromantula skittered over her leg.

Her breasts grew larger, full handfuls. Her shape widened, hips and thighs. A woman revealed.

Slowly, she became the woman she wanted to be, the one she hid from Draco, making herself the plain pureblood that he wouldn't be interested in, removing everything that made herself interesting.

Pansy examined herself.

"You are beautiful." She told herself. It wasn't as obvious as that bitch Greengrass, perhaps, not the aristocratic English rose. But she was striking, the sort of girl who modelled in niche alternative magazines.

Her beauty could help her, if there was a boy out there who liked her gothic visage.

She'd need to find a way out. Her family had been too dark, too eager to bring themselves in line with the Malfoys.

Father had a tattoo that he couldn't remove, and that tattoo had tainted her own prospects. Pansy could only marry within the Dark Lord's followers — at this rate, she'd end up staring at the ceiling while Crabbe or Goyle rutted at her like dribbling trolls. Merlin, she'd be lucky if it was just one of the two.

"It wasn't meant to be like this." She muttered.

She had to do something.

But what?

###

Harry sipped on his drink, grimacing at the sweet taste.

"It's called a Woo Woo." Amelia had said as she handed it to him. She'd leaned closer. "It's very popular in this time."

Peach and cranberry and vodka wasn't his thing, but she hadn't been wrong. The brightly colored drink was popular at the party they were at in Longbottom Manor.

Amelia had finally agreed to introduce him to pureblood society, for some reason. She didn't anything for free — the catch was coming.

Lord Edward Harry Foxham, a expat noble over from France. He'd had to bust out his French to prove himself, but people had soon lost interest.

For now, Harry was enjoying the party, taking in the pretty sights, looking for targets for his first Whorecrux.

Amelia was busy networking — getting a lot of looks in the huge dance room, dressed to kill in a sparkling bust-baring tight red slitted ball gown. She looked like a cartoon character Dudley had used to watch before locking his door firmly.

Harry sipped his drink. His eyes kept drifting to a different redhead — his mother.

Lily and her friend Alice Longbottom were seated on what people kept calling the pregnant sofa, in the corner of the room, dabbing at their brow and calling over every waiter to examine the platters.

The two pregnant women were joined by Mary McDonald, a petite black-haired Scotswoman whose role seemed to be comic relief for Lily and Alice.

"You can stop loitering, you know." Mary noticed him. "I am single, you don't need to ask."

"Mary!" Lily giggled.

"Sorry, I was just going to say to Lady Potter, congratulations on the job. You got it, right?" Harry fumbled.

Lily blinked at him. "Hey, I know you—stranger from the lift. I fixed your hair."

"Of course you did." Alice sniffed. "Stop touching strangers, Lily."

"Yeah, you're married now." Mary cracked.

"I was just helping him with his interview." His mother defended. "Although I did get the job you were going for, yes, sorry." She winced. "You might be able to reapply soon though — I don't know how long I'll be able to stay, what with all the craziness going around." She said, referring to the Dark Lord's increasing raids.

"And the baby." Alice added.

"And the baby." Lily sighed. "God forbid I forget."

"Merlin forbid." Alice corrected. "You're a lady of a noble house now, you have to act like it, as my new mother in law keeps reminding me."

"Run away. They're crazy." Mary mouthed at him.

Lily elbowed her. "Stop! She's not wrong. We're the crazy pregnant sofa, you can go, we won't be offended."

"Not at all. I want to stay." Harry assured them. "Nothing more beautiful than a woman carrying a child. You two are glowing."

Alice giggled, her face flushed. "You're sweet, but it's just sweat. It's hot in here."

Harry waved his hand to cast some charms to cool them down. The ladies sighed in synchronized unison.

Mary looked at him calculatingly, straightening her quirky patchwork plaid skirt.

Lily raised a brow. "Three individual localized cooling charms without a wand?"

"Someone's out to impress." Alice interjected.

"Be careful, uh—"

"Lord Edward Harry Foxham, but I usually go by Harry." Harry bowed.

"What a mouthful." Mary snickered.

"Rich and powerful is a dangerous combination for a wizard." Lily added, amused. "You'd be getting plenty of female attention, if they weren't all distracted by glaring at Amelia Bones."

"I'm married and I'm still mad — how does she look that good in that dress?" Alice complained.

"She's so different recently." Lily shook her head. "She'd have never worn anything that bold before."

"It's good for her." Alice argued. "Witches need some attention from wizards."

"She looks like trouble to me." Harry added.

"Aww, are you scared of a single witch?" Mary smirked.

"Why do you think I'm hanging out at the pregnant sofa?" Harry quipped, looking fearfully out at the crowded dance room.

Alice tittered, tugging at her brunette hair that curtained her cute round face. "You're silly if you think pregnant women aren't more dangerous."

Frank Longbottom rushed to the drinks table beside them, a table long and bowing under the weight of punch bowls, glassware and bottles. "Yes, mother!" He cried over his shoulder. "I'm getting the punch right now. And Lady Inglewood has her tea already."

"Don't forget the biscuits." Augusta shouted from somewhere, her inimitable raspy growl.

"Or your wife?" Alice muttered from the sofa. "He was meant to get me a drink twenty minutes ago."

"Here, allow me." Harry brought her a glass of orange juice.

"Thank you." She beamed, downing half of it. "Merlin, I wish I could drink some alcohol."

Lily elbowed her. "Even if we could, it'd only make us fatter." Harry's mother looked at friend enviously. "Mind you, all your baby weight seems to go straight to your chest and behind."

"They should call me big-bottom, not Longbottom." Alice shrieked with laughter at her own joke.

Mary rolled her eyes at Harry. "She still hasn't got used to her new title."

"I don't feel like Lady Longbottom." Alice complained.

"Or act like it." Lily smirked.

"Frank, you were meant to put the good plates out, not these!" Augusta cried out.

"Yes, mother, sorry!" Frank replied.

Alice pursed her lips. "Especially when there's a far more important Lady Longbottom still around." She muttered.

"Alice!" Lily chided.

"Sorry." Alice sighed. She looked up at Harry hopefully. "Dance with me?"

"Oh, I don't know if your husband would approve—"

"My husband doesn't pay attention to anything that isn't his mother, don't worry." She stood up, struggling, her baby bump prominent.

Harry held out his hand to help more, but ended up being tugged to the dance floor. Lily wasn't wrong about her friend — Alice's pregnancy had given her a full figure for a petite woman, her large tits threatening to spill from the deep v-neck of her pink gauzy dress.

"Thanks for the dance. All glammed up with no dance partner had me feeling down." She bemoaned.

"You do look stunning."

He wasn't lying — her chestnut brown hair had been styled and hung in waves around her face, her bright amber eyes lined with sparkling magical ombré eyeliner that swam in all shades of blue, like a colorful water wave applied above her eye.

Alice didn't answer, but Harry suddenly had to pay attention himself. Even highly pregnant, Alice was a wildcat on the dancefloor.

She was an experienced dancer, unafraid of being close. He was okay himself — most duellists practiced dance, at some point, purely for the footwork, but Alice knew the rhythm innately.

Harry just tried to keep up as she turned, twisted and gyrated against him. Thankfully, the crowd was large, the vast room too small for the huge number of party that the Longbottom's had invited, so Alice's inappropriately close dancing wasn't observed by many.

The slit in her dress rode high as her bare leg stepped between his. Her wide ass, outlined in her dress, pressed against his crotch when she twisted to the beat, pulling his arm around her front and throwing her hair back.

But when she pressed herself to her front and drew one knee up around his hip for him to grab, Harry groaned as his hard cock was pressed firmly against her groin.

"How shameful of a gentleman." Alice giggled as she felt his erection against her. She didn't pull away though, swaying back and forth with the music.

"I'm sorry — you're too beautiful." Harry answered, not entirely sure how to play his cards.

Alice fluttered her eyelashes, arms around his neck. "That's the one benefit of being with child. My body's so different, so womanly." She gnawed on her lips as she ground herself against him. "My breasts are so full with milk, too."

Harry grimaced as his cock throbbed, eager for more friction."Y-your husband's a lucky man."

Alice huffed. "He doesn't know what to do with a woman." She looked up at him mournfully. "A woman needs attention, don't you think?" She murmured.

"It's a shame a woman like you can't get—"

"Can I cut in?" A sharp voice interrupted. It was Amelia, her arms crossed, her brow raised.

"I…yes, Amelia, of course. We were just dancing…" Alice squeaked, red-faced. She disappeared through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourself?" Amelia asked as she pressed herself against him, her vibrant green eyes just inches from him.

His cock jutted firmly into her stomach.

"Yes."

"I can see that." Amelia's lips twitched. "So shameless, Harry. She's pregnant and isn't young Neville one of your best friends?"

"I wouldn't say best friends." Harry said sheepishly.

"I can't put anything past you, Harry." She said seductively, leaning closer to nibble at his ear lobe. "That's why I like you." Her gloved hand dropped between their close bodies, onto his cock. "You'll do anything." Her warm breath in his ear made him shiver. "To get the job done."

Harry growled, his hand dangerously close to her ass. "Careful, 'Melia, or I'll take you right on this dance floor. Ol' Granny Augusta will have to get a cleaning crew."

Amelia's tits were tight against his chest, her foot freed of her heel and sliding against his leg. "Would you like that, Harry? To take me home?"

"You know I would."

"How would you take me? Would you fold me in two?" She said silkily. "Or from behind? Or should I ride you so you can suckle on my breasts at the same time?"

Harry groaned loudly — her dress would be ripped off so easily. He could take her right now — fuck it, he'd just Obliviate everyone.

"But even in this dress," Amelia pushed him back and ran her hands over her curves, over her wide hips. "I'm still not the redhead you're looking at."

Harry glanced back, where Lily was sitting somewhere through the mass of bodies. "It's not like that."

"It could be, though."

"What?" He frowned at her. "I don't want—"

"There's no boundary we can't cross, once we've cheated time and death, Harry." She said quietly, her eyes bright and fanatic. "Don't you see that?"

"I've told you, it's not like—"

"But once she gives birth to you, there's a ticking clock, Harry." Amelia grabbed at his shirt. "She's going to die."

Harry swallowed, uncomfortable. The truth he'd been ignoring — that Lily would die at the hands of Voldemort and he couldn't stop it, or it would change everything.

"I can't save her."

"Why not?" Amelia challenged. "If you're in this with me, you could. We're creating a new timeline, aren't we? The future doesn't matter."

"But…it'll change so much."

She shook her head, her nose rubbing against his, an almost kiss. "You want to prove you're in this with me, together? Save your mother."

Amelia withdrew, adjusting her dress as if she was tugging it higher, only even more of her large milky tits were revealed. A little more and he'd see nipple.

"Then, you can fuck me, day and night." She promised. "You can have me in every way, forever. You can make me as pregnant as Alice." She looked thoughtful. "It'll be better for my career — nobody trusts a politician without a family."

"Amelia…" Harry said, pained. She was too much and asking for too much.

"What?" She blew him a kiss through smoky red lips. "That's a fair deal, don't you think?" She said, mischievously. "Save a mother, make a mother."

###

Voldemort trailed his fingers across the fine white limestone of the pyramid. Egypt was unbearably hot, but it was the throbbing aura of magic which warmed his insides.

This was a ley line, not unlike the one under the Ministry. A natural river of magic most powerful — something he'd need if he was going to travel in time.

"P-please—" The man behind him croaked. He was pinned to the wall and run through with a spear thousands of years old.

"Silence."

"I-I can h-help you, please—"

"Your use is served."

The pyramid was heavily trapped, but Voldemort had hired some local labour to help him investigate the tombs. Even the locals had wanted to turn back early, but the Imperius had changed their minds.

It had taken time and patience, but one of the chambers was open. Inside, there was no gold. It was a single hourglass, as large as a man, the glass caked with dust.

He charmed it clear.

Sand trickled into the glass from a faucet above. Every fifteen minutes, the hourglass filled, and the whole thing flipped over.

Voldemort stared once more at the hieroglyphics. He didn't know them well, but he knew this image.

Shezmu, the ancient Egpytian god of perfume and wine.

But the Egyptians associated red wine with blood in religious ceremony.

The Dark Lord knew what the hourglass wanted.

This was going to take time and research.

And a lot of blood.

He turned back to the dying man, whose limbs flopped uselessly.

"Actually," Voldemort slithered his tongue across his lips. "You can indeed help me."

###

Harry settled down at his usual seat at the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall. The mood was light, as it always was at the first evening feast of the first day back of the New Year.

Padma gave him a wink from the Ravenclaw table — even though he'd agreed to take lead on her family's plan to mindfuck Lord Chang, it'd take time for them to get an opening to drug him.

He ignored Cho trying to catch his eye, sweeping her hair behind her ear repeatedly.

Katie Bell sat opposite him — he was hoping it was her foot that stroked his leg and not Ron's.

Hermione began cutting his steak briskly.

"…I spent Christmas Day at the hospital." Neville said quietly.

"Oh, were you sick?" Katie asked.

Dean winced.

"I was with my parents. Mum doesn't really know what day or year it is, but she gave me a red gum wrapper, so I think she knew it was Christmas." Neville said brightly.

"I'm sure she did." Seamus patted his shoulder.

Harry almost choked on his steak, unable to look his friend in the eyes.

He hadn't done anything.

He wasn't going to do anything.

"I had a good Christmas." Seamus announced. He looked around carefully.

"She's still doing her makeup." rolled his eyes.

"And Lavender." Ron added.

Seamus leaned in close. "Parvati is coming round to me, I reckon. She sent me a Christmas present. Katie, don't say nuffin'."

"Lips are sealed. I'm one of the guys. What was it?" Katie promised.

"I mean, only a box of Sugar Quills, but still…"

"Oh, Seamus." She said sadly.

"What, it still means something."

They began arguing. Harry kept his head down and ate his steak, trying not to react to Katie's leg against his, or Hermione's hand that had delved into the zip of his jeans.

"Don't look so down, Harry. It's going to be a good year, right?" Neville said encouragingly from his other side.

"The best." Harry tried to give him a grin, but ended up with a grimace. His stomach turned.

The other boy blinked at him. "Some more students have pulled out. They say some of the Slytherin's are getting recruited by the Dark Lord already."

"Yeah?"

"Even this Ravenclaw I sorta knew, Dennis Aldermaston. Didn't come back to school today."

"No?"

"He was nice to me at the library once. They saw he's joined him." Neville said with disbelief. "Sometimes, I feel like I can only trust you, Harry."

The buttery steak tasted like bile in his mouth. "Thanks, mate."

Neville's face tinged pink. "Hey, thanks for the Christmas gift." His voice dropped as he leaned closer. "You know that plant is illegal right? You can't import it."

"That's why I got it for you." Harry said, his voice strained. Hermione's hand was twisting around his cockhead.

"I couldn't believe it when I opened it." Neville said happily. "Y-you know, I never said this to you, and like, it's not a whole thing, but…you're my best friend, Harry."

"Oh." Harry choked on his steak. "I mean, thanks. You too, brother."

Neville punched his arm and returned to his meal, humming cheerfully.

Harry stared at his meal, his appetite gone.

"Do you think you can look at my homework, Hermione?" Ron asked her. "I can't figure out all the labels on my Jupiter star chart."

"Sure, give it me in the Common Room."

Ron grinned. "You're the best, Mione. What would I do without you?"

"You'd be expelled, Ronald."

Ron snickered. "Right?!"

Hermione whispered into Harry's ear as she salted his chips. "Is it true about what Cissy and Helena got for Christmas, Harry?"

Harry stared down at his plate, uncomfortable. His cock was dripping precum onto her left hand.

He'd given Cissy and her daughter their own gleaming gem buttplug, something to cheer up his mistress, a promise of sorts. They'd both been thrilled.

"Do I get one?" Hermione murmured seductively as she jerked him from top to bottom. "I think it's so disgusting, just another example of how men reduce women to objects." She withdrew her hand from his cock and sucked on her fingers. "But it's not fair if they get gifts and I don't." She added.

Harry couldn't say anything. He was a bad friend.

He'd taken Ron's crush and fucked her into the pillows each night, finishing on Mione's disapproving face. Merlin, she might have married Ron if it wasn't for him — now the only ring she had was the one she was asking him to plug.

When the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, Ron would have kissed her sweetly. Harry had timed it so he gave her a facial instead, while Hannah and Helena lit the fireworks.

Seamus kept looking at the Great Hall doors for Parvati, but Harry would have her and Padma both. He'd double-stack them, four squirming holes for him to switch between, an Indian sandwich for his cock.

And Neville was fidgeting with the red gum wrapper his brain-addled mother had given him. Could he even stop himself from banging his mate's lonely and horny mother?

"What are you two whispering about?" Katie said suspiciously.

"I was just thanking Harry for my Christmas present, I didn't want to embarrass him." Hermione blushed. "Because he might have spent more on me than anyone else."

"My gift was expensive and rare." Neville boasted. "This plant is only found in Indonesia, I don't know how you got it, Harry."

"Mine was pretty rare too." Ron added. "Thanks, Harry."

"Harry got me a Cleansweep Eleven." Dean cheered. "I thought I might try out for Chaser next year."

"I got an enchanted penknife." Seamus bounced in his seat. "It can like, open any lock. You're the best, mate."

"Harry's like Santa." Dean said thoughtfully.

Harry squirmed in his seat. "Aww, you guys." His chest felt tight with guilt. "What are friends for?"

Notes:
Alice Longbottom, my goodness. The fires of an unsatisfied wife run hot - maybe too hot for Harry to handle. Is he going to overcome his guilt and fuck the crushes and mothers of his friends? Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Daphne has a unique olive branch for the girls, Harry does scouting on Alice and begins testing out Hermione's ability to make real-feeling mindscapes.

Want to read ahead to see Harry begin the mind heist, see artwork of Hermione riding Harry by the lake, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Daphne, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.

Chapter 51 Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was housed in an old department store building that was relatively small on the outside.

Inside, it was much larger, and thanks to Harry's donations, much newer The crowded reception had been upgraded. Rickety wooden chairs had been swapped for gleaming easy-clean leather. Brightly colored toys sat in a chest in the corner, being fought over by the kids.

Harry admired the plaque above the reception triage. The Potter Foundation Lobby.

A woman in a lime-green robe rushed up to it as soon as she saw him. "Lord Potter, forgive us, we weren't expecting you, d-do you need medical—"

"It's okay," He took note of her name-tag. "Janice. I'm just here to visit an old family friend."

"Oh, of course." The mousy brunette nurse blushed. "W-we wanted to thank you for your generous donation."

"It's still very little compared to the debt wizarding Britain owes you." He smiled. "But I'm glad it seems to be going to some use—"

"Oh yes! We've got a whole new potions room, new beds and we've even hired a Potions master to brew potions in-house—!"

"I'm glad to hear it, Janice. I'm sorry, I have to be going back to Hogwarts soon."

Her eyes widened. "So sorry! C-can I point you in the right direction?"

"The Janus Thickey ward for irrevocable spell damage?"

The light in her eyes dimmed. "Of course, those poor souls. Level four, take a left."

"Thank you." Harry strode forward, not making eye contact with the many Healers hurrying through the reception, scrawling on their clipboards as they reviewed the odd patients.

A witch hiccuped fiery sparks, looking mortified. One wizard had his hands sprouting from his crotch, his arms mere stumps.

Harry shook his head — wizards did stupid things with magic, even more so when they were horny.

On the stairs, he almost bumped into a familiar figure. A man with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, and a smile that almost blinded him.

Gilderoy Lockhart wore a long lilac dressing gown and a vacant expression. "Hello there! Why, who'd have thought today would be the day to meet a famous figure?"

Harry winced. The man had never recovered from the memory charm he'd cast from Ron's malfunctioning ward. "Thank you, Professor, but I have to be going, sorry—"

The man frowned. "But don't you want an autograph?"

Harry blinked. Did he think he was the famous one?

"That's okay, really—"

"Gilderoy, stop wandering out of your room, I keep telling you — oh, Harry." It was Susan Bones, clad in a lime-green robe that clashed horribly with her fierce red hair.

"Susan?" Harry said, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

She scowled as she turned Gilderoy by his shoulders. "I volunteer here on some evenings, trying to do some good. Although they only really trust me to bring Gilderoy here back from whoever he's trying to give an autograph to and to cheer up the patients."

Harry shook his head. Susan was genuinely nice — the hospital staff probably didn't know what to do with the pureblood noble who volunteered her time away.

"That's really good of you, Susan…I, uh, mental health is so important."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Come on, hurry it up, Gilderoy. Someone wants an autograph in your room."

"Oh, really, I mustn't keep them waiting—"

"You're so kind, Susan, I don't know how you do it," Harry tried again. "Especially with what you must be going through."

She scowled at him as she led Gilderoy away. "I don't want your pity, Harry." She snapped.

"I'm not—" He couldn't even reply, as she disappeared through the double-doors, which flapped with the force of her push, like they were applauding another failed attempt to chat her up.

"Fuck me." He muttered to himself. "What did I say wrong?"

It didn't matter. He had other targets, hopefully easier ones than the Bones girls.

He waited until Susan was out of sight and then followed her into the ward. The Janus Thickey ward was for long-term residents, people with permanent spell damage.

It showed in their personalized beds — Lockhart's was covered in papered with autographed photos of himself, and Harry could see that Susan held a fresh batch of photos for him to autograph as she helped him into bed.

Harry kept moving through the beds of mournful wizards and muttering witches until he saw the end beds. These beds had more plants than any of the others, lush and green — climbing vines entwining with the bed curtains. Potted pink petals on the windowsill.

The bookshelf next to the bed had no books but several cauldrons, holding not potions but plants, rare ones that Harry could half-identify.

Tending to them with a knife and humming softly, Neville was bent over with his head half in the cauldrons.

"Hi, Nev."

Neville jumped as if he'd been startled by a Hippogriff.

"H-Harry!" His plump face flushed a dull purple. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just doing the rounds to see that my charity's donation was going where it needs to go." Harry lied. "Sorry to intrude."

"N-no, it's fine." Neville stammered. He gestured to the two beds. "They're sleeping now, or I'd introduce you." He looked down at his feet. "Not that they'd remember you, anyway."

Harry studied the two figures in the bed. Alice and Frank Longbottom. Her worn face was tickled by wispy white hair. She looked a different woman than the vivacious beauty he'd met in the past.

But that was why he was here. The reason he didn't want to tell Neville.

It would have been a difficult explanation. I'm going to look inside your mother's brain for clues to seduce her in the past, so I can revive her in the future, bringing back her sanity and her beauty.

The guilt felt like rotten Butterbeer in the back of his throat, but he needed an easy Whorecrux and Alice had seemed so lonely, ignored by her husband…

"You come here often?" Harry said conversationally, conjuring up a chair. Maybe, with Neville here, he could get his clues a different way. "Sneaking out of school, huh? I'm so proud of you."

Neville crossed his arms defiantly. "As if I would. Professor McGonagall lets me use her Floo when I want to visit them." He scratched his ear. "I just, y'know, like to keep the plants nice. T-they seem to like that."

"That's good of you." Harry fingered the blooming pink petals on Alice's bedside table. "Are these her favorite?"

"Chrysanthemums." Neville confirmed. "She loved them, Gran says."

"Well, she's lucky to have a master herbologist as a son, then. I feel like I'm in a rainforest, not a hospital."

Neville bit his lip, sitting on the edge of his mother's bed. "I…the nurse says that if I surround them in good memories, of…" His words trailed off. "You won't say anything to the boys, will you?" He said faintly.

"Of course not. Not a word."

"The nurse says I should surround them in love. They need a big tug on their heart to be pulled out of their mind." The chubby boy let out a long exhale. "Sounds dumb, right?"

"Not at all. I know more than anyone the power of love. My parents sacrificed themselves for me, remember? Stopped a Killing Curse."

"Right." Neville cheered up. "So I keep lots of plants here. They get, like, remedial potions too, but maybe one day they'll wake up? Like, the smell of her favorite flowers will spark something?"

"One day." Harry nodded. "There's been crazier things that happened in the magic world, right?"

"Right!" Neville nodded enthusiastically. "Like surviving a Killing Curse!"

"So," He clapped his hands. "What else did she love? We need it all." Harry said slyly.

Neville grinned, pulling out the drawer of the bedside table. "Mr. Spindle's Lick "O" Rish Spiders." He held up a packet. "From Honeydukes. Gran says these liquorice spiders would crawl all over the kitchen table — Mum would sneak them after dinner if she didn't like Gran's cooking, which was often."

Harry snorted. "I bet your Gran loved that."

"I don't let them out much." Neville confessed. "The spiders eat my plants, see."

"What else?"

The Gryffindor boy pointed to the ceiling. A poster of a Quidditch team grinned and waved down. "Puddlemere United — Gran said that one time she thought Dad was going to take her for her birthday. But he pulled out tickets to the opera instead." Neville laughed. "She got so mad that she cursed his toothbrush so he blew out bat bogeys!"

"Like Ginny's favorite curse." Harry chortled.

"Right? That's what made me—" Neville slammed his mouth shut suddenly.

"Like her?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "I thought you went to the Yule Ball as friends."

"Don't say anything." He pleaded.

"I won't." Harry promised. But his insides were roiling — Ginny was yet another girl who was clearly interested in him, despite what her Christmas letter had said.

Could he really take Neville's mother and his crush and still call himself a friend?

"Thanks, Harry. You're the best."

Harry changed the subject, staring at Alice as she slept. "It must be really hard to have a mum like this. At least I can, y'know, move on. I've got closure."

Neville shrugged. "I dunno 'bout that. I'm just happy I can still see her. And, like, she'll still smile or recognize me, once in a while." He fidgeted. "That's priceless."

Harry looked at him seriously. "What would you do to bring her back?"

His pudgy friend frowned at him, silent for a long minute. "Nothing can do that, Harry."

"I know, but…if it could."

Neville reached for his mother's hand, caressing it gently. "Anything."

"Anything?" Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Even if she's not the same as she was?"

The Longbottom heir stared blankly at the wall. "Just to see her out of this hospital, with a light in her eyes. That'd be a miracle alone." He shook his head, wearing a bitter smile. "A silly dream."

"I hope you'll see it, one day." Harry said quietly.

He could make it happen, he thought. He could fuck and bond Alice of the past, seal her bond into a Whorecrux. And in the future, he could break the Whorecrux to awaken the all-encompassing love they'd have for each other, bringing her out of her destroyed mind into reality.

But even if Neville wanted it, even if Alice would walk out of here on her own two feet, able to hug her son and see the man he'd become, it felt like the wrong thing to do.

He'd bring her soul back to her, but wouldn't he lose a bit of his own?

###

Hogwarts was warm.

"Too warm." Harry frowned. The castle had to be perfect, even in their shared mindscape that they'd pull Lord Chang into. "Lord Chang will have been here many times, even if he wasn't a student. It has to be perfect."

"Hold on." Hermione murmured, closing her eyes.

"Better."

"You think it'll stand up to the real thing?" She said nervously, hand in hand as they walked up the Grand Staircase. "I've reworked it, put in some traps, just in case. If you put your foot on that trick step, you'll fall into greenhouse outside."

"Smart." She'd been a quick learner — Harry suspected that their bond was helping her learn at an exponential pace.

Hermione's Occlumency and mindscape training developed far quicker once she'd heard about Hannah. Hannah had told them she'd done accidental Legilimency on Susan, but the way she'd described it, it sounded like she'd been pulling his power to do it. It was another reminder that their bond, their love, it went both ways.

Some part of him, perhaps the Voldemort part, found the thought abhorrent. But overall, he was grateful — it was a little way he could pretend that he wasn't just taking.

"You sure you want to do Hogwarts?" She asked.

"He'll feel safer in secure places. Hogwarts, Gringotts, the like."

Hermione ran her hand over the stone railing, testing the texture. "But we want to bring his sexuality and aggression out. A school isn't exactly the right place for that." His bushy-haired friend gave him a rueful look as he squeezed her bum in reply. "I get your underhanded point, but you're a deviant, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Every guy in the world looks back at themselves from five, ten, twenty years ago and shudders at what a loser they were."

"I don't get it."

"When a guy fantasizes about being a hero, it's not about being heroic in front of strangers. It's about being a badass at work, or school, or in front of your dad—"

"Or a beautiful woman at the school." Hermione realized.

"A teacher, perhaps."

"A French teacher with big breasts." She sniffed. "Men are so simple."

"C'est la vie."

"That's not going to work again."

"What?"

"Speaking other languages just to get me—"

"Horny?"

"—stimulated." She blushed, giving him a light push as his hand started wandering. "So you'll make him a hero in our fake school. You sure you can give that job up?"

"Hey, I'm not the Harry of a year ago—"

"You still have a hero complex." She said flatly. "You just have a horny complex too, gerroff—" She squealed as he attacked her neck with kisses, hands under her skirt. "People will see!"

"Dream people." Harry reminded. Hermione shuddered as the students on every floor turned to look at them, their expressions blank.

She pushed him away.

"What's wrong with them?"

"They're sensing we don't belong. This is Hannah's mind, remember? The more we act oddly, the more they'll react."

"They look scary." She whispered. She stood up and straightened her skirt and the dream people looked away, continuing their day.

"They can be." Harry confirmed. "Remember, even subconscious magic can be powerful. I once blew my Aunt Marge up with accidental magic, so why would magic in my mind be any less powerful?" He saw the look on her face. "Only if they think we're a threat." He assured.

"We are a threat." She pointed out.

"Not at first. We're just trying to make the bull show his horns."

"We just need him to want Apolline, right? That's easy. She could make me want her."

He shook his head. "It's not enough for him to want to fuck her. We need to figure out what makes him tick sexually. And at his most vulnerable, we'll be able to hit him with another Legilimency. Descend deeper, to the next level of his defenses."

Hermione frowned as they walked towards the Gryffindor Common Room. "We can't plant the seed at that point?"

"We can try." Harry said skeptically. "But I doubt it. We can't convince him to abandon his sex trafficking business without going deeper, without figuring out why he wants to."

Hermione made her cute little humming sound in the back of her throat, the one she made when she was thinking — he loved that sound. "Padma already told us — he wants to go clean."

He snorted. "What pureblood House runs a clean shop? I call dragon dung on that one. Going clean won't help his House, especially since the Patels wont have any incentive to keep their mouth shut."

Hermione made an 'oh' shape with her mouth. "A secret reason."

"One that we'll have to go deep to figure out. And…amend."

Hermione let out a trill of glee, bouncing on her feet. "This is so exciting."

"Yeah?"

She beamed at him. "Doing something completely new with magic, with you. Just us two." She paused. "And I'll get a deeper look into you, too, right? Since it's a shared mind-dive."

"And me into you." Harry winked.

Hermione gave him a raised eyebrow. "I think you've gone deep enough into me." She said, a twinkle in her eye.

Harry stopped short at the Common Room entrance. The Fat Lady painting had been replaced with an oil painting of Hermione, glorious and naked, astride a white horse.

She elbowed him. "I was practicing making changes."

"Look at you, Lady Godiva." He admired.

"I've never been horse-riding."

He pinched her ass. "From first hand experience, you're great at it."

"Harry!"

"You set me up for that."

Hermione clasped his hand, resting her head on his shoulder. "I suppose I did—"

Harry flinched, his skin cold. The castle grew colder and colder. His mind felt heavy. And from the walls, there was a voice, silky and smooth.

Not a basilisk's rumble.

It was Tom Riddle's soft tones. "I have so missed this school." He murmured.

"Harry?" Hermione frowned.

"Not now." Harry muttered, holding his arms. "Go away."

"Who are you talking to?" She said quizzically.

"I never thought you'd come down here, Harry." Tom murmured. Harry looked around wildly, but there was nobody there.

Footsteps in the corridor. Drops of sweat pooled down Harry's forehead as he shoved Hermione behind him, but it was only a student.

A Hufflepuff.

Cedric Diggory. The handsome boy scowled as he walked towards them. "Letting me die so you can fuck my girlfriend, Harry? That's not House Potter behavior."

"I…what? I didn't put him here." Hermione exclaimed. "He's not in my mind or Han—"

"He's in mine." Harry confirmed. This was what he'd suspected. All his demons would come out to play.

The horse in the painting swirled like a melting marble, and so emerged a flash of red hair. A familiar red.

Lily Potter scratched at her own skin with bloody fingernails. "You can save me, Harry!"

"Fuck this." Harry muttered, grabbing Hermione's wrist and pulling her along, down the Gryffindor tower.

But all of the students had changed.

"It's you!" Hermione pointed at one black-haired boy.

The boy sneered. It wasn't Harry, but James. "I'm so disappointed in you, son. What you've done to these poor girls."

"Get out of my head." Harry snapped, stumbling away, down the staircase.

There was no escape. From each railing, a new face peered over.

Neville with tears running down his face. "I thought you were my friend."

Ron scowled. "I was your first and only friend, but now you're too good for me?"

Sirius spoke to Lupin at the bottom of the stairs. "What will we say to James? How did Harry turn out like this?"

The buzz of voices mixed into a deafening echo in his head, overlaid with the continual sound of Tom's laughter.

"Harry, you're hurting me!" Hermione squealed, trying to pry his fingers from her wrist.

"S-sorry, I didn't, I would never—" He stared at the bruise on her skin, suddenly cold.

The cold only grew, his breath catching in his throat. A cold that swept through his skin, freezing his blood.

He knew this cold. A cold that came with a thick fog, a mist, and a rattling breath.

The Dementors came through the walls, emerging out of the stone, gliding toward him. They extended dead slimy hands, their hoods hiding their hoods in a black void. Only their rotting fingers lowered their hood, and their faces were revealed.

His girls, all of them — Narcissa. Apolline. Marie. Hannah. Hermione. Helena.

They stared at him with empty eyes, their faces gaunt. "You forced us." They chorused as one. "You forced us to love you. You're sick."

"It's not, it's not like that." Harry muttered, looking for a way out, an exit. But there was nothing. Hermione was frozen in fear.

He careered towards the Entrance Hall oak doors.

Dean spit at his feet as he passed. "Just another traitor."

Seamus laughed shrilly. "You thought you could buy friendship with a broom?"

The doors opened before he could reach them.

It was Tom, his dark eyes amused. "Mental health is so important, isn't it, Harry?"

Harry snapped his neck back. Surging pain burst through his nerves and suddenly he wasn't in Hogwarts but above it, soaring through the clouds, staring down at the tiny castle below. He blinked and he was being pulled into a dark tunnel, like an ant drained into a sink.

Pop.

"Aaargh!" He opened his eyes and it was Hermione on top of him, the red agony of the Cruciatus fizzling from her wand and into his every nerve.

She tossed her wand away, crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You said it was the only way to wake you from a mind dive!"

Harry coughed and spluttered. Where was he?

Hannah on his left, Hermione above, Daphne to his right.

The Room of Requirement. Empty vials on the bedside table, the vials they'd used to initiate their shared dreaming space.

Hermione had tortured him to free him from the torture of his mind.

"It is." He said shakily. "Y-you did the right thing." He breathed heavily.

"What was that?" Daphne looked angry. "You were screaming and sweating. I couldn't wake you so I woke Granger."

Hannah couldn't even speak.

He couldn't do this, not in front of all of them. "Daphne, Hannah, leave us." He ordered.

"But that's not fair—"

"But I want to stay." Hannah begged.

"Out." He growled. "Now. I won't ask you again."

Daphne seethed, her fists balled up, but she followed Hannah out the door.

When they were alone, Hermione looked at him expectantly — would she have gone even if he'd ordered it?

"My monsters." He explained, unable to meet her eyes.

She recoiled. "That's really how you think?"

"No." He said firmly. "Not most of the time." He tapped his temple. "Tom's in here and he's a real wiz at bringing out my deepest fears."

She bit her lip. "We're going to have to deal with all this in Lord Chang's mind?"

He tugged her onto his chest as he collapsed back. "That's why I'm bringing you, sweetheart. To design puzzles to escape any unwanted demons."

Her fingernails dug into his bare chest. "And what if I hadn't woken you up, huh?"

Fuck.

"I would have been fine." He said unconvincingly.

"What would happen, Harry?"

"Wizards that get lost in their own mind — they go mad. Unable to figure out if they're in reality or in their mindscape." He toyed with her hair, lost in his memories. "That's why you usually learn Occlumency with someone that hates you."

"What?"

"Someone that loves you won't be able to deliver the pain needed to wake you up. Only serious pain will bring you back to reality." He sighed. "Ironically, serious pain sends you into your mind, too, like Neville's parents. So much agony they retreated into their own mind, their own world, and never came back."

"Jesus Christ, Harry." Hermione muttered.

He snorted. "That makes a change to swearing with Merlin's name."

Her head snapped up. "Is this really worth it just for the Patel twins?" Anger blazed through her beautiful brown eyes. "For fuck's sake, Harry, we can get other girls. Indians, twins, whatever. You have to be satisfied with what you have!"

He stroked her hair. "For once, I'm actually not thinking with my Nimbus Ten Inches."

She glared. "You want to make jokes now?" Her fingernails made red indents in his chest.

"I'm serious." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, his personal body pillow. "I'm the only one in the world that sees Voldemort's plans in my head, the scale of his ambition."

"He wants to sit on the throne, who doesn't know—"

"Not of Britain." Harry interrupted. "People don't get that. France doesn't care. Germany doesn't even headline his crimes." He brought her chin up to meet his gaze. "He wants to rule the world, Hermione, Muggle and Magical."

His head flopped back onto the pillow. "But you're right, that's not the scary part. The part that should have every wizard and witch in the world practicing their Killing Curses? I know, I know, he is the only person in the history of humanity that has the power to do it."

Hermione scoffed. "He's not the first Dark Lord or madman in history, Harry."

He blew out an exasperated breath. "Every magical Dark Lord, every muggle Dictator, every empire from China to Rome to the Brits, even. None of them have had the power Tom has, the sheer capability."

The colour drained from her cheeks. "But you and the Headmaster, you can stop him. You have stopped him."

He rubbed her back. "Dumbledore's the only one he's ever feared, they say. But the thing that keeps me up at night is that nobody knows Dumbledore is scared of Tom, too."

Hermione blanched. "But he's so powerful."

"Inside Hogwarts, yes." Harry conceded. "Close to Hogwarts, yes. The castle grants the Headmaster power, that's why Dumbledore guards that position so closely. He can pull on Hogwarts like I pull from you girls." He held her tightly. "But a duel between them elsewhere? I'm not sure…"

Hermione was silent for a long minute, her head rising and falling with his heartbeat. "What does this have to do with Padma?"

"She's the bonus, Mione, not the prize. Don't you realize? That far deep into Lord Chang's mind, we can make him give Cho to us without a wedding ring. The prize is the opportunity to take two leading magical families of China and India, two huge pieces off the chessboard."

Hermione leaned up to look at him, soft fingers caressing the stubble on his chin. "Voldemort's only attacking British families, Harry. He's not even looking abroad yet."

"Isn't he? Lucius was sent to Switzerland in the summer to talk to the trolls, but probably the bankers too. Voldemort's not torturing Muggles in his spare time. Think, Mione." He urged. "While I'm trying to convince teenage girls to drop their panties, where do you think he is, each and every day?"

"Putting the foundations in." Hermione shivered. "Building relationships. But the Headmaster, the Wizengamot, the international council, there are—"

"Know what Padma told me when I asked about how fast India is growing?" Harry interrupted. "She said whenever a Wizengamot member comes to India, they get a lecture. Whenever a Dark Lord comes, they get a vault load of money and a library of rare books."

"You think countries are already joining him?" She rubbed her arms anxiously, her big eyes inches from his, her breath tickling his nose.

"They're taking gifts and I can't blame them. It doesn't cost them anything. Everyone thinks Tom's a madman who rules with Crucio's and Avada's." He swallowed the bile in his throat. "His mind in mine taught me that he's once in a generation smart and just as determined."

Hermione frowned. "There's other ways into India. We—you have money too."

"My money is your money too, love."

"Daphne told me off for buying rare books the other day."

He snorted. "That girl. She needs a spank."

"She needs a collar and a leash, more like." She said darkly.

"There are other ways." He admitted. "But House Patel is an insider in their society, a backdoor into their highest powers. And since we're going into Lord Chang's mind, a backdoor into China too."

Hermione squirmed on top of him, placing his hands firmly on her tight rounded ass. "You've really got a thing for backdoors now, huh?" She smirked. "Is there no tool of misogyny you won't pick up?"

He swatted her bum. "What? What tools of misogyny do I use?"

"You cover my face all the time."

"That's not misogyny."

"It's literally treating women as lower, in this case, as a glorified toilet bowl or tissue paper."

"That's—" Harry paused. "Okay, but you did ask for it last time."

She blushed, pinching his hip. "My own personal adjustments to maintain our relationship does not affect the overall problematic nature of the wider social issue." She sat up on his lap. "In fact! The fact that I—I mean, women, have been conditioned to find it arousing is because all pornographic material contains it, making it even more evidence of the misogynistic patriarchy."

"You're looking at porn?" Harry blinked.

Her face went even redder. "I'm studying for you. I mean, us."

"Are you saying this is my fault?"

"Clearly."

"So you don't want me to put a buttplug in you, for you to wear all day, even in class, in the library, under that little skirt, your secret—"

"Stop!" She wailed, trembling. "You know that's not fair."

"I'm just saying," Harry took a firm handful of her asscheek, enjoying the wobbly flesh. "You're not exactly Elizabeth Bennett."

"I'm adapting to what I have, which is no Mister Darcy." She scowled.

"Mister Darcy didn't have a mad and dangerous scheme to get two exotic twins into his bed?"

She giggled at the thought, wriggling on his lap, her hand slipping underneath her to reach for his growing cock. "Harry, it's racist to call all non-western girls exotic."

"Oh, here we go."

Her hand pushed his cock against her panties. "It reinforces a Western-normative and superior worldview of South East Asia, and by calling all non-white girls exotic, it treats them as indistinguishable from each other."

"I mean, in this case, they're literally twins—"

"You'd call Cho exotic too."

Harry hesitated. That was probably true. "I'm glad I've got you to keep me on the straight and narrow." He patted her bottom.

Hermione gazed at him fondly as she slowly rocked on his cock, letting him feel the friction of her cotton panties. "It's very difficult to be your progressive social compass and inflame your primitive teenage libido." She complained.

"It is?"

She bit her lip as she shifted her panties to one side, so his cock could slide through her lips without entering. "If I was less principled—"

"I can't imagine—"

"—I would say something like 'would you like to see my milky skin between the twins' darker hues. Would you sandwich me between Padma and Parvati?" She moaned as she ground her hips slowly, holding his angry red cock against her pelvis.

Harry tutted. "Comparing non-Western girls to food, making them seem like mere bread fillers to the main meal of a white western girl?"

Her eyes flicked open. "You are so right. We'll have to change the power dynamics. They could tie me up and spank me while you watched, Harry?" She giggled. "Revenge for the British colonialism."

Harry groaned as she lifted herself up and sank down on him, his hard cock slowly enveloped in her wet hot cunt, as tight as ever. "You think Parvati can even spell colonialism?"

Hermione gasped. "Don't make me laugh, not with a Nimbus Twelve Inches inside me."

They both spluttered laughter as they met each other's eyes.

Her smile faded. "You scared me, Harry."

His heart clenched. "I'm sorry, Mione."

"None of us girls would ever think that, let alone say it." She said firmly. "I loved you before the bond. I'll love you when you rule the world, or when we're lying in the debris of our failure. I'll always be there."

"I know, sweetheart." He let her kiss his thumb at her lips.

She gave him a mischievous smile. "I don't know Mandarin or Hindi, but I do know your love language." Hermione whipped her white blouse off, revealing her perfect perky tits.

She placed his hands on her hips that twisted in perfect circles, a slow spiral up and down of grinding and rocking, enunciated with whimpers and moans.

Hermione palmed her own breast, squeezing it in shivering pleasure. "This is me being your Lady Godiva, but — oooh — once you've got your energy back," Her smile became a smirk. "You can show me that I'm no lady."

Harry grinned up at her. That sounded like a plan. And while his demons would only grow when they stepped into Chang's mind, he knew he could do anything with her at his side.

###

"Almost there." Apolline murmured, resisting the urge to touch herself. "Do it together, now."

There was a little audible pop. And there it was. On the edge of the sofa, between four sky-pointing creamy legs, Narcissa and Helena's fingers trailed over their newly inserted gem-plugs. A lilac pink for Cissy, a reflective white for Helena.

"Diamonds are a girl's best friend, non?" Apolline giggled.

"Oh, Merlin." Helena squeezed her eyes shut. "I feel so full."

Narcissa just whimpered.

"It is so 'ot to see a mother and daughter." Apolline smoothed down her skirt, resisting the urge to pull it around her waist.

"It's so wrong." Cissy moaned.

"If Harry likes it, it can't be wrong." Her daughter countered.

The two older women snorted in unison. "Harry likes a lot of wrong things." Cissy said.

"Merlin, salope, you're absolutely drenched." Apolline admired. Narcissa's pussy was swollen red and glistening with dew.

Her manicured fingers teased down her slit. "Harry promised that if I keep this in and train myself, he'll take my bottom." She blushed. "I can think of little else."

"Mother!" Helena snapped her thighs shut, her cheeks red. "I don't think he'll fit in me."

Her worries weren't for nothing, Apolline mused. The girl's tight puckered rosebud had barely taken the little plug.

"Harry makes it fit." Narcissa said confidently.

"His magic has changed you already, non?" The French woman asked.

Helena bit her lip. "My breasts are more full. And m-my bottom, it's thicker—"

"Ze boys at schol must be all over you."

Helena rolled her eyes as she brought her legs down gingerly. "Since the Prophet revealed I'm actually rich and noble." She sniffed in contempt. "There's this new transfer student who I could swear is stalking me." Her eyes met Apolline's. "Stop staring at me!"

Apolline shook herself. "Sorry." She said genuinely. "I just can't wait until 'Arry has my daughter." She huffed. "I cannot believe she denied 'Arry's orgasm."

Narcissa blew out a long breath. "We know. You've said it a hundred times."

"Spoiled cow." She growled. "Désolée, it is my own fault, non?"

"I don't know why Harry doesn't just take her." Helena put a hand between her own legs to stop herself from staining the cushions, her ears red with embarrassment.

Narcissa stuck her nose in the air. "She's like a hippogriff. Sometimes, bowing to them isn't enough. You need to break them."

Helena shivered at that — she obviously liked the thought. "You're still dosing her pillow?" Her tongue ran along her pink lips. "And Marie is still—"

"Feeding her?" Apolline smirked. "Non. I told 'Arry to cut her off."

"Cut her off?"

"When she was a little girl, my 'usband would buy her everything. Ponies and Puffskeins, cosmetic potions and a new owl every year." She pursed her lips disapprovingly. "But when my Gabrielle was born, she wouldn't let her play with any of them! So we took them away. What is the phrase, Cissy?"

"Cold turkey."

"Oui, cold turkey." Apolline repeated. "I do not know why you like zis phrase in Britain. Turkeys are dry and tasteless, like all British food."

"Not again." Helena groaned.

"I am just saying!" She sniffed. "Ze only British food that is edible is Harry's cum." She smirked at her own quip.

Apolline's long fingers tapped on the armrest in satisfaction. "My Fleur will go mad just like she did as a girl. Her owls sent with no reply. 'Arry won't see her. Marie won't tell her anyzing. She won't be able to smell him, taste him, feel him."

Helena shivered at the thought. "I almost feel sorry for her."

"I don't." Narcissa said firmly. "Silly French whore trying to tease my Harry." She harrumphed. "Girls should immediately bend over for him when he enters the room."

"Ok, mother." Helena giggled, sharing a glance with Apolline. Apolline knew why.

Cissy has become quite the fanatic.

The Malfoy daughter tried to stand up and failed, her fingers clutching the sofa cushions tightly. "I feel so…Merlin!"

Cissy teased her own large breasts. "It's his gift, my darling, inside us all day." She crooned. "A token of his love."

Helena vibrated, her eyes wide, caressing her diamond demise. "M-Mother, I need, I need—"

"Ssh, beloved." Narcissa leaned against her, rubbing her foot along the leg of her daughter. "Mother will take care of you."

"But first," Apolline interrupted. "For 'Arry."

Four legs went up. The camera flashed and began smoking with an acrid scent.

Harry would be pleased — the photo would show what Apolline saw. Two obedient platinum blonde beauties with their legs high and spread, on their backs, fingers parting wet petals, and below, their swaying asses, punctuated with their Christmas gifts.

"Now?" Helena pleaded.

The fireplace sparked with green flames.

Narcissa scowled. "A visitor wants to enter."

"Tell them to come later." Her daughter begged.

"It is Daphne Greengrass." She said grimly.

All three women straightened up. The soon-to-be Lady Black had not made a good first impression. They dressed quickly.

When Daphne came through, she met with three terse faces.

"Such hostility." She mocked, throwing her hair behind her. "My, my, Harry does like his blondes, doesn't he? I hope he'll still find time for you all once we're wed."

Narcissa's cold face didn't alter. "What do you want?"

"What do you want, my Lady?" Daphne corrected.

"Not yet."

"Suit yourself. I come with an olive branch." Daphne smiled sweetly.

"Or a poisoned apple." Helena muttered to herself. Hermione had warned her about Daphne.

"We are listening," said Narcissa.

"In the summer," The blonde Slytherin examined her fingernails. "We'll have our big wedding. There'll be the big public event, of course. But in private, I could organize something. The Witch's Devotion."

Narcissa flinched.

Helena looked at her mother. "What's that?"

"The Witch's Devotion," Narcissa said slowly, her eyes not leaving Daphne's. "Centuries ago, amid the witch-riots and the subsequent witch-burnings, us women of magic were not trusted to perform our duties. There was even talk that noble wizards should marry Muggles to avoid witches that may have denied Morgana's teachings."

Helena's eyes widened. "Impossible. Purebloods?"

"So a tradition grew," Narcissa's voice was steady and emotionless. "For the newlywed wife to submit in front of a public audience, gifting her husband all of her…entrances, for all to see. A promise of loyalty, to show that this was a devoted wife. And for wizards to show that they could handle their wives and stop them from rebelling and rioting like the cursed and hunted witches."

"Us Veela did even more than that, to stop from being hunted." Apolline muttered. "But zis ceremony is impossible today."

"A wife can't be seen like that anymore." Daphne agreed. Her smirk grew. "But a Mistress can."

Narcissa froze. "Harry wouldn't like to showcase me."

"Wouldn't he? You'll be used in the cigar rooms of after parties, won't you?"

"That's different." She insisted, crossing her arms. "Those are nobles, not Muggleborns and half-bloods."

Daphne settled down gracefully on the opposing sofa, fingers plucking at the fabric to examine it. "Hmm. So he wouldn't agree, even if it was to show off his might to potential new ladies?"

"What?" Helena looked between her mother and Daphne. "What does she mean?"

Narcissa's skin had paled. "Those that aren't nobles, they'll be taking offers soon. With the war, few will be waiting until after Hogwarts. Offers from Houses — research roles, accountancy, enforcement, potion brewing. They'll be wanting to know their money allowance each week, where they'll be living, what rooms they'll have."

"Their freedoms." Apolline chimed in.

"And what their sexual lives will look like." Daphne finished, smacking her lips.

"Clever." Apolline admitted.

"What?" Helena looked even more confused.

"Even Mudbloods will want a well-endowed lover." Daphne stroked her hair. "If we were to invite those nerdy Ravenclaws girls to see Harry take you, Lady Malfoy, they might well join us over other Houses."

Helena sniffed. "What girl wouldn't choose House Potter?"

"Many." Narcissa murmured. "Because you could be a girlfriend or a 'favored consort' of House Macmillan, but Harry can only offer them a role as concubine or researcher."

"It's just a name—"

"It's not. It's a big difference. Some restaurants won't allow Muggleborn researchers or concubines. Some shopkeepers won't even speak to you. Your friends will be encouraged to associate with their own ranks. You go from being a guest at the society party to serving drinks at it."

"Can't Harry just say they'll be girlfriends, or whatever?" Helena frowned.

"Flooding the rank devalues the House." Narcissa explained. "A House with ten girlfriends and no concubines? It means a Lord who is weaker than his women — his reputation plummets."

Helena shook her head. "I didn't know all this rank stuff was so important."

"It is and it isn't." Narcissa said. "But there are some girls who wouldn't even consider Harry, because they know they'll be bottom of the barrel, whatever he promises, because he'll have so many options. A different House, they could be more respected."

Daphne clicked her fingers. "But a Witch's Devotion ceremony, where I introduce you…"

"A presentation of what House Potter has to offer." Narcissa muttered, gnawing on her lip.

"His sexual prowess." Apolline teased.

"Granger or someone can show off the wealth she has, how well treated she is." Daphne said dismissively. "How many books she has access to."

"You're only offering this to further diminish me." Narcissa accused. "So even the fucking peasants can see what I've become."

"Yes." Daphne admitted, smiling wickedly. "Isn't it unfortunate that this is best for Harry, too?" She shrugged. "I could spend my wedding night alone with him, of course. Perhaps he'll breed me, so we can start rebuilding his house."

Narcissa's cold blue eyes flashed dangerously. "You know I'll do what's best for him."

"As will I." Daphne cocked her head. "Why do you think I'm here? As the future Lady Black, I didn't appreciate being sidelined at Christmas. I'm here to integrate," Her lips twisted sourly. "If I must. This is me, showing you what a wife can offer."

"A sex show for Mudbloods." Narcissa spat, the slur slipping from her lips.

"I'll leave the invitation list to you." Daphne rose. "I'll see myself out."

The flames sparked green as she vanished.

"Snake whore." Narcissa spat.

"We don't need to do it, Mother." Helena said worriedly.

"Ze serpent is not wrong." Apolline said. "'Arry would benefit, oui. The girls will see him in all his glory. They'll see he is an unmatched lover. They'll see 'Ermione being well fed and wealthy. They'll see a luxury home."

Cissy put her head in her hands. "And they'll see that I'm not a threat to them. Not a wife in all but name, but a well-collared whore." She groaned.

"'Arry would have to dominate you in front of them." The French witch agreed amiably. "All of your holes, non?"

Narcissa squirmed. "You are such an irritating whore, Apolline." Her insult had no bite, so the Veela only giggled.

"You would like zat, Cissy. Your derriere being fucked in front of everyone."

Narcissa bit her lip, her fingers sliding up her leg, hesitating on the hem on her dress.

"Mother!" Helena said, shocked. "Really?"

"This is the fate of a Mistress." Narcissa told her daughter resignedly. "But I must admit, while I don't want the public humiliation, Harry would enjoy my downfall…"

"But Mother, everyone will see!" Helena whispered.

"It's not right, or proper." The Malfoy matriarch agreed, looking listless. "I don't know how it came to this."

"Harry." Apolline and Helena said together, snickering.

"Where is he, anyway?" Narcissa grumped. "I miss him."

"If he's not exploring a shared mindscape in preparation for Chang, he's messing around in the past." Helena explained sourly.

Narcissa poked at a loose thread on her dress, scowling. "I don't like all this time business. It makes me think there's a timeline out there where I'm not his, where all this didn't happen."

"If there is, 'Arry would change it." Apolline assured. "He loves you, zat is obvious."

Narcissa gave her a grateful smile. "You're still an irritating whore."

"And you are still a stuckup putain." Apolline had a sparkle in her eyes.

###

Lucius Malfoy entered his family manor with a sigh. Above the front door, he tapped the plaque for good luck, as he did every time. The plaque inscribed the family's motto. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity Will Always Conquer.

Every time he tapped it, he remembered his cause and his mission. The promise he'd made his dear departed Father.

Purity will always conquer, but not, Lucius reflected, without a lot of hard work. It was worth it, but the stress was serious, from the many orders that his Lord gave him and the never ceasing pressure from his fellow Death Eaters, all eager to climb the ranks.

His home should have been his salvation from the work, but not with crying children and a cold wife. Narcissa had done her child-birthing duty and, her obligations complete, had abandoned any attempt at marital affection.

That was fine.

It was easier, in a way.

Lucius didn't need to pretend to be a good husband either.

As he'd commanded, a house elf greeted him with a pop. An ugly thing, tennis ball green eyes peering out of his pillowcase uniform.

"Sir, sir! Dobby welcomes you back."

Lucius resisted the urge to kick it. Last time, he'd hurt his own foot. Instead, he looked at the creature expectedly.

"Sir, the Lady is in the garden, Master. The children are asleep in their cots." Dobby hung his head.

"Good." Lucius grunted. "Fetch me some wine."

Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle.

Lucius sighed. "Yes, Dobby? What is it?"

The elf's glassy orbs shined, his bat ears quivering. "Sir told Dobby to notify him of s-strange things in the home."

"Something happened? Someone…came?"

Dobby clutched his pillowcase tightly, shuddering. "A wizard, so strong, so mysterious!" He let out a keening wail.

Lucius fingered his wand. "At the ward's end?"

Dobby's eyes looked at him mournfully. "In the house!"

He frowned. "My wife invited another—"

"No!" Dobby hit himself in the face. "Stupid Dobby isn't explaining right. H-he came through the wards, Dobby saw it all. He came through the wards — so powerful, so strong — and he threatened the Lady."

Lucius felt his blood run cold. This was what he'd feared. The other Death Eaters were after his position. "D-did you get a good look at him? His name?"

Dobby shook his head wildly. "Dobby did not, Dobby is sorry." He let out a wail. "And the Lady is so upset and scared, she ordered Dobby not to speak about it." He hit himself. "Bad Dobby!"

"Get me the wine." Lucius said softly.

A man in his home. How dare he? His ancestral home, invading the space of his wife and children.

A man so powerful he could penetrate the wards. New wards. How he could defend against such a thing?

His feet walked softly on the carpet as he walked through his manor to the room they'd set up the baby's cots. There they were, sleeping softly, holding hands with one another, fingers so small and pale that you could almost see through them.

The little dragon.

And the little princess.

Lucius clutched onto the wooden cot so hard that it creaked. His head was thundering. He swallowed repeatedly, because something threatened to rise from his throat.

His children lay below, but he saw only what could be.

The Death Eaters were competing for their Lord's favor, and there were no rules. There was only power and weakness.

Carrow had fucked Karkaroff's girlfriend when the man was on a mission, purely to irritate him. Rosier had planted disgusting young pornography in Jugson's home, and then called the Aurors, just for his own amusement. Avery had booby-trapped Yaxley's home to try and sabotage him — Yaxley's wife had her leg mauled by a bear trap.

The Dark Lord approved of it all — his minions fighting for his favour appealed to his ego. Lucius hadn't kept his hands clean — he'd done terrible things to become his Master's right hand.

But his Lord's temperament was fiery, his favour fickle. He was recruiting heavily, plying pureblood powerhouses with money and magic, promises of power and freedom. He'd already recruited the Lestranges, but Lucius knew he was trying for Bellatrix Black.

He stared down at his son and daughter.

"I won't always be his favourite." Lucius murmured. How could he keep them safe from the sick minds of his colleagues? His Lord and he walked the path of the righteous, the pure path, but the tools they had to use…

They were sick. Murder and rape to instill fear, because radical change required such tools.

Draco cooed up at him, a smile with no teeth. His son would be safe — they wouldn't dare touch his heir, not when they had heirs of their own.

Helena blinked through startling eyes of gray and blue. Like her mother, she'd be a beauty.

A target - for Rosier or Carrow to take, taint, threaten. Or would it be Greyback? He knew what the wolf liked to do to children.

Who among them could penetrate wards?

Lucius bent over, holding his stomach, willing the contents to stay down.

"I'm sorry, little princess." He murmured. "But I can still keep you safe. I'll put you in a good school. One day, it'll be safe to return. Purity will always conquer, in the end."

Helena giggled.

He heard the garden doors slide open and closed. The clink of the plastic watering can. The exhale of breath that Narcissa did to blow away the hair that stuck to her face.

She wouldn't understand.

He'd have to visit the others, anyone that had come to the home. The house elves too.

"Lucius?" Narcissa called out. She'd be easier than the others — he'd left a mind-weakening rune on the inside of her wedding ring. Malfoy tradition, so the husband could ensure a wife would forget his indelicacies.

This was the right course of action, he told himself again.

"I'm in here!"

He counted her steps.

She wouldn't understand.

But a Malfoy does what he has to for power.

Her shadow in the doorway.

He turned, wand in hand.

"Obliviate."

Notes:
Harry knows not what he changes, making waves with every footstep. But maybe Alice is the perfect test for his Whorecrux, the woman in the past who has no future. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - the gang attend a party at the Chang estate, ready to begin their mind-heist, but Harry and his Mistress Cissy have to attend the naughty cigar lounge afterparty before the real work begins.

Want to read ahead to Harry's mind heist, see artwork of Padma the prize, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Daphne, Hermione, Fleur and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my Linktree below.