Chapter Sixty Four
Harry came down to breakfast in the morning with more excitement than he wanted to admit. It wasn't that he wanted to share any of his girls — the thought repulsed him — but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pride in owning the fantasies of his friends.
He could have spent the night defiling Fleur while his friends only jerked off at teasing images of her.
His enthusiasm waned when he sat down beside his silent friends.
"What's wrong?" He frowned. "You didn't like the photos?"
Seamus grimaced. "The photos are the hottest thing I've ever seen, lad, but…"
"It was awful." Dean shuddered. "The whole room was just…rustling sheets."
Ron stared into the distance, like a old war vet. "So we tried silencing charms but that was even worse."
Neville's face twitched. "You know how silent silence really is?"
"You know exactly what everyone else is doing." Seamus looked nauseous.
Dean flinched. "And then Neville—"
"Fucking Neville." The guys chorused.
"Oh, come on, guys—"
"—has the bright idea to like, take turns, so we're not all doing it at the same time."
"That just made it worse." Ron groaned.
"I may never wank again." Dean said sadly.
"Maybe this is what Luna really meant by all that glitters isn't gold." Seamus sighed.
Ernie grinned and clapped Harry's shoulder. "Well, I had a great time. Thank you, Harry." He looked left and then right and leaned closer. "Between you and me, I had to break into Zacharias' Broom Servicing Kit to steal his jar of handle polish. Started to chafe, you know."
"Too much info, Ernie." Harry peeled the boy's hand away.
"Sorry, old chap."
"Morning, Harry." Dora said as she walked past, fluffing her hair, her skirt swishing. "I hope you slept well."
"You too, Dora."
When she was gone, the other boys looked at him enviously.
"How do you do it?" Dean said bitterly.
"Huh?"
"You've barely spoken to her since she transferred." He exclaimed.
Seamus scowled. "I spend whole evenings trying to chat her up and get nuffin'. You say nothing, do nothing, bang other girls and she's still like morning, Harry. Want a blowie after breakfast?" He affected Tonk's high pitch. He spat toast crumbs onto his plate. "Ugh!"
"I mean, that's really not what she said—"
"Some guys have all the luck." Neville said sagely. "Every time he's out, she's like where's Harry, do you know when he'll back, do you think he's okay?"
"Right!" The boys chorused.
Harry rubbed his neck sheepishly. Perhaps he should have told the boys that Dora was Tonks and was supposed to be his Ministry-granted bodyguard.
Dean pointed his knife at each of them. "I want to go somewhere where all the girls are not like, Harry Pottered."
Neville nodded, red-faced. "I did like Hannah, once, but well, look at her—"
They craned their necks to look over at the Hufflepuff table — Hannah was slowly bending at the waist to tie her shoe laces, her skirt rising up to dangerous levels.
She winked at Harry as she straightened up.
Harry coughed — Hannah and he were supposed to be a secret, still, sort of.
"Then I liked Ginny. Still do," Neville said embarrassedly. "But she spends every mealtime staring at Harry, like it's her first year again."
"Stay away, Potter." Ron growled.
Harry held his hands up innocently.
Seamus's glass of pumpkin juice spilled as he jabbed it at Harry like a wand. "And don't think I didn't catch that you somehow knew that Parvati doesn't wear panties, mister."
Harry winced. He thought that might come up. "Sorry, guys. I'm trying not to cross the bro code, I swear."
"What is this bro code?" Tom hissed in his mind.
"Presumably," Mei Chang said acidly, "This code allows for one to chase after a friend's brain-addled and hospital-ridden mother."
Harry coughed. That was to bring Neville's mum back to him, like the boy wanted. Really, he was doing Nev a favour.
Seamus huffed. "It's alright. Ron warned us about being Potter and the sidekicks."
"I still don't love that name." Dean muttered.
"The worst thing is that he can't even help it." He looked at the Great Hall doors and shuddered suddenly, before staring down at his plate and sticking a fork firmly through his bacon. "Although, mate, it would be nice to see Hermione walk into breakfast and not be walking funny."
Harry winced as Hermione gently levered herself into the seat beside him. "Morning, all."
"Morning, Mione." The boys said together, staring at their breakfasts.
"What's going on?" She said, confused.
"Nothing." Harry said hurriedly. Hermione had gotten the brunt of his forced celibacy the previous day and night — on the bed, on her dresser and even bent out of her window, letting the cold air breeze away their sweaty skin, her moans getting carried away into the moonlight.
He had an invitation to the Veela Court to attend, still. Princess Sofia was looking for an update on the mermaid tribe she'd asked him to destroy. Now Harry of the past had met Sofia's mother, he knew that the mermaid island wasn't even that important to the Veela.
So why had Sofia asked him for it, offering herself up as the reward? Clearly, the Veela were being manipulative.
It didn't worry him that much — what beautiful women weren't manipulative? If the Veela had wanted to kill him, they'd had him and Apolline alone and surrounded in their court — they could have done it easily then.
Still, if they wanted to play games, he could play some games back…and even out the ratio of wands in play too…
"How about, as an apology…" Harry wiggled his eyebrows. "I take you guys on a lads' holiday?"
###
Harry hadn't expected to also receive an invitation from the Veela Court in the past. The Queen and he had enjoyed a little flirtation, but clearly he'd also piqued her interest.
The rose-scented letter came with a single stiletto high heel. When the time came, the high heel activated — a pull on his navel and he was back on the island, within the fort.
The Mediterranean blue skies hung over him, but it wasn't the same Roman-style palace that Sofia reigned over.
The marble white statues were yet to be installed, the walkway to the temple instead filled with flaming torches that fought the shadows away. In the piercing dark, Harry could see little glimpses of naked flesh and darting figures. Giggles in the night.
As Harry walked up between the groves of orange and lemon trees, he saw a single statue of a women in self-pleasure, her fingers at her core, one hand on her breast. He wasn't falling for that again.
The girl squealed as he swatted her bottom and then ran giggling into the grove trees, her marble effect dissipating from her skin.
The Roman baths weren't pooled with clear blue water, but white creamy milk. Naked beauties emerged from the pool, resting their elbows on the stone, their breasts bobbing in the water.
"We need more milk for the pool." A blonde pouted.
"Won't you help us?" Her friend said.
Harry just grimaced and kept walking. Before, he'd had Apolline to tame his flaming lusts but the past had granted him no partners, yet. He'd have to do this alone.
The Corinthian-style temple wasn't ahead like he expected. Harry's eyebrows raised at the same time his jaw lowered. It was a vast oval portal of stone, an oval lined with curves and lines, water coursing down between the engraved lines.
Not a portal, he realized. A pussy, carved from rock, detailed with the labia, water falling from above to simulate the female arousal, making the testament to femininity gleam. And inside, between those inner lips, an fiery sparkling portal carried the entrant into the Queen's court.
The Queen sat on her golden throne as he entered, one leg thrown over the other. She looked quite comfortable, sipping on a wine glass larger than her hand. Her subjects dined and chatted across circular tables, dressed in loose fabrics, or even just towels.
The Queen herself wore a kind of cloth mirror from neck to toe — Harry could see a blurry reflection of himself approaching her — and boots so high their heel was as sharp as a blade.
"Lord Foxham, welcome. Did you enjoy my entrance?" She teased.
"I've never seen one so regal."
"Worry not," She winked. "It's tighter in real life."
Harry's mouth worked, but nothing sounded.
What do I say to that?
Her laughter was rich. "You look like a young man, but you blush like a boy."
"I'm just impressed I'm still standing." All his sexual experience wasn't protecting him from the power of a collective Allure. "I don't even have une compagne."
The Queen looked at him with interest. "You know things you shouldn't, Lord Foxham. Worry not, my Lord, we'll have you on your back soon enough."
Harry gave her a tight smile, carefully keeping his eyes on hers. On the table in his peripheral vision, a stunning Veela was getting intimately acquainted with her wand.
"Young I may be, but I'm old enough to sense when something is too good to be true." He said flatly.
The Queen smirked, pushing herself off her throne. His reflected face came into clarity — he did look nervous.
"You interest me, sir." She said plaintively, circling him. Up close, she was intoxicating. She smelled like chocolate and wine and sin.
Her shoulder-length dark curls brushed against his cheek as her lips breathed into his ear. "You smell like the old magics. How does a young man have such old eyes?"
Harry's breath caught. He had to resist the urge to grab his wand, to mount any defense against this creature.
She purred. "And that duel."
"It was nothing."
"Child's play. Entertainment." She agreed. "But I could see you didn't know how to duel like that. At first, you started the wand motions for curses to rip him in pieces. A killer trying to charm. A lion trying the sheepskin on for the first time."
Harry managed a smile, though his cock was trying to tear through his trousers. "If I'm the lion, what does that make you?"
The Queen's fingertips caressed the back of his neck as she passed behind. "The cage?" She whispered into his ear.
"Let's not play games," he said, his voice strained.
She chuckled softly. "Oh, darling," she murmured, her hand brushing against his cock. "The game has just begun."
"Why am I here?"
She pouted as he caught her wrist and spun away. "Come."
Out of the vagina cave, she threaded her arm around his and tugged him around the court. "Impressive, isn't it?"
"It is." Harry said, trying to pretend as if he was seeing it for the first time. In fairness, frolicking sex-obsessed Veela never became passé.
"You'd never know that we are fragments of a broken mirror." She said simply.
"Oh?"
She hummed. "Some wish to join the Dark Lord. Some wish to flee France, sensing we're too close to the war." She nibbled on her lip. "Some wish me dead." She nodded at a passing blonde and then leaned closer to Harry. "While I rule, my closest advisers teach my daughter how to be a Queen and who knows what mischief they whisper into her ears."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "They say never to get between women fighting."
Her laughter was a soft tinkle. "But what women wants a man who won't stick up for her?"
"Is that why I'm here?"
"No." She tugged him closer. "You're here to bed me."
Harry choked. "Just like that?"
"Why not?" She shrugged. "I am not a virgin. I have nothing to protect. You are virile and cope with my Allure. That is all there is." Her hand brushed his bulge as they walked. "And you are large, too."
He hesitated. This felt like a trap. "I…"
Her smile was sly. "The male ego is so fragile, non? You want to be adored, not just used for your impressive cock."
He coughed — the walls of the fort suddenly seemed very large and far away. "I only worry that the tongue on my cock is a…forked one."
"You are smart." She admired. "Come with me." She led him into a gazebo hut between the pools of milk, through a curtain of beads. Through a glass window, Harry saw a sun-blessed bedroom. On the bed, a pale pot-bellied man was sweating heavily as he slammed into a petite brunette.
"Look," The Queen teased, her voice silky. "The Bulgarian Minister empties his balls into Renata while we record it from every angle."
Harry winced as the man roared and collapsed onto his young bedmate — sex never looked as good as it felt. "Blackmail?"
"We'll never need it." The woman assured him. "The sex is so good, our Veela so loving, that he'll return every month and write us all the laws we ask for, give us all the funds we request."
"A honeytrap." Harry finished.
The Queen cooed and patted his face. "Oh, don't look so concerned. Does he look miserable? It has been two years now."
The Bulgarian man didn't look troubled — even if he was clearly nearing a heart attack as his Veela partner suckled his cock back alive.
"These are some big secrets to give to a stranger." Harry said slowly. There was a trap here but he couldn't see it.
"It must be that trustworthy face." The Queen pushed into an adjoining room, through a bead curtain and then through an aberrant steel vault door. Another beach hut, but this bed held no Veela.
But a body, staring up at the eyes with lifeless eyes.
"Fuck," muttered Harry. He knew that man. Minister Harold Minchum — the former Minister for Magic until the election he'd just lost to Bagnold.
The Queen sighed sadly. "Three Veela at once. We did warn him."
Harry growled. This was her play — bringing him into a secret so large that they'd practically made him complicit if he did nothing with the information. A co-conspirator. Tom had done the same trick — taking a politician out for a meal and killing the waiter dead as they finished their dessert.
Tom called it the plank-walk, but it wasn't the sea they jumped into, but the Dark Arts themselves. People were hardwired to walk the fence, to pretend to be balanced, to save their own skin at every cost — until Tom took away their fence.
"Dirty trick." He snapped.
The Queen pouted at the dead body. "It is a problem."
"Not mine!"
"It could be, if you want it."
"Why the fuck would I want your problems?"
"Not the problem, the position." She traced circles on his chest. "The Minister. We've seen you, attending every single society ball. You're seen chatting up the Potters and the Longbottoms and the Bones, every light-sided family of Britain. You're trying to make a name for yourself."
Harry choked out a laugh, his stomach heavy, his head dizzy.
"You want power." She judged.
No, I don't!
He'd just been trying to bang Alice's hot body, to pin down the flirtatious little tease. That was why he'd attended every society ball.
Tom laughed uproariously in his head.
Dry mouth. Cotton tongue. He couldn't make a word.
"Minchum made Minister because we helped." The Queen bragged. "A Veela sent to persuade the right people. A blonde in every home, Harold used to joke." She said fondly.
"I'm too young, you said it yourself—"
"Right now, yes. But Bagnold only just won — the next election is years away. It could be you. First, we get you into the Ministry, into the papers—"
"I'm not even thinking about—"
The Queen gently pushed his chin shut. "You think we don't pick our targets well? And early? These things take time, darling." She breathed into his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
"I think you'll ask for plenty in return." He said simply, feeling like she was weaving a web around him.
She sniffed. "Rights for Veelas, invitations to the right parties. It's hardly much. In exchange for…" She spun him around gently. Ten Veela, kneeling on the floor. Where had they come from?
"To end up like Minchum?"
"Does he look like he regretted it?"
He didn't — the corpse had a wide smile.
"Harold was an old man with a bad heart. But you, Lord Foxham, are a very young man." The Queen nibbled on his ear lobe. "Did you know that Britain is one of the few Ministries without term limits? You could serve for the rest of your very, very," Her hand slipped into his trousers and gripped his cock. "Long life."
Harry shuddered. "I wouldn't ask for them." He nodded at the kneeling Veela. "I'd ask for you."
"Oh?" She said with delight, pressing kisses to his neck. "Could you handle me?"
"I wouldn't accept any substitute."
"So demanding." She teased. She stroked him slowly. "But…if royalty is what you want, royalty is what you'll get." She twirled around him and suddenly she was pressed to his front, looking up at him with sultry lidded eyes. "I wear a crown, sir…" She tugged her mirror-dress from her shoulder. It pooled on the floor and reflected only her nakedness up, the touch of pink between her legs. "But I've always preferred a pearl necklace." She purred, her warm breath tickling his face.
Harry swallowed. He was in over his head.
"Like I said, I'm not a blushing virgin." The Queen said softly. "I won't make you wait once you take the first step on the journey. Britain is more important than every other country, more powerful, more influential." She kissed him gently and it was like kissing an angel, soft and welcoming.
His hands wrapped around her nakedness and settled at the dip of her back because, like an angel, he was afraid to besmirch her.
"What-what's the first step?"
"A symposium."
His head heavy, Harry took a moment to parse her words. A symposium — an international gathering, a conference. There had been once in Uganda for Animagi recently — the Prophet had written a fear-mongering article about the Ugandan teenage students who could turn at will into elephants and cheetahs.
"What?"
"I want you to organise it." The Queen urged. "A grand Magical Symposium to foster unity in these dark times. Representatives from every race and community — giants, mermaids, Veela."
Harry blinked away his brain fog. "You want…targets?"
She smiled at him, pleased. "Clever! Minchum was one of our few…liaisons in Britain. We need influence, we need eager ears and hard cocks and soaking pussies for my pretty Veela darlings to charm. But we can't get the access. An invite here and there, it's not enough."
"But if I get the big players in one room…" Harry said slowly.
"With an open bar—" The Queen added innocently.
"Like fucking fish in a barrel."
"A crass turn of phrase." She chastised. "But we'll make a politician of you yet."
"I'm not exactly a socialite." Harry grimaced.
"Aren't you? The cause of Longbottom's dripping cunt. Friendly enough with James Potter to hug him. Secretive conversations with Lady Bones, even."
"You've been spying on me." He said dryly. "And you said you weren't a voyeur."
She blushed. "Guilty. But I'd rather participate than watch, handsome." She cocked her knee so her naked thigh rubbed against his cock. "Will you do it?"
Harry's chest was tighter than a virgin's cunt. The Queen and her daughter, twin snakes at each end of the timeline. They were manipulative and devilish, teasing and obscenely attractive.
But they offered two bites at the apple. If he could just get one, seed one, bond one, it would give him all of their Veela coven. An army. A power surge. A piece off the chessboard that Voldemort could not retrieve. The queen.
Tom scoffed. "Should any of these useless quims have the right to call themselves my queen, it would be the woman that still chooses my power over your bed — Bellatrix."
An idea formed in his head.
Bellatrix.
Could he fuck two birds with one stone?
Harry's hands slipped daringly to the Queen's luscious ass and squeezed her cheeks. "I'll do it."
###
"The Grand Magical Symposium." Bellatrix echoed doubtfully. They sat on the dark slates of Flourish and Blotts rooftop, their legs dangling off the edge as they licked their ice creams. Not far below, the Alley crowds swarmed — the Dark Lord's danger was dowsed by the hot summer sun.
Bella let her mint chocolate chip cone drip again into the cleavage of her white blouse — he knew she was doing it deliberately.
Harry nodded. "Composing the future of magic." The words shimmered in the air in red and gold sparks. "A conference organized by you and I. Me, the expat over from France with light-sided friends. And you, the pureblood daughter from the darkest of families, still unmarried, still available."
Harry licked his vanilla ice-cream. Fortescue made it better back then. Back now, he corrected. Time was confusing.
"We'll make it grandiose. Who could resist the biggest event of the year?" He said eagerly. "And Bellatrix Black, setting a new path for House Black, the keynote speaker. The purest of purebloods, representing the traditionalists, fighting back against Dumbledore and the like."
Bellatrix looked at him like he'd gone mad. "Why would I want to speak to any of the closed-minded pricks that make up your society balls?"
Harry reached out and swiped up the cream trail that ran between her breasts. "You wanted to change the world, you said. I'm showing you one way to do it. Or," He shrugged. "Are you foolish enough to think that killing is the only way to change minds?"
Bellatrix opened her mouth and then closed it again. She absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear — Merlin, she had a beauty all her own.
"I'm not a politician." She said finally.
"But they are," he pointed out. "The sheer power in the room? Politicians, Lords, Ladies, giants, mermaids, wizards…hell, fucking goblins." He took her hand and squeezed it. "You want to get your point across? This is the way. You want witches to be more than housewives? Lead the way. You want to remind them pureblood traditions aren't harmful? Show them your grace. You want to show the world that Muggleborns don't deserve their scholarships, that Muggles don't deserve to be studied? Show them what a pureblood lady looks like."
She was struck silent, pondering his words. "…it'd be easier with a wand." She grouched.
"And it may come to that, for those that aren't convinced."
"This is all just a way to show that service to you wouldn't only be in the sheets, isn't it?" She accused, scowling.
Harry thumbed her ice-cream off the tip of her nose. "I'm going to show you what real power looks like. What a word does that a wand can't." He bumped her shoulder and swung his feet casually. "And imagine what your Dad will think, seeing his daughter lead House Black into a new age, representing his ideals in front of the world, making them modern, making them palatable."
Bellatrix said nothing, but he saw her smirk grow slowly, out of the corner of his eye. She threw her ice-cream cone down onto the street, deliberately hitting a little kid. She offered her hand to pull Harry to his feet and stole his cone in one smooth movement.
"Ugh," she screwed her mouth after licking it and tossed it over the side. Another kid squealed. "You're so boring. You should like, venture past the vanilla. They do like, caramel and honey shit now."
"I'm an ice-cream traditionalist — that's what my speech'll be about."
"Funny. It really needs to be in my family home?" She said doubtfully. "It'll need a lot of work to get it…presentable."
"It does or they won't believe you represent your House's power." Harry said firmly.
That wasn't the reason — he needed access to the Black family home to retrieve the locket. Regulus had stolen it and almost certainly been claimed by the effects of the liquid in the basin…but if he'd been with Kreacher, then the house elf had it. In the present timeline, Sirius had dispatched the creepy house elf and with him, any clue where the locket was, so only Harry of the past could find it.
This was his way in.
The Veela wanted a big party to spread their sticky honey, and he wanted the Veela.
Bellatrix wanted to change the world, and he wanted Bellatrix.
The locket wanted to be found, because powerful magic always wanted to be used. He'd been waiting to bond a girl in the past before he hunted Horcruxes, wanting a partner he could trust more than Amelia. But he couldn't wait any longer — walking the past was an opportunity he had to grab, even if Alice wasn't ready to be claimed, if Amelia still denied him.
Bellatrix couldn't know about it — not while she was still playing him and Voldemort. The Tom of this timeline couldn't find out he was hunting Horcruxes or all the locations, all his memories, they'd be useless.
One party, three rewards, and none of the rewards knew about the other. It was a dangerous play but Bellatrix was right. He needed to…
Venture past the vanilla.
###
Lucius Malfoy sweated heavily, the drops dripping onto his lips, bitter in his mouth. He couldn't reach for his handkerchief — it was best not to make any sudden movements in the presence of his Master.
He'd learned that the hard way.
Instead, he simply watched, making prayers to Merlin, to the gods he didn't believe in, to anyone who might listen.
Lord Voldemort knelt down by the corpse in Malfoy's garden.
Lucius had thought a lot about this decision. When the stranger fell dead, sweet relief had turned to heart-stopping dread.
Because the stranger was older. His features more reptilian. His eyes an ominous red, even lifeless. His skin waxy and white.
But it was unmistakably him. His Master.
The eyes. That magic.
That wand.
Lucius' knees buckled into the grass. He had chosen honesty, fearing his Master would find out regardless.
"F-forgive me, Master." He begged. "I swear I did not know! I would never hurt you!" He scrabbled at his Master's robes, prostrating himself.
"Ssh, child." A bony finger pressed against Lucius' lips. Lord Voldemort had changed greatly since Lucius had served him, his skin growing more pale and waxy, a path that had continued to the dead man on the grass. The Dark Lord had said his image reflected his path to immortality and Lucius did not question it.
"It is a shame that we could not question him, but…my future self gives answers still, does it not?"
"My Lord?"
"Look at him." Lord Voldemort kicked the body of his future self. "He is I but older, unquestionably. But different, more like my Nagini. This level of transformation, it cannot be from the path I've been walking, not now I near its end. He is too different."
He circled the corpse. Lucius trembled — the sight was too surreal, the sun shining, the sky blue, as if they did not know that one Dark Lord circled the body of another.
"Yes…" Lord Voldemort hissed. "This visage can only be the result of a…rebirth."
"My-my Lord?"
The Dark Lord vibrated, his head thrown back to receive the rays of the sun, his eyes closed as he bathed in triumph. A smile of victory. "It worked. It worked." He repeated. "I had hoped but to know. I have defied death! I am eternal." His red eyes snapped to Lucius'. "I am absolute."
Lucius bowed his head into the grass, rocking back and forth. "Y-yes, Master."
Lord Voldemort swayed his hand up and the corpse jerked into the air, a puppet on invisible strings. Lucius did not dare to stare at the dead Dark Lord, for it was far less imposing — gormless, lifeless, limp.
The Dark Lord caressed the future clothes of his older self, examining the strange fabrics. "Hmm, though it is troubling."
Lucius stayed silent.
"I have always looked to the future, have I not? The past is of little interest to me when the future can be shaped and molded. That this me came back here, to visit you—"
When the silence grew too long, Lucius dared to break it. "He hunts someone that plays with time." He looked up.
The Dark Lord bared his sharp teeth. Hungry.
"Yes…" He hissed. "Someone dangerous. Remind me again, what words he spoke?"
"The child will never see me coming." Lucius repeated dutifully. "The man we spoke about, perhaps? The stranger that tore up Diagon Alley and vanished?"
"My thoughts exactly, my loyal friend." The Dark Lord said silkily. "We must step carefully, Lucius. But worry not, we shall find him."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Men of power?" The dead corpse dropped to the ground. The Dark Lord unceremoniously rolled him with a kick, so his face was in the soil. "We are sharks in a pond. We cannot help but make waves."
###
Tonks tugged her silver and green skirt down, grimacing. Daphne always wore a miniskirt, which meant Tonks now wore a miniskirt.
"This is a good plan." She told herself in the mirror, taking a deep breath.
It was a good plan. It wouldn't end like last time, coughing up Harry's grubby dick. She would be infiltrating Harry's trusted circle in public, at the DA meeting.
Harry wouldn't be able to get grabby in front of everyone. She'd made a mistake last time — Hermione was clearly a submissive little whore that accepted everything Harry gave.
But Daphne? The pureblood princess, Harry's entitled new fiance? There was no chance Tonks would end up choking on his unwashed cock.
She flushed at the memory. When she dug up the source of Harry's secret power, she'd have to leave that part out of her report to Dumbledore.
It was risky, still — she'd had to dose Daphne's food with a Sleeping Draught, but this was what she had to do to avoid Dumbledore's suggestion of 'getting close' with Harry.
She was more than that. More than a honeytrap. She remembered what the other trainees had said when they learned about undercover missions.
"Tonks will be good for that," They whispered to each other. "The first ever Whore-ror." They sniggered.
It wouldn't be her. She could use her innate talents without spreading her legs. She could get this done.
"For Harry's sake." She murmured. Dumbledore had been clear — Harry Potter was the most important figure in this war, he'd said. Harry must not fall, in health or in morality, he'd said. She couldn't let either of them down.
Out of the bathroom, up to the seventh floor of the castle and into the Room of Requirements. She didn't know how Daphne walked on these heels, but it gave a sultry sway to her hips.
Inside, the crowd of students was large and eager. Everyone wanted Harry's instruction, after the latest murder in Hogwarts.
"You're late." Nott grunted.
"You're still here." Tonks said, crossing her arms.
Nott shrugged. "Don't need to like him to learn from him, do I?"
Harry whistled loudly to stop the talking.
"Alright, is that everyone?" He surveyed the crowd. "No Susan, no Dora, no—"
"Zabini." Lee Jordan cracked.
Everyone laughed, though it wasn't that funny. The events were too recent.
The Slytherins were still, silent. Zabini had been one of their own and with his unmasking, there was even more heat on them, more distrust. The divide between them and the other Houses had never been greater.
Some of their gazes found 'Daphne'. Tonks knew why — it was only the blonde's betrothal to Harry Potter that stopped the other Houses from attacking them directly.
There was a grunt from the door. Ron crossed his arms. "Found these two at the door, Harry."
In walked the Carrow twins, heads high, unapologetic. Tonks felt Nott stiffen next to her.
But on stage, Harry found her eyes, looking to her from approval.
Tonks panicked for a moment — what would Daphne have done? She shrugged.
"Welcome, Flora, Hestia, is it?" Harry declared. The two girls stepped into the grumbling crowd, next to the other Slytherins. Flora gave her a grateful nod.
"Today, we're talking about binding. Impairment. In a fight, speed is paramount. Getting slowed down, getting entwined, getting stuck — it's death." Harry said sternly. He paced back and forth, his sleeves rolled up to his biceps.
Was he aware, Tonks wondered, of the girls' longing stares?
It was difficult to even look at him, now, to reconcile the Harry-the-hero image with the Harry who'd rubbed his cum-covered cock all over her face and pumped her throat.
Harry smiled wistfully. "In my first year, Ron and I were bound by the Devil's Snare. It was curling tight around our necks and our chests. Remember, Ron?"
"We couldn't breathe." Ron chortled. "And Hermione, what did she do?"
The brunette girl blushed from her position behind Harry's right. Tonks couldn't look at her the same way either.
Weak-willed slut.
Harry continued. "I told Hermione to make fire, but she couldn't think, panicked. She was like, how can I make fire without wood?"
The room tittered.
"I only tell you this story to make something clear," He said seriously. "Getting bound up, the heat of the moment, the rising panic, it'll make you forget everything you know." He smiled over his shoulder. "Even if you're the smartest girl in the school."
Some people looked to her, as if Daphne would be glaring or scowling. Tonks frowned too late.
"So we'll be splitting into pairs today. One of you practices binding your victim, the other practices getting free as quickly as possible. Switch when you're done. Oh!" Harry snapped his fingers. "What binding charms can you use? Anyone?"
Neville's hand was hesitant. "I mean, the Incarcerous Spell, obviously."
"The original and the best." Harry nodded. "Sometimes, the most used spell is inferior to another, or weaker, used only because it's easy to learn and easy to cast. But the Incarcerous is used by everyone — even Voldemort's pet Death Eater used it to bind me to a gravestone while he revived his Master to life."
The students took a sharp breath — Harry was good at keeping a crowd interested.
"It's a classic for a reason — it conforms to your intent, from ropes to thin cords to something…less friendly, even. Anything else?"
Tonks raised a hand and then winced. Daphne would never raise a hand.
"Daphne?" Harry quizzed.
"Incarcifors." She answered.
"Exactly. That's a transforming spell that transfigures an object into a prison. So, as an example," Harry conjured wire cords, metal chains, a potions cauldron, a wooden desk and finally some thorny barbed wire. "Let's see."
Five mannequins were promptly caged by five spells. Lavender squealed when the barbed wire cut through one mannequin. One mannequin punched through the lattice of wooden joints he was imprisoned by.
"You can see they work better with some objects than others, but it can be a good way to catch an opponent off-guard." Harry tapped his temple. "If you fight him on grass, the Dark Lord will use Incarcifors on the blades of grass, simultaneously Transfiguring the grass to sharp metal." He winced. "Very advanced, very bloody."
Tonks looked left and right — everyone just accepted Harry's casual knowledge of Voldemort's fighting tactics. But where had he gotten it from? He'd never fought Voldemort on grass, as far as she knew.
Unless…the cemetery? But she'd worked security at the Third Task…she'd seen him come back. Bloody, bruised, but no cuts from barbed wire-grass.
He was a mystery. One she'd solve.
Tonks shook herself — the others had split into pairs but she was left with nobody. Usually, she'd have Tracey, but the girl hadn't been in school for weeks. When Tonks had asked, everyone just shrugged and said. "Ask Harry."
It was incredible what the boy got away with.
"Oh, Daphne, you haven't got a partner." Harry hummed. "Cho, do you mind? I think you owe me — I still haven't collected on our Quidditch bet, you know."
"Not at all, Harry. Sir, I mean. I'll pay you back whenever you want." Cho said sweetly. But when Harry was gone, the Asian girl glared.
"Dirty trick you pulled at the library, snake whore." Cho hissed.
Tonks blinked back. "Um, sorry?"
"You think you're golden because you got one ring, but watch me get the—" The girl paused suddenly. "Did you just say sorry?"
Tonks flinched. Daphne would never apologize. "Sorry you're…such a worthless whore, I mean." She recovered.
Cho snarled and jabbed a Incarcerous at her. Tonks, without thinking, just batted it back.
"Oh, very good, Daphne. Spell deflection is not easy." Harry called from the stage.
Cho growled, suddenly entwined in the same ropes she'd sought to wrap Tonks in — sharp wire, slightly barbed, cutting through her clothes, slicing into the girl's blouse and tearing her stockings.
"Sorry!" Tonks called again, and then winced again. Being a bitch was hard.
When Cho let out a feral scream, Harry smartly switched her dueling opponent. Tonks roped up Hermione easily and then walked over to let her free when she couldn't escape Tonks' thick ropes.
What Harry had revealed when Tonks was pretending to be Hermione had made it clear there was some sort of bond. He'd said he'd bonded a dirty French slut. And if Hermione was clearly his submissive, and if Daphne was his new fiance, then surely the bushy-haired brunette and her were…peas in a pod.
If Harry wouldn't give his secrets up, maybe his right-hand slut would.
"Do you think Harry's okay?" Tonks whispered as she knelt down to untangle the ropes. "He seems so dark recently, don't you think?"
Hermione glared at her. "Any stress he has is because of you, bitch."
Tonks choked — she didn't even think Hermione capable of cursing.
"I'm just worried, that's all—"
"Keep your snake trap shut, before I plug it for you." Hermione hissed. "Harry might have but do you really think the other girls have forgiven you for that headline?" Her lips formed an uncharacteristic smirk. "You've got it coming to you, believe me."
Tonks recoiled at the pure hatred coming from the mature Gryffindor girl. Merlin, people really hated Daphne.
"Alright, Hermione, you're with Cho, go." Harry called.
Tonks bounced on her heels as the young man stood opposite her, her dueling partner. This was her chance to interrogate him.
"Incarcerous." Tonks said confidently. She murmured it again under her breath to cast it twice, a forked prong. Harry Potter or not, she was still an Auror.
But the boy let both spells him, entwined in tight ropes and wires.
Tonks felt a flicker of triumph until she was enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke, bitter and acrid. Before it enveloped her, she realized that Harry had slipped free of his binds — the ropes were pooled around his feet.
Along with his clothes.
But he wasn't naked because he wasn't…human, suddenly, but a pool of viscous flesh-colored jelly sliding across the floor toward her.
Tonks gasped and then he was suddenly behind her, holding her, naked, his cock pressed into her bottom, one arm tight around her neck, his other hand slapping her tits.
"Nice try, Daph." He teased. A tap of his wand and she was bondaged tightly in ropes, cutting under her breasts, wrapped around her thighs, a taut tie that wrapped around her crotch and arched her back. She was roped so tightly that she couldn't even stand.
And then he was gone, summoning his clothes back on as he stepped out of the smoke to applause and a barrage of questions.
When the smoke finally cleared, Tonks realized she was shaking. Who was Harry Potter?
"Okay, okay," Harry laughed, holding his palms out to stop the questions. "Let's talk about what I just did."
"You turned into a jelly, how did you do that?" Ernie demanded.
Seamus nudged Dean. "I thought that weird fluid was just what girls discharge whenever Harry gets naked." He cracked.
"Seamus!" Lavender smacked him. "That's so gross!"
"So first, to escape the ropes." Harry scratched the back of his neck. "It's a bit advanced and I shouldn't have been showing off. But put your hands up if you know the Jelly-Legs Curse. Most do, right?"
Most of the DA had their hands up.
"Gin, they teach that in fourth year?" Harry blinked.
The redhead blushed. "I study too, you know. I'm one of the best in my year."
"Okay, okay!" Harry grinned. "Well, good. Because what I did was an adaptation of it. Except I cast it on myself and as you saw, it worked on more than just my legs."
Nott looked bewildered. "The Jelly-Legs curse doesn't actually turn your legs to jelly, Potter. It just feels like it because the bones are gone for a second. Sir, I mean." The Slytherins had been the least receptive to Harry's insistence that they treat him like a proper teacher.
Harry smiled, his eyes twinkling. "The jelly came later. I'm only explaining how I slipped free of the ropes — you can't bind a body without bones. But to make myself into that jelly, I did some very advanced and very dangerous self-Transfiguration."
"I knew it." Hermione muttered under her breath.
"In fact, it's inspired a little by Hermione's first crush, Viktor Krum."
She glared. "I did not have a crush on him. If you had actually asked me to the ball—"
"—Anyway," Harry said loudly, over the laughter. "Viktor, as you all remember, transfigured himself into a shark for the Second Task. He only managed the head, ultimately — it's not easy. But, it's the same principle. I self-transfigured into a jellyfish."
Tonks gaped at him. She knew that theoretically, it was possible, but being able to keep his thoughts, his wand, the speed at which he'd done it…it was supremely advanced magic.
"And did you have to get naked?" Dean asked. "Or was that a bonus for the ladies?"
Harry blushed. "Self-Transfiguration will generally leave the clothes behind — something to remember, girls."
"I'm not complaining." Cho murmured under her breath.
"Alright, back to your duels. You can try and overcharge a Jelly-Legs Curse, if you like, to see how it helps escape the ropes, but no self-Transfiguration, please! Madam Pomfrey's got enough on her hands." Harry ordered.
Tonks faintly realized she was still lying on the floor, still bondaged, the coarse rope grazing against her panties, wrapped around her breasts so they bulged larger.
Harry walked over to her to let her free and she could feel her own burning face.
"It always surprises me how much you enjoy this, Daphne." He said quietly.
Tonks shivered. Were all of Harry's lovers such freaks? This disguised mission had been another abysmal failure. But he was untying her with his hands, 'accidentally' touching her as he did.
Now's the time.
"What did you do to the French girl?" She blurted out — she didn't have time to be subtle.
Harry scoffed. "Jealous? Nothing I didn't do to you first, promise."
She rubbed her red wrists as he untied them. "You've grown so powerful recently!" She spluttered.
He gave her an odd look. "Yeah, I've been eating my vegetables." He turned away and Tonks desperately caught his arm.
Dumbledore's words ran through her head once more.
Harry must not fall, in health or in morality.
She had one more chance, for Harry's sake. What phrase would unlock the vault? She thought of everything she knew of the dynamic Harry had, with Hermione, with Narcissa, with Daphne.
The loud sounds of duels around them drowned their conversation, gave them privacy.
"H-how can I help you?" She said. She felt pathetic as soon as she'd said it. Tonks had the mission — she'd let Dumbledore down.
Harry nudged her chin up, his gaze fond. "You never stop surprising me." He said affectionately. "You know the score, Daph — the more girls I fuck, that I can bond, the stronger I become. Focus on that."
Tonks stared in disbelief as he walked away. She had it — his secret. A coven, a harem, a power-sharing link to the master. In the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix, they'd often spoke of Voldemort's own power. Snape had told them what little he could.
And Harry — beloved Harry, the golden child, the national treasure, the media's darling, the Boy-Who-Lived — had done the same, only with witches.
Tonks stared blankly, blood throbbing in her ears. He had…what? Enslaved these girls, surely.
Hermione wouldn't act like she had. Aunt Narcissa certainly wouldn't. And Daphne? The pureblood princess, letting Harry grind against her under the cover of smoke?
It was unbelievable.
It was enough to go back to Dumbledore with — he'd know what to do.
The rest of the DA meeting went by in a blur — she could barely focus, barely think, the blood pumping hard and fast in her veins.
This changed everything, because Harry had fallen to the Dark Arts too. The war was split. Dumbledore would have to save these poor girls — Tonks hoped their minds could be repaired.
And what about Harry? The Headmaster had said he was crucial to defeating the Dark Lord but what about now? She doubted a stint in Azkaban would redeem him.
As soon as the meeting ended, Tonks barreled for the door. She had to get to the Headmaster's office immediately!
To her relief, nobody stopped her. Nobody followed. The castle was quiet, her heels too loud, her skirt too short.
What if she'd already been affected, Tonks thought with alarm? Harry had already plunged his cock down her throat and she'd already tasted drops of his pungent cum.
Relax.
She walked faster.
"Somebody's in a hurry." Hermione stepped out behind a statue, pulling her waned from her sleeve.
"Go away, Granger." Tonks spat.
"You wanted to talk about Harry, let's talk about Harry." The girl said simply. "You're right, he's been stressed recently. I'm — we're all worried about him." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I can't bear the thought of him losing his good heart."
Merlin, Tonks thought, the girl really was brain-addled.
"Granger—Hermione, can we talk about this later?" Tonks grimaced. "I'm busy."
Hermione didn't seem to have heard her. "The more unkind girls he surrounds himself with, the larger the stress he's under." She sighed. "He needs us all to be good girls." She shivered, hugging herself.
Tonks stared. The girl was mad. This wasn't a harem, but a cult. She had to warn Dumbledore straight away.
Should she morph back into Tonks and blow the girl away with a curse or two? But what if the Headmaster wanted her to learn more? No, Dumbledore would take action straight—
"Harry's under too much strain to punish his bad girls, so we need to help in any way we can. You need to learn, Daphne." Hermione said, her eyes wild. "Do it, Han."
Tonks whipped her head round, but it was too late. A flash of red light turned to a void of black.
###
Tonks awoke to find herself lying on a bed of red leather. Where was she? She didn't remember. On a job, in a hotel?
Something metallic jangled. She blinked away her blurry eyes and stared, not comprehending. Her wrist was shackled. Her wrists were shackled.
She tried to sit up and couldn't — she was pinned by the four corners of the bed. Her heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening because she couldn't breathe.
She was naked — but not her, because golden blonde hair over her chest. A shadow above.
It was Aunt Cissy, naked, her hair tied behind her. In her hands, she stroked an enormous pink dildo, strapped into her harness.
What the fuck?
"Auntie?" Tonks said in confusion. "Agh—" She recoiled as a sharp hand smacked across her cheek.
Narcissa glared. "Auntie? Because you think I'm old, is that it? You silly little bitch."
"I don't think we need any more of her tongue, Mother." Another voice said. Tonks twisted her head to see the girl she'd only seen in the papers — Helena Malfoy, her nipples hard as she shivered in excitement.
"No, wait, this is all a mist—" Narcissa shoved a pair of green panties into her mouth. Tonks gurgled around her own panties, desperation settling in.
She tried to morph back into Tonks, to show them they'd got the wrong person, but nothing worked. Sparks flew from her shackles.
"Runes to stop any accidental magic." Narcissa said with satisfaction. "No escaping your punishment, darling. Auntie, really? The nerve."
"Here, Mother." Helena crawled onto the bed and carefully strapped a ball-gag into Tonks' mouth. The ball was yellow, with a little smiley face and a black lightning scar. "Sorry about this." The Malfoy daughter murmured.
"Helena!" Cissy said sharply.
"Sorry, Mother."
"Remember, she deserves this."
Tonks felt bile at the back of her throat as she strained uselessly at her restraints. She looked for an escape around the room.
Not room, she corrected. Some sort of sex dungeon! A metal grid on the roof from which hung chains, a board of whips and paddles and frightening things, and some sort of riding machine, like a horse-simulator, complete with a dildo stuck to the seat.
"Yes, Mother."
"Look," The bed dipped as Narcissa knelt on it and pushed her thighs apart. Tonks shuddered as her aunt prodded at her asshole. "She's even taken out the plug Harry gave her."
Helena pouted. "I don't know why she's so disobedient." She hugged herself, trembling, red-faced. "I love having that little reminder of him, all day."
Tonks blinked desperately through her stinging eyes, trying to communicate in the only way she could. She wasn't Daphne!
It was no use.
Narcissa exhaled a long breath as she gently bounced her long strap-on in her hand.
"Guh!" Tonks gurgled as the scary pink dildo tapped against her bare pussy and then slid down to her rosebud. How had it come to this?
"I had wanted Harry and Apolline here for this." Narcissa admitted. "I feared I'd forgotten how to be ruthless, so wrapped up am I in Harry's love."
"You've got this, Mother." Helena encouraged.
"But while they are in France, I think we can get started without them." Narcissa said, stroking her pink cock. She looked at her daughter fondly. "What do you think, darling? By the time they get back?"
"We'll have learned how to use all this stuff." Helena nodded excitedly. "The floggers, the feathers, the wax. And then Harry can use it on us!"
"One step at a time, sweetie." Narcissa teased. She winked at Tonks, her thumb circling the girl's asshole. "See, there's something my daughter and I just can't believe."
"It's impossible." Helena agreed.
"Hermione told us that you can take Harry's whole cock up your bottom," Narcissa snapped her fingers. "Just like that."
"You would die!" Helena bit her fingernails. She jumped onto the bed and lay next to Tonks, her hands hesitantly reaching out to caress her breasts.
"You're so beautiful." The young girl admired. "I wish you'd treat Harry better."
"This isn't quite as big." Narcissa admitted. She waved her wand and the shackle chains forcefully pulled Tonks' knees up high and her legs apart, her asshole ready for entry. "But I guess we'll find out."
Tonks stared with large disbelieving eyes as the dildo approached. Helena giggled, her fingers sliding through the Metamorphmagus' wet pussy. "Hermione was right, she does love the idea!" She said gleefully. Helena frowned at her suddenly. "Hermione said you were very mean to her so we won't be gentle, okay?" Her smile returned. "But I think you'll thank us in the end. I hope."
The younger girl leaned over her body and gently breathed her hot breath onto Tonks' pussy. "Don't worry, Mother says I'm getting good at this." She said, before her tongue delved deeply into her folds, lapping quickly while her thumb circled her clit.
Narcissa stroked her daughter's hair. "You should be grateful my darling little girl has a gentle heart — I wanted to do this dry."
"Unggh!" Tonks moaned in pleasure through her gag as Helena's talented tongue slid through her. How had she ended up here, from the triumph of finding Harry's secret to ending up naked and getting tongue-blasted by a teenage girl, her own Aunt prodding a fat dildo at her asshole. Harry's cult were all crazy!
The sheer humiliation of it all was making her drip all the more. It was like all the torrid fantasies she'd had since Harry had made her gag on his cock were playing once again, soundtracked by Helena's magic tongue. She'd had this fantasy even before Harry, she knew — the jokes her colleagues made about her, the Whore-ror who specialized in undercover work.
She'd had a dream where she'd been found out and woken, strapped and bound. Her captors groped her, dominated her, used her — she was forced to fuck her way to freedom.
But she'd never expected it to come true and never from her Aunt and her cousin!
The girl made soft contented suckling noises as she munched on her pussy and no matter how Tonks wriggled or squirmed, she couldn't get away from that tongue.
No! Her traitorous body was reacting, her pussy quivering, her toes curling. Helena gurgled happily as Tonks flooded her mouth.
"Nuh-uh, darling." Narcissa pulled her daughter's head back so Tonks' juices instead trickled down to her asshole.
"Unngh!" Tonks groaned into her gag, but Helena's trick had worked. Her body wanted more pleasure. Merlin, her mind wanted more.
The tip of Narcissa's dildo touched Tonks' asshole, making her shiver.
Was this really happening?
Helena pressed a kiss to her lips and brushed her hair away from her eyes. "Don't worry, Daphne. This is all for Harry's sake."
Oh, Tonks - your luck is the worst. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Harry heads to the Veela court and brings the boys as an apology for snatching up all the Hogwarts girls. Are you ready for Eurotrip: HP Edition? Harry's not.
Want to read a few chaps ahead for the return of Potter and the sidekicks (this time in France), see art of Marie and Cissy at Christmas time, and read a few chaps ahead, along with exclusive salacious artwork of Fleur, Hermione, Daphne and more from this story, as well as fun little sexy story scenes? Check my profile bio.
Free no strings art on my X right now, link in bio. Fleur as a French maid, Helena and Cissy in lingerie together and Daphne in a teddy - don't miss it. Just a taste of the many more elsewhere.