Love Vow

by TheFirstSolution

Harry is offered the power of the Geass from a girl in the middle of the street one day. Now with the ability to make every woman fall in love with him just by being in his presence, his life in thrown into a spiral of romance, drama and broken expectations. Every female in Hogwarts seems to want a piece of him, whilst dark plots brew under the shadow of the Triwizard Tournament.

1. Chapter 1

The raindrops fell endlessly over Harry's face, each a cold needle against his skin. He lay on the ground, his body throbbing in pain, while the sky fell over him. Of all the beatings his stupid cousin had managed to unleash through the years of their childhood, this one took the crown by far—a complete thrashing involving all the members of Dudley's little gang, each more eager than the other. The sight of Harry, beaten up and sprawled on the floor of the children's playground, must have been a sorry sight for whoever happened to pass by the place. How did this happen?

It was the summer after Harry's third year at Hogwarts, the year he had found out he had a godfather by the name of Sirius Black, who was known in both worlds, the wizarding and the muggle, as a mass murderer and extremely dangerous criminal. He was innocent, of course, but somehow Harry never quite got around to telling his family that. And so being a freak with magical powers and the godson of a murdering lunatic had gotten Harry quite a long way in the Dursleys' household that summer. No more endless chores; no more "forgetting" to cook his food portion; even Uncle Vernon wouldn't raise his voice as loudly as before when insulting him. Thus, Harry had never felt as safe as he did then. Overconfidence was, as it is in most cases, his downfall.

It had been stupid, now that he thought about it. His cousin and his band of henchmen, the playground, and their usual attitude towards Harry. All of it, really. He could have run after rebutting their insults like he always did, but instead he stayed, provoked, and teased Dudley back until his cousin was ready to boil, confident the bigger boy wouldn't raise his fist. Worse, it wasn't even Dudley who had hit him first, but one of his underlings, a new one Harry didn't know the name of, who was apparently a little bolder than the rest. If Dudley had been restraining himself, that stopped then.

Stupid, Harry thought, fighting the headache.

It was then that he noticed the rain had stopped. He opened his eyes slowly to see a dark silhouette standing above him, blocking the faint light of the clouded sun and raindrops from reaching his face. He squinted, trying to focus his glasses-less eyes, but gave up when it proved useless. Next, he felt a gentle, but firm hand holding his shoulder down as the familiar feeling of his spectacles settled over his eyes. He blinked a few times, bringing the figure into focus.

A small girl crouched next to him, her left hand holding an umbrella up above them, and she was staring down expressionlessly at Harry. Dark long hair, dark eyes, a strange symbol tattooed on her forehead, and wearing a frilly all-black dress, she was possibly the strangest person he had ever met, and Harry had visited Diagon Alley.

"Are you okay?" she asked with a soft voice. "Your glasses are broken."

Indeed, they were; a long crack ran from one end to the other of his right lens. They must have fallen off after the first punch. Still, the lens would need replacing, and that was something his relatives had done only once before, warning him it had been the last as well.

Harry groaned. "Thanks, I'm fine," he replied, sitting up. The pain was starting to let up and become more of a dull ache in his muscles. He looked around the park, searching for signs of other people but finding none. Under the rain, they were alone. "Thanks," he repeated. "What about you, why are you in the rain? Where are your parents?"

"I was looking for you, Harry Potter," was her answer.

Harry stared at her, and she stared back.

"Do you know me?"

"Of course, I know all there is to know about you," replied the child.

The rain poured around them, drowning out any noise that might reach someone else's ears across the street. Still, Harry turned his head around to confirm no one was listening in on them.

"Are you a witch?" he said, wondering what one of his kind would be doing in a muggle neighborhood. He imagined nothing good, judging by what she had just said.

"I have been called that before," she replied, rising to her full height. No taller than his chest if he were to stand, she was really a kid. "And I'm not a child," the girl replied with a hint of irritation, as if she could read his mind.

"Okay, hmm nice to... meet you? "You already know my name," Harry said, his gaze fixed on her unblinking eyes. Who the hell is this girl?

"My name is D.D.," said the girl imperiously. "And you, Harry Potter, are my chosen."

Harry blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"I have chosen you to perform a contract with me," D.D. said. "You, among all the wizards in the world. I shall give you the power to change your fate; a power you desire, and in return, you will grant me a wish of mine."

Okay, this girl isn't normal. In his years at Hogwarts, Harry had had many run-ins with the abnormal, even the abnormal other witchfolk would find hard to meet in the course of their whole lives. Yet this girl, dressed all in black with a tattooed forehead and talking about contracts and powers, was quickly shaping up to be the weirdest encounter of his life.

"Err, I think I'll pass," Harry said, rising to his feet and getting out of her umbrella. "Thanks anyway, and take care on the way back!" He smiled apologetically, already turning around, hoping to get away as quickly as possible.

"Don't you at least want to know what I can give you? Isn't there something you have wanted for a long time?" Her voice stopped him in his tracks, his parents' faces flashing through his mind. He turned back to face the girl, as a small smile crept across her face.

What the hell, I might as well play along for a little bit.

"Okay, what is it then?" he said, walking up to her. The little girl, D.D., raised her right arm. Her hand was encased in a pitch black, long, frilly kind of glove that Harry assumed, along with its twin on her left arm, was part of the strange goth outfit.

"Take it off. Gently."

Hesitantly, he did so. Touching the top point with her middle finger, he began pulling off the glove and watched as it slowly gave way to the creamy white underneath. There was something oddly erotic about the wet piece of cloth sliding along the skin, and Harry caught himself blushing at the thought. What the fuck Harry, she's only a child, she looks no older than ten for Merlin's sake!

"Good," she said, smiling wider. "Now hold my hand."

With a gulp, Harry brought his own hand closer to hers until their palms were touching. Her hand was small and warm and so very soft; impossibly delicate, impossibly tender. As if hypnotized, he let them stay like that for a few seconds.

"Fufu, I said hold, Harry," she said with a teasing smile and intertwined their fingers together.

Harry was struck by lightning.

Or at least felt like he did. A sudden jolt went through his body, and images began to flash through his head like photographs. A planet in the vastness of space. A group of women with tattoos on their foreheads Two giant machines connected by a beam of light. The site of Stonehenge alive and brimming with people, dancing and singing around a fire. Two men and two women gathered over a cliff, waving their wands around a giant cube. A withered small thing gazing hatefully into the fire.

All the while, the girl's voice spoke inside his mind.

You who have been alone all this time without knowing affection or knowing what it means to be loved shall be given the chance to taste it all and to gorge on what has been so long denied to you. The Heart of Eros will deliver you from the darkness you're drowning in, or pull you to the very depths. And in return, only a small favor is required from you. Do you accept?

And Harry understood it, what was being offered. The Heart of Eros, the power to be loved. This was no trick; no smoke and mirrors love potion; it was real and true, beyond the reach of mere magic. His mind went back to all the years with the Dursleys, all the lonely nights he spent under the cupboard, crying himself to sleep, wishing his mother was there with him. Every time they reminded him that he was not family with them. All the other kids spend their Christmases with their parents and loved ones, while he spends his alone. All the loving looks others received, while he would count himself blessed with indifference. No more.

I accept it.

Good. Contract formed.

Just as suddenly, he was back in the real world, under the pouring rain. D.D stared at their intertwined fingers, a pleased smile on her small pink lips. Strangely, Harry did not feel any different, but he knew the power was within him. What magic is this?

"What's your wish?" he asked, as he let go of her hand.

"You can't grant it right now, so there's no need to tell you yet. Eventually, you shall be ready, and then, and only then, I will return to collect the price."

"I understand."

Harry looked up at the dark-clouded sky; the storm showed no sign of breaking anytime soon. He and his clothes were as soaked as anyone could be, but he saw no point in continuing to stand in the rain.

"I - I think I'll be going now. Will you be alright?"

"Quite, you need not worry about me," she said, peering at him from under her umbrella. Harry caught himself expecting her tattoo again. Perhaps a strange shape for the letter "V," or the front of a flying bird. He wondered what it meant. "We will meet again, Harry, until then do not be afraid to use your power."

With that, she turned around and walked off into the heavy curtain of water, and before long he could not see her anymore. He turned and headed home.

0000000

After waiting a reasonably long amount of time on the Dursleys' doorsteps for his clothes to dry enough so that they would not be dripping water, Harry walked inside the house, just to meet right up with Aunt Petunia, who was cleaning the floor at the moment. As soon as she saw him, her eyes went as wide as saucers, and the blood seemed to drain from her face.

"What do you think you're doing?!" She shrieked, appalled, as if Harry had just killed her husband and dragged his corpse inside, still dripping blood on her carpet.

"I got caught in the rain," Harry explained as if it wasn't obvious.

"I see it!" she exclaimed, "Why did you come in?! You should have waited outside."

I did that. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia, I'll come back later," Harry said, reaching for the doorknob behind him, figuring it would be pointless to argue with her. Before entering, he had hoped he would not meet anyone before reaching his room.

Aunt Petunia scoffed. "It's too late now; you've already dirtied the floor. Just go up."

Huh? His aunt missed an opportunity to make his life more miserable? That was unusual, even counting the time he spends just outside her door. Was the power already working? He knew from the knowledge that had seeped into his mind that it would take some time for The Heart of Eros, his Geass, to have an effect on other people. But that was sooner than he had expected. Well, it doesn't look like she loves me or anything, she was just a bit nicer, but maybe her hate and the love balance themselves out? Still, he would take a nice Petunia any day of the week over the outright hateful one she had always been.

When he was finally inside his bedroom, he walked out of his clothes, throwing them on a damp pile by the corner of his room, and laid down heavily on his bed. Merlin, he felt so tired now, and his body still ached from the beating courtesy of Dudley and his cretins earlier in the day. But what really weighed on him was the encounter with the small, black-clad girl, D.D. It was brief but so intense that he had already questioned himself several times if he had not hallucinated the whole episode.

Thinking about the event and listening to the clash of rain against his window, Harry fell asleep.

He awoke the next morning to find his room chilly and damp. He put on his spectacles after rubbing the sleep from his eyes and saw the weather was still cloudy outside. Damn, I should not have slept naked. He rose to stand, put on a towel to cover himself below the navel, and left to wash.

The bathroom was in the corridor, a couple feet farther from his door. Just as he was about to reach for the door, it opened with a sudden jolt that almost hit him in the face. His aunt walked out, a towel wrapped around her body from just above her chest to almost the junction of her legs, her damp blonde hair falling over her bare shoulders.

"Oh, it's you," she said drily when she noticed him. Petunia ran her eyes over his body quickly, turned around, and walked off to her and Vernon's room after saying, "Don't mess up the bathroom."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said under his breath.

Once inside, he got the shower running and took a minute to inspect himself in the mirror over the sink. Though his face was spared the worst of the beating, his body was full of bruises, and many had already begun to turn purple overnight. He touched one of them and winced as the pain shot through his body. Watching his strained face look back at him from the mirror, he noticed something he was sure wasn't there the day before. There, in his right eye, the strange symbol that had been on the girl's forehead now shone faintly red.

He blinked and blinked again, but the little flying bird remained, unchanging. Is this the Geass? He hadn't thought it would be anything physical since a lot of the magic he saw in Hogwarts was pretty much invisible, and most of those that were not tended to be of the aggressive type. He wondered how he would explain it to the others. Seeing that Aunt Petunia hadn't said anything about it, could it be that only he could see it? He would have to test that theory later with both muggles and magical beings.

Later, after finishing his hot shower and putting on some of his cousin's old clothes, he went down to help prepare the breakfast. The kitchen was cold with humid air that came from outside, but Aunt Petunia stood diligently by the stove as she did every morning. As usual, she cooked the eggs in a frying pan and set another aside for Harry to cook the bacon. He started to work without saying a word.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley came down not long after. The little fat bastard (the son, not the father) just sat on a chair like it was the most normal thing in the world, like he and his friends hadn't just beat the shit out of Harry the day before. Worse, he didn't even have the guts to look Harry in the eyes as he sat down. Oh, too afraid I might set Sirius on you, coward?

But Harry knew there was nothing he could do now, so he finished preparing his breakfast and sat down to eat. The meal was quiet, with Vernon's sunk in his newspaper; Dudley was on less than speaking terms with his parents because of his last year's grades; and he was pretending his cousin didn't exist. Harry and Aunt Petunia had only each other to make conversation with, which of course meant they had no one at all.

I don't know, maybe the Geass will make her want to open up to me eventually? Speaking of which, had the power begun to take effect on his uncle and cousin yet? How long would it take? Harry was only aware that his Geass operated in the immediate vicinity of him, specifically in a circle in which he was the center, similar to a fountain that poured water in all directions. Who knows, perhaps I'll have him on his knees apologizing before the end of the day. The thought didn't exactly make him happy, but a little bit of justice now and then never hurt anyone.

"Achoo!" Harry was brought out of his musings by the sudden urge to sneeze. That drew the eyes of everyone on the table, and he sneezed again before he could contain himself.

"Excuse me," he apologized.

Vernon and Dudley each returned to their meals, but Aunt Petunia spoke up. "There's some medicine in the cabinet if you have a cold," drew the gaze of the table back up to the woman. She cleared her throat. "I don't want you infecting anyone in this house." The others seemed to accept what she said and returned to the food once more.

Interesting. It was a step forward, but not quite to the level Harry desired. It's okay though; if the love tries to overcome the hate she feels for me, it should probably take some time. At the very least, once his other relatives are caught up in the Geass, his life in their household should improve dramatically.

Yet, in the next couple of days, the change he saw was meager at best. Uncle Vernon remained his usual rude self as long as Harry didn't mention Sirius, and Dudley walked on eggshells around him, most likely still afraid of his retribution. And Aunt Petunia only grew silent in his presence. It made him question the truth of what had happened that day in the rain and whether he had hallucinated the entire thing for some reason. But every time he looked in the mirror and saw the strange symbol in his eye, he knew it had happened. Then why isn't this bloody thing working? Do I have to do something to activate it first?

His answer came suddenly one night. Harry was in his room reviewing some summer homework and mostly bored out of his mind when a great ruckus started downstairs. He tried to listen in for a few minutes, enough to identify the heated voices of his relatives arguing with each other. His cousin was the loudest and angriest of them all, shouting insults and not a few obscenities at his parents, but he could also hear the voices of Vernon and even Petunia. Harry knew what they were fighting about; it had only been a couple of days since Dudley's school had advised his parents to seek professional help regarding their son's weight problem, though it certainly didn't take a nutritionist's insight to see that a very strict diet was the only thing that could save him from the operating table.

It took about half an hour before the yelling stopped and the heavy steps of his cousin came thundering up the stairs. They lasted until he slammed the door of his room shut, locking himself inside like the petulant child he was. A minute of silence followed, and the front door also shut with a loud bang.

Wow, that was one for the ages.

Being the doting mother and spoiling father his relatives were, there were few fights inside the Dursley household—ones that didn't directly involve Harry, that is. And finally, being out of the so-called spotlight for once, Harry had all the reasons to keep to himself and let them sort themselves out well away from him. So when he found himself slowly descending the steps to the living room, he couldn't quite explain why.

As Harry walked in, he could make out the muffled sniffs that came from behind the sofa facing the electric fireplace. Aunt Petunia, still dressed in the nice purple dress she wore to go to the nutritionist, had the back of her hand to her mouth as she cried softly into it. There were a few instances when he had seen his aunt cry before, and despite all the reasons he had to revel at the sight, it somehow always made him uncomfortable.

"Aunt Petunia?" he said tentatively. She almost jumped off her seat at his voice. Turning her head to look at him, she quickly produced a handkerchief and wiped her red eyes and running nose dry.

"What do you want? Go back to your room," she whined, her voice hoarse and weak.

"Aunt Petunia, err, are you... okay?" He circled the three-seat couch to awkwardly stand next to the woman. "What happened?"

She weighed him with her puffy eyes, probably deciding if she ought to scream him away. In the end, it seemed she thought the best of it; she sighed and looked down at the immaculate carpet.

"It's my little Dudley," she started. "He doesn't want to start on the new diet. He said it's not real food, and nothing in this world will make him eat it."

"And what's the diet made of?" Harry waited patiently, sitting down on the sofa a seat away from his aunt.

She did not seem to mind and replied as best she could in her wailing voice. "Oh, some fruits and vegetables, but nothing suitable for a growing boy like my Dudley... but they said—they said his health might be at risk if we didn't change some of his habits. We tried to make him listen, but he doesn't want to! And he s-said such awful things—I knew it was a bad idea to let him mingle with rabble like the Polkins. No doubt that son of theirs was the one to teach him such horrible words."

Dudley himself taught Harry most of the bad words he knew, throwing them at him while they played "Catch Harry" when they were younger. But he guessed his aunt didn't need to hear that at the moment. "Where's Uncle Vernon?" he asked instead.

She began to weep anew. He listened in silence for a few minutes as he waited for her to compose herself. "He's left; I don't know where to," she said, wiping her face with the handkerchief once more. "He claimed it was my fault that this was happening to our son."

He's not wrong, Harry thought, thinking back on all the times his aunt let Dudley do exactly as he pleased and all the food she shoved on his plate, urging him to take bigger and bigger portions, if sometimes only to leave little and less for Harry. But he wasn't right either; if anything, Uncle Vernon had as much to blame for spoiling his son as his wife did.

There was no point in saying that, though; Harry was never cruel if he could help it. "It's not your fault; you, huh, just thought it was alright since he was getting so strong, right? He just has to watch what he eats for a bit now, it's gonna be alright. And Uncle Vernon gonna come back soon, I bet only went out to clear his head."

Aunt Petunia raised her head to look at him. Red and moist from the tears, her pale blue eyes seemed almost green, only a few shades clearer than his own. They now brimmed with uncertainty, as if seeing him for the first time.

"I know, why don't we all start the diet? That way we can show Dudley it's no big deal, and support him while he has to take it —" what the hell am I saying " —he won't be tempted to cheat and won't be able to say it's not fair."

His aunt stared into the unlit fire, thinking about what he had said. A small smile slowly formed on her lips. "I guess we can do that, it's only fair after all. I'll talk with Vernon once he calms down. Yes, that can work."

Harry gave her a strained smile. It was alright; he didn't have to keep to any stupid diet. He would write to his friends and ask for some help once he got back to his room. No harm done. At least not to himself. Satisfied with his good deed for the year, he rose to leave the room and finally go back upstairs.

"Harry," he heard the voice of his aunt call to him, stopping where he stood. The last time she had called him by his name dated from before he had stopped calling her "Mom". To hear her say it now, after so long, was staggering. He turned to face her, eyes wide in surprise, only to be surprised by her long, thin arms. She's hugging me, he thought stupidly. Aunt Petunia was tall for a woman, taller than Harry by a few inches. His head came to rest just above her bosom as her arms encircled his shoulders, and somewhere near his ear he heard her say, "Thank you."

"I-It's okay," he stammered in response. She moved away, just enough so that her hands gripped his shoulders, and she smiled, showing her shining white teeth.

"Oh, your glasses are broken," she said, furrowing her brow and running a finger along the crack of the lenses, obscuring his right vision for a moment. "I'll take it in for replacement tomorrow; you don't have anywhere to go tomorrow, do you?"

Harry merely shook his head.

Once back in his room, Harry could barely suppress his excitement. He kept repeating in his head, "It works, it works, it works," a wide grin spreading across his face.He had not mistaken it earlier; the Geass was working on Aunt Petunia; otherwise, she would never, ever have acted that way, he was absolutely sure.

Fuck yes! My pink-colored years have finally arrived!

But then he paused. Now that he was sure he was performing some sort of magic on his aunt, would the Ministry descend upon him for unauthorized use of magic outside of school? Maybe he was safe since he wasn't using his wand. But Dobby hadn't used any either, and he still got a letter of warning at the time. There was no way to be sure for now, and try as he might, he never managed to "shut down" the thing in his eyes, the source of the Geass. Seeing no other alternative, he decided to push the matter to the back of his mind and deal with it later, if the moment ever arrived.

The next day, as she had promised, Aunt Petunia took his glasses to have them fixed. She returned with new ones—spectacles, just as his old ones had been and not in the least bit fashionable, but whole, mend-free, and, best of all, with no cracks.

The family started the diet that same day. Everyone, Uncle Vernon included, would live from then on on salads and fruits only. Harry carried out his plan of asking for help quickly enough, and he was pleased his friends were even quicker to come to his rescue.

He saw the routine of the house change as clearly as dusk as the days passed. Meals became grumpy affairs, full of grunts, pouts, and grimaces from the larger members of the family; heated discussions became common occurrences between mother and son. Vernon took to arriving later into the evening, always with the excuse of diners with clients and partners, and Dudley appeared to have made a thousand friends that summer, more often than not coming to ask his father for permission to spend the days and nights in their houses. In time, it came to be that Harry and Petunia ate most meals alone, just the two of them. He pitied her; in truth, she was the only one keeping to her son's diet.

That somehow drew them closer. To avoid leaving her alone all day, he began to spend time with his aunt here and there, offering to help her around the house. He didn't have to, he knew; the woman was used to being alone in her home, with her son and niece away at boarding schools and her husband at work most of the day. It was nothing to her. Yet, the new way she treated him, always kind and solicitous, became somewhat intoxicating to Harry. Every smile and warm gaze she threw at him seemed to stir his insides and spread a weird feeling in his chest. Is this what it feels like to have a mother? He asked himself many times, having no way to be sure.

"Oh, and you don't believe what Mrs. Hawkings said the other day to Mrs..." she was saying one night, as she and Harry sat together on the couch in the living room to watch one of her nightly soap operas. Harry wasn't actually watching television; he had no interest in the shows, after all; he mostly listened to her talk and tried to add something amusing or useful here and woman was an irredeemable gossip, and the only interest she seemed to have was the lives of her neighbors and television celebrities, but Harry was pleased to find out she was very agreeable and even sweet when she wasn't talking to someone she hated from the bottom of her heart.

"She didn't!" Harry faked the surprise in his reply when she finished the tale. Of course, he couldn't care less if Mrs. Hawking from Number Six caught on fire, but he knew that was what she wanted to hear.

"Yes, she did, and I reckon they won't be talking to each other again for a long while, at the very least not until Christmas," she finished with a pleased look on her face. Smiling, she reclined back on the sofa, resting her head sideways to look at him. For a couple of seconds, she watched him with such warmth that Harry felt heat creep up his neck and tinge his cheeks with red.

"Wh-what?" he stammered, staring back.

Her eyes dropped lazily down his body, inspecting it as they went. "Those clothes are awfully big for you, aren't they?" Harry's own eyes followed hers, scanning the baggy flannel and large, faded jeans he wore. They were, as were the rest of Harry's wardrobe, old hand-me-downs his cousin had outgrown in his quest to become a miniature elephant. It was rich that she was mentioning it when it was usually the woman herself who shoved the clothes into his arms whenever Dudley had no more use for them.

She ran a hand over his chest, feeling the worn out material of the shirt. "And old too. See, I was thinking—Dudley will be over at his friends' tomorrow; why don't we go to the center and pick some new clothes for you?"

Harry could scarcely believe what he had heard. He couldn't remember the last time they had bought clothes for him, if such a thing had ever happened in the first place.

"Really? I mean, that's great. What time you wanna go?" he said, a stupid grin on his face.

I'm starting to love this power.

She smiled widely at him. "We'll go after your uncle leaves for work; then we can take the whole day and not worry about time or anything," she said.

Harry nodded, feeling almost as content as he did when he found out he had a family on Sirius and the man wasn't actually an evil mass murderer. He stiffened when he felt the warmth of her body against his side and the unmistakable feeling of a head coming to rest on his shoulder. Alright, I should try to get used to this. Together, the two watched the rest of the show.

They left the next morning in the family's rarely used second car, which Uncle Vernon had given Petunia for their ten-year wedding anniversary years before. After his uncle left for work, they did the same, but in the opposite direction, to the shopping center on the other side of town.

Only one thing kept bothering Harry—something that left him at once embarrassed and uncomfortable: his aunt's choice of clothing.

Aunt Petunia wore a medium-sized light-green sundress, neither long nor overly short but just enough to leave her knees out to the air. Her neck was naked, unadorned by the pearl necklace she was so fond of wearing whenever she left the house. Somehow, that only served to draw Harry's gaze to the neckline and the bared, delicate curve of her womanly shoulders, on which her freed blond locks cascaded over like a golden waterfall.

There was one thing Harry came to realize these past few days. It is easy and natural for an orphan to devise petty ways to retaliate against those found guilty of wrongdoing when they are scorned and unloved by their relatives, and even neglected. For Harry, it was the caricature of the Dursleys and the mocking of their physical appearance inside his head. "At least I don't look like them," he would often tell himself every time he had to drop his head and crawl back to his cupboard under the stairs. It was easy with Vernon and Dudley, whose gluttony had left them on the verge of obesity. In Harry's eyes, they had been indistinguishable from whales. Aunt Petunia wasn't fat, but she was no less cruel than her husband, so it would seem almost unfair to leave her out of the name-calling party in his head. But with her, it was harder.

The woman was unmistakably pretty, with an elegant jaw and chin, cheekbones that complimented them, and a pair of pale greenish-blue eyes. Harry had been hard-pressed to find something that stood out enough to make fun of, so his childish mind had to come up with things like "her face and neck are too long," "her teeth are too big," or "she is too thin" so as not to exclude her or show any kindness. Being on more amicable terms with her now, he could see the truth for what it was and recognize the bias he had upheld his whole life.

That realization led to an awkward trip and eventual awkward day for Harry as she dragged him from shop to shop, her arm linked with his. She would take him to a brand store and have him try on as many outfits as she liked until she had bought at least three of them for him, but more often than not, she would be the one trying clothes on for herself. Low-cut dresses, slim-fitting blouses, high-heeled shoes, and skirts that sometimes left half her thighs exposed; she would put them on and ask for Harry's opinion as she spun and walked in front of him, letting him feast on her vision.

"What about this one?" she said, twisting her body to let herself inspect the dress. It was one of those form-fitting tube ones that hugged a woman's every curve and engraved her body in a man's memory.

"It's beautiful, ma'am. Goes marvellously with those shoes, and the purse would complete the set to perfection if I might say. I'm sure your brother will agree," the saleswoman said next to Harry.

Aunt Petunia laughed heartily and prettily. I didn't know she could laugh like that. "Oh, he isn't my brother, silly," she said, once the air returned to her. "She's my sister's son. Still," she said, raising her eyebrows and spinning around for him one more time. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry, however, was unable to respond due to a lack of oxygen in his lungs. All those years of yoga and religiously jogging every morning with the other housewives of the neighborhood had left their mark on his aunt, and their results spoke for themselves.

Toned, shapely legs welcomed Harry's eyes, inviting him to wonder how it would be just above the line of fabric. A flat stomach was glued to the dress; not an ounce of fat could be seen anywhere. And Harry didn't dare to look at the curve of her tight ass.

Harry, this is your aunt you're checking out.

He cleared his throat and pushed down the blood from his face. "It's, err, good. Goes well with your skin." The dress was emerald green, the colours of Harry's own eyes. "But, Aunt Petunia, would you even have a chance to use that dress?"

Petunia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Oh, Vernon has enough of these social dinners with clients around the year; there will be a chance," she said, then turned to the saleswoman and said, "I'll take it."

The two of them walked back to the fitting room, discussing more clothes and shoes. Harry averted his gaze to avoid staring at his aunt's gracefully swaying behind him. Merlin's balls, is she doing this on purpose? Nah, it can't be; she is my aunt—my mother's sister. The Geass wouldn't go that far... right?

The rest of the day was spent much like that, much to Harry's distress. Aunt Petunia looked like she enjoyed every second of it and was oblivious to her nephew's state of mind, as she seemed to flaunt her legs, ass, and cleavage to him with no reservation. When the sun went down low in the sky, Harry almost thanked Merlin aloud when she said they were going back. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go without visiting the restroom to... relieve his tension.

Back on Number Four Private Drive, they unloaded the many, many bags containing the outfits purchased for both Harry and Petunia. She emptied his wardrobe, throwing away the old rags he used for clothing, and filled it again with the newly bought outfits. He helped her take her own bags to her and her husband's room, dropping them on the king-sized bed for her to go through them later on her own.

"That's the last of them," said Harry, admiring the sizable pile. He knew Uncle Vernon was very well off; the man was a company director and all, but for his wife to spend the outrageous amount of money she had that day without nary a second thought, Harry must have certainly underestimated the number printed on the man's paycheck. "Thanks, Aunt Petunia. That was really kind of you."

She smiled brightly at him. "You're welcome, sweetie," she said. Harry turned to leave. A hand grasped his wrist, holding it in place. He twisted around to face her again. She still smiled, only now something had changed about it—something he couldn't quite explain—and that sent a cold shiver running up his spine. "That's it? Just a 'thanks'? Don't you think I deserve at least a reward?"

Harry gulped. "Re-Reward?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Yes, I think I've earned a little kiss... right..." she turned her face and touched her right cheek with a finger, "...here."

Harry breathed easier at that. It was a damn weird request, but not unreasonable—he had seen mothers asking their children for kisses on the cheeks all the fucking time; it wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

Hesitantly, he closed the space between them until there was less than a foot between their bodies, brought his face up to hers, and lightly touched her cheek with his lips. Her skin was warm and soft and smelled of the floral perfume she liked. A heartbeat passed, and he withdrew, relieved when she let go of his arm to let him step away.

She beamed at him.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" she said, all sweet admonition. Then she turned briskly, giving him her back, and walked off to get her bags. "Off with you, I need to sort these out; Vernon won't like it in the least if he were to find them scattered around all over the place."

Harry had no idea how his aunt explained to her husband and son the need to buy him clothes, but they said nothing the next day when he appeared before them, wearing a shirt and jeans that actually fit him for once. They sulked over it, and he caught Dudley giving him the evil-eye more than once, but otherwise, Harry went unperturbed. Over the next couple of weeks, as July approached its end and his birthday grew closer, and he saw no improvement in Vernon's and Dudley's opinion of him, another realization dawned on Harry:

The Geass didn't work on them.

He tried many experiments to find a way to get its effects to trigger, from starting conversations to random acts of kindness toward them, and even going out of his way to spend some time with them in whatever activity they were doing. Nothing worked. His intrinsic knowledge of his power told him it acted on an area around his body, and that he should not need to do anything to make it work, but it told him nothing more. He didn't know how wide that area was, how strong the 'love' that was supposed to grow would be, or if it grew all at once or over time. One thing he was certain of, though: Vernon and Dudley loved him no more than they did thirteen years before, when Harry was left at the Durleys' doorstep.

The results he wasn't getting with them, on the other hand, he was getting in spades with Aunt Petunia. From the day of the shopping trip onwards, his aunt only grew more attached and affectionate toward him. Morning kisses on his cheeks became a habit (as long as Vernon wasn't around), as did wandering hands at every opportunity she found to touch him, and the way they watched television together, practically on each other's arms now. And she was happier than Harry had ever seen her, practically glowing as she went about her daily life. Not even her son's failure to keep to his diet seemed to shake her when they found out he had managed to gain weight during the course of the summer. She had sulked for a while until it was time for them to watch their shows and she could rest her head on his shoulder. That made her happy again.

This is not weird. This is not weird. This is not weird. This is not weird. This is not weird.

But Harry was not without his share of blame either. Despite his brain telling him they were starting to go too far in their new, supposedly family-like relationship, he could not bring himself to push her away, not when he was enjoying her attention so much. Yes, he liked it; he came to understand; he reveled in being so close to her and in feeling so accepted. But it went beyond that too, if the tightness in his pants whenever he had his arms around her as they sat together on the couch was any indication. It was wrong and should be repulsive to any sane mind. And so Harry had vowed to himself to not take it further and just be content with what he already got from her.

But then his birthday arrived.

The day started just as it had the two years prior, after making his friends: waking up to various packages of gifts and, best of all, birthday cakes. Four immense ones this year, thanks to Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Hagrid, and Sirius, all of whom had committed themselves to his survival this summer and had been sending regular supplies of delicious food, from home-made cookies and truffles (Mrs. Weasley) to lavish and expensive bars of chocolate from around the world (Sirius). He left the presents and cakes for later, though, and hurried to get himself ready and go down for breakfast.

As usual, the kitchen was empty save for Aunt Petunia working on the fruits and vegetables that would compose the meal that morning. If Harry was to be honest with himself, he did feel a little pang of disappointment at her regular and boring choice of attire: just a plain skirt that went way past her knees and a plain buttoned blouse, the same as she did every day. If truth be told, he had been kind of hoping she might wear something a little bit more revealing that day for him. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he entered the kitchen and stood at his place beside her to help with the food.

She noticed him and turned her head, flashing a big smile. "Good morning, sweetie," she said, then closed in to give him a long kiss on the cheek. "And happy birthday."

Harry smiled too. "Thanks, Aunt Petunia."

"Sorry, I can't make you a cake; we have to follow the diet, remember? Dudley would be really upset if there was a cake in the house and he couldn't have a piece. But," she said, dropping her voice at the last word. She looked at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and brought her hand to the collar of his shirt, as if to fix some imaginary wrinkle. "That doesn't mean I don't have something for you."

"What is it?" he asked, curious and more excited than he cared to admit.

But then they heard the heavy footsteps of Dudley coming down the stairs, meaning they wouldn't be alone much longer. "Later," she whispered, and pecked him again on the cheek.

They ate, the three of them, with Aunt Petunia pleading with her son to take more of the grapefruit he so hated. Uncle Vernon was once again absent from the house. The man had taken to spending longer and longer periods of time away from his home, participating in working trips to neighboring towns for the company as often as he could, even during the weekends. Harry would have thought him to have taken a lover if he did not know the man so well; the only mistress Uncle Vernon had was the sort to be served on his plate, seasoned and peppered. That was obviously the reason for his absence. Oddly, Petunia did not seem to mind.

The meal ended after Dudley announced he would be spending the day and the night at a friend's, to which his mother gave her consent, thinking that had been asked. Aunt Petunia did not reveal the secret gift she had for Harry after her son was gone, and soon she left the house too, saying she would return later that day. Harry could not begin to imagine what she was preparing for him and guessed that an elaborate meal or an extravagant cake would be the most likely possibility now that Dudley was out of the house.

The day went by slowly. Other times, he would have rejoiced at the prospect of being alone, the Dursleys nowhere near to pester or bully him into chores, but it didn't feel quite as... fun now. He had expected it to be different that year, with the power of the Geass on his side. Despite his own resolution earlier, he had expected Aunt Petunia to be all over him. But instead, he got the emptiness of the house. You are being a child, he told himself more than once, his mind's voice sounding oddly like Hermione. Isn't the fact she left evidence enough that she's preparing something for you? Still, he couldn't help himself as he slouched through the day, without really doing anything. He fell asleep on the couch late in the afternoon.

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that night had begun to fall, the light of dusk coming through the windows like a soft caress; the second thing he noticed was a note, laying weightless on the top of his chest. He straightened his glasses and sat up on the sofa to read it.

I left something for you in your room. Put it on and meet me downstairs at ten.

Love,

Petunia

Thrusting the note into his pocket, he hurried up to his room with bated anticipation, taking two steps at a time and glancing quickly at her bedroom, to see the light on inside. A suit was lying over his bed in his room, encased in a clear plastic garment bag. Complete with a jet-black coat, trousers, white shirt, and emerald green tie, it looked elegant and expensive. Wondering why he would need a suit for whatever Aunt Petunia was planning, he went through the motions of getting himself ready. After the shower and taming his hair as best he could, he tried on the new suit. He was impressed at how well it fit and how nice it looked on him. I guess Aunt Petunia was paying more attention than I thought while I was trying clothes on for her. He couldn't get the tie right if the future of the wizarding world depended on it, so he left it askew and headed down to meet his aunt.

Alas, she was not there when he arrived, supposedly still getting herself ready. As he paced anxiously around the living room, waiting for her to come down, his gaze fell on the many photographs atop the furniture. Photos of Dudley as he grew up, of the family on various occasions, holidays, and birthdays; the life the Dursleys have lived together for the past fifteen years. Eventually, his eyes found one of the oldest of them—the photo of the day Vernon and Petunia had married each other. He had seen the picture many times, of course, but only now did he stop to truly see it.

The groom appeared to be some ten stones lighter, which almost made Harry laugh, wondering if the man knew what the future held for him in terms of weight; his uncle, on the other hand, appeared so proud that Harry thought he wouldn't mind even if he knew. Looking at his aunt, he asked himself how he had ever thought her ugly. In the photo, wearing the white, ornate wedding dress, blonde hair done in an elaborate bun, and flashing a smile the size of her face, she was beautiful.

She looked so happy too, so hopeful; it reminded Harry of another set of photos, the ones he had of his own parents from the album Hagrid had gifted him at the end of his first year. Aunt Petunia looked just as happy with her husband as Lily had looked in the arms of James Potter, holding their newborn son. And now that he'd made the comparison, he could see a little of her sister's face on Petunia's—the same nose, chin, and even some of the cheeks. Lily had been prettier, that's true; everyone who had seen the two would attest. But even then, Harry caught himself thinking that if it were up to destiny he was a man who would end up marrying Petunia Evans, he wouldn't count himself that unfortunate after all.

"You look serious; did I make you wait too much?" A voice spoke from behind, breaking him from his reverie. He had been so engrossed in his own musings that he had failed to hear her steps coming down the stairs. He turned around to face her, and his breath caught in his throat.

Leaning against the doorway, Aunt Petunia stood before him wearing the dress they bought together that day, the tube one that was the color of his eyes and pretty much left nothing to the imagination of the woman's curves. He had seldom seen his aunt sporting make-up that was not a very demure light pink lipstick, but now full red lips stared back at him, a target on her face asking for his attention and practically inviting his own lips closer; black eyeliner surrounded her eyes, bringing out the beautiful half-green, half-blue color of her eyes. Who is this woman?

She must have noticed his eyes all over her and the thoughts going through his head because she smiled and walked over, closing the gap between them, hips swaying with each step. "You look handsome," she said, reaching out to touch his neck. "But the tie's out of place."

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia," he said, his throat dry. "Y-You look beautiful."

"Thanks, sweetie," she replied, fixing his tie. When she was done, she took him by the hand and pulled him towards the door. "C'mom, we might arrive late if we stay longer."

"Where are we going?" he asked, feeling like a child.

"A restaurant in London," she replied, flashing another smile at him as they entered her car. "I figured we could have a good meal for your birthday, to make up for all those vegetables we've been eating all month."

"That sounds good," said Harry airily.

Hours later, Harry and Petunia walked through the front door, way past midnight. "Good" did not begin to describe the experience he just had, and he was not sure "fantastic" could either. The restaurant had been the classiest place Harry had ever set foot in his life—a high-class establishment overlooking the river; it was as exuberant as it was expensive. They ate the extravagant but delicious food heartily ("You can order whatever you want") and shared a bottle of very fine wine, the first he had ever tasted. It was a great time for Harry, especially when Petunia asked to know more about him and how he was doing at school. Though she was very unlike herself to show any interest in his world, he guessed she now cared enough about him to overcome her prejudice that one time, if only to make him happy.

They stopped at the edge of the stairs as Harry pulled softly at her hand. He looked at their intertwined fingers and, feeling emboldened by the wine in his system, he spoke. "Thanks, Aunt Petunia. Today was awesome—really, the best birthday of my life. And I - I want to thank you for this summer; it has been really great. So, err, thank you."

She looked at him, a grin coming to her lips. "There's no need to thank me," she said. "I'm just glad you liked it. Happy birthday."

He nodded, smiling too, and made to go up the stairs, but stopped when he felt she hadn't let go of his hand.

"However, I can think of a few ways you could... reward me," she said, her voice low and her gaze fixed on his lips.

"Y-Yeah?" Harry breathed. Some part of him knew what this night had been leading to. Some part of him wanted it.

"Oh yes..." she stepped closer, "...quite a few, in fact..." body coming in contact with his "...and I've been such a good girl..." soft breasts pressing up against him, lips a mere inch apart, wine-scented breaths mingling "...surely I can have at least one, small..."

Their lips met, and he was at a loss for words until she began to slide hers on his own. He kissed her back then, doing the same, as a flush crept up his body. He pressed the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, and he was delighted when she parted them for him and allowed entrance into her mouth.

The throaty moan she let out when their wet organs met each other was enough to redirect the blood from his head to the lower parts of his body, compelling his hardening cock to finish its ascent to full mast. Instinctively, he brought his right hand around to rest on the curve of her lower back and pushed her against him, enjoying the delightful feeling of her breasts crashing against his chest and her pelvis on his own. He knew she could feel the hardness of his member over her own sex, but he didn't care; she had made him like this. He wanted her to feel.

There, by the steps of the stairs, they were as close as two fully clothed humans could get, her right arm around his neck, pushing their heads together, while their tongues battled each other in a wet and erotic dance, time inside one mouth, time inside another. When she began to rub herself along the length of his cock through the fabric of the trousers, his body assumed direct control of his functions and brought his hand down to cup one of the sides of her gorgeous butt. Then he squeezed it hard, seizing the opportunity to push them ever closer together. He was rewarded when she broke the kiss to moan against his lips, eyes closed in bliss.

"A-Aunt Petunia, I..." he began but never finished. She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him, and with eyes clouded by lust, she stepped away. Harry was confused for a moment but understood as she began to ascend the stairs, pulling him along with her. He admired the sway of her hips above him as they went and, this time, made no attempt to look away.

As soon as they were inside his bedroom, she pushed him against the closed door and jumped on him, pinning him to the wood behind his back. She kissed him hard and deep, her tongue reaching as far into his mouth as it could. Her hands weren't idle either; they began a journey of their own down his upper body, caressing, squeezing, and pitching where they would, feeling him up to their hearts' content. Her lips left him, only to move along the contour of his face, leaving small kisses as they went and a trail of fire where they had been. She stopped by his neck, nuzzling the skin and breathing deeply.

"Touch me," she said huskily next to his ear, running her tongue over the flesh below.

Harry panted, fighting for air in the ever-increasing temperature around them. He was in another world, where reality was composed of the ten tendrils going up and down his torso, the delicious wet burning on his neck, and the sweet smell of her perfume inside his nostrils. But Harry wasn't one to neglect a request, especially one he had been secretly yearning for. He placed his hands on the curves of her thin waist, feeling the somewhat hard muscle beneath, the result of years of weird positions during yoga classes. He massaged them lightly, trying to engrave the sensation in his memory, then traveled up, stopping just below the valleys of her breasts. He hesitated for just a moment before keeping on, cupping the flesh of her mounds and filling his hands with them. Aunt Petunia exhaled a particularly strong breath, then resumed her assault on his collarbone.

Harry played with her tits, squeezing again and again, mindful of not doing it too hard lest he actually hurt her, and rubbing his thumbs back and forth over the small hard points under the fabric, which he imagined were her nipples.

She shuddered prettily whenever he did so, and her fingers would pinch him just so to pay him back. By now she had most of the buttons on his shirt undone, and her hands ran wildly over the naked flesh beneath.

Harry left her breasts alone for the moment and sent his left hand down to massage her clothed bum again, this time paying attention to both sides, while his right cupped her chin, bringing her face back up for another searing kiss. He felt her push his coat off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. They started their way to the lower parts of his body, pulling the shirt off his trousers and undoing the last of the buttons along the way. He stiffened when he felt her fingers on his belt.

That was it. The moment of truth: he knew if he let her do away with the accessory and shove his pants down, there would be no going back. As of then, he could still push her away, force her away from him, and try to dismiss the whole thing as drunken misgivings, despite the fact that neither of them was drunk. Something like that would never happen again, and they would return to their affectionate, if family-like, relationship. He knew that was the right thing to do. He knew. Despite this, when the belt came undone, revealing his blue-colored boxers to the world, his hand was still on her buttocks and his lips glued to hers, tongue swirling inside her mouth.

The alien feeling of another person's hand closing around his boxer-clad hardness broke him out of whatever notions of thought his mind was trying to muster. Her hand was softer than his own, he noticed, more delicate, her fingers thinner and longer. When it began to pump up and down his length, he couldn't stop himself from moaning in their kiss.

She smiled against his mouth and retracted her lips an inch from his face. "Oh, my," she purred. "When did you become such a big boy, Harry?"

Even if Harry had an answer for that, he could not seem to find his voice among his hard breathing. The stimulation was too strong, the sensation too powerful, and the pleasure too great. He felt as if he could let go at any moment inside his underwear. As if sensing this, she let go of his cock and slowly raised her hands up his abdomen, tracing the lightly defined muscles with the tips of her fingers. "Such beautiful skin, such... youth..." she said, as they both watched her sensual ministrations over his body. She continued her ascent, giving the same attention to his pectoral muscles and his collarbone (something that appeared to be a favorite of hers), until her hands reached his head, when she proceeded to cup the sides of his face again, but just for a light peck this time, then moved her lips down, "...tell your aunt, Harry..." then to his neck, "...are you..." his chest, "...still a..." his nipple, then down again, and Harry noticed the woman was lowering herself, slowly getting on her knees, making her way to his nether region, "...virgin?" she finished as her face came to a level with his throbbing cock, still sadly stuck within the confines of the boxers.

Harry nodded weakly, and she smiled brightly at him as if the answer pleased her. "Don't worry, sweetie. That won't be for much longer," she said, her eyes focused on the rod underneath his underwear. She clasped his pelvis, and for a moment Harry thought she would yank the piece of cloth down, but instead, she leaned forward, burring her face in his genitals. She rubbed from right to left, nuzzling his iron-hard cock and balls, breathing in the scent of his manhood. The feeling of her small nose, mouth, and chin down there almost made him cum on the spot, but before he could, she retreated from the task.

Aunt Petunia smirked lasciviously at his breathless reaction, looking into his half-lid eyes with bare desire. She regarded his clothed erection one last time before tugging his underpants down and freeing his cock to the cold night chill and the pleasure of the world.

Being naked in front of someone else was an odd feeling, if Harry had to describe it. In his memory, there was not an occasion when he had bathed with another person—the Hogwarts locker room had separate shower booths for the players—and not even with an adult relative, as young children usually do. It was not unpleasant, though, for the tongue running over his aunt's lips and the glint of hunger in her eyes told him she very much approved of the sight of the hard, pre-cum-dripping cock. She took him in both hands, rubbing up and down his length, squeezing the skin between her digits.

"Hmm, I'm so glad you're fat where it counts," she said, pumping his meat with increasing speed. "Don't worry about anything, no need to hold it in. Just cum now, just cum for auntie."

But Harry endured—through the burning-hot warmth of her hands and the serpentine sliding of her fingers—he endured, but only until her vigorous masturbation of his prick came to a halt and she brought her tongue to the top of his cockhead, licking the streaming pre-cum away. And that wet, rough feeling was too much for Harry. He exploded in a moment, cumming load after load of semen out of his balls in a seemingly endless fashion. He saw stars, his knees grew weak, and Harry simply melted as the orgasm chased away all other sensations from his system and left only pleasure.

When, finally, his faculties saw fit to return and Harry was once again among the mortals, he had the presence of mind to look down and see where he might have spent his seed. He was greeted with the obscene sight and feeling of Aunt Petunia with her lips around the cap of his cock, its head just inside the cavity of her mouth. She drew back, letting him go, and with a gulping motion, she pushed his juice down to her stomach. She swallowed. It was too erotic; his dick decided it might actually be a better decision to stay up.

She got to her feet and immediately pressed her body against him, involving her arms around his neck and pulling him into a wet French kiss. Unconcerned about his salty taste, he kissed her back passionately and dropped his hands to the small of her back, firmly grasping her hips. They made out until both were flushed red and begging for breath.

"Aunt Petunia, that was - that was amazing," Harry said between gulps of air.

"Thank you, sweetie; you taste delicious," she said, her lips brushing against his, their brows touching. She kissed him again, quickly this time, and ventured her face forward to whisper next to his ear. "But there's more where that came from, and it's all yours tonight. I am yours tonight, every nook and cranny," she said, and then she bit him softly, adding to the sheer eroticism of the statement.

Harry was beside himself at that point. Who was the woman in the room with him now? Was she the same Petunia who gossiped about the boring daily life of the neighborhood, hating any missteps of the conduct she considered normal? Who seemed to abhor the libertine lifestyle of celebrities, make a point to single it out as abnormal behavior and, therefore, reprehensible? Petunia the prude, who appeared to have not done the deed with her husband in more years than he could count on his hands, had just swallowed a load of his cum and was saying he could take his merry pleasure of her body in whatever way he saw fit? Not even to mention she was his aunt, of his own blood.

Is this the power of the Geass or is this how she really is?

His questions would have to wait because she walked away from him, pulling on his hand and flashing that devious little smile she'd been wearing all night. She stopped a couple feet away from her destination, back turned to him, and shifted her long blond hair to the front of her body, baring her neck and deliciously alluring shoulders.

"Will you help me out of this?" she asked, and only then Harry noticed the fabric-covered zipper streaming down in the middle of the dress.

He walked to her then, strangely aware of his cock slapping on his belly with each step. She raised her arms, stretching them up far above her head, making herself a long, vertical silhouette. An idea struck Harry just as his fingers touched the pin. He brought his face closer to her back, and as the zipper traveled down, he planted a kiss on each new inch of naked flesh, and she rewarded him with a series of quick, cute shudders. She reached the end just as the crack of her arse started; now on his knees, it was just a matter of pulling the dress down. He did so, grasping at the fabric and the powerful muscles of her legs. Soon the green of the dress gave way to the pale, milk-white flesh of her butt—the one part of her body he had most desired to behold since his awakening to the carnal desire of his aunt.

As the piece of clothing lay pooling at her feet, Harry could not divert his gaze from the sight of her ass before him. It was everything he had imagined: round and soft and beautiful; not as big as some he could name (coughHermionecoughMrsWeasleycough), but so incredibly perky and looking so damn tight that its allure was not in any way diminished. Harry clutched her, squeezing and running his fingers along the flesh, overcome by arousal and sheer desire. His heart skipped a beat, and his cock twitched each time his ministrations gave him a flash of the pink rosebud hidden away between her globes. He was almost salivating.

Harry heard a giggle above him. "You really do love my ass, don't you?" his aunt said, staring down at him. "I've caught you staring at it so many times I thought you might just hold me down one day and fuck it until I couldn't sit."

The use of the dirty words sent another shot through his dick, and Harry held down a grunt. He decided two could play the game.

"Would you like that? Do you want me to pin you down and fuck your ass hard and fast, Aunt Petunia?" He spoke, faking as much innocence as he could. Merlin, the raw immorality in what he just said was intoxicating.

Her eyes clouded, and the flesh shivered under his hands. "Maybe," she breathed out. But before he could rise and make good on his words, she turned around, presenting him with another long-awaited sight.

One thing that would never be said about Petunia Dursley was that she didn't know how to take care of her things. Her house, albeit without a drop of individuality and taste, was spotless; not an object was out of place. Her everyday clothes were boring and plain but always in pristine condition. Her lawn, though in no small part thanks to Harry himself, was lush and vivid. Everything she owned was taken care of with otherworldly zeal.

It was no different with her body.

She was slim, her figure curvy around the middle, where a small waist gave way to wider hips. Her breasts, two mounts of snow-white flesh, were just big enough so that he could fill each of his hands, but they were perky and did not look to be sagging anytime soon; her small, pink nipples were so hard that he wondered if perhaps they were not causing her any pain. And her pussy—her clean-shaven pussy, the first pussy ever bared to him—with its fat, pink-red outer-lips slightly parted, was absolutely soaked. The glistering, viscous liquid streamed down from her slit, running down to almost the middle of her tights.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, and without waiting for an answer, he leaned forward and slid his tongue from the tip of the stream to the junction of her leg and the pelvis.

Her taste was not as strong as he might have thought, and the musky scent of her sex only aroused him further. He would have gone farther if her legs hadn't started shaking under his strong grip. He looked up at her to see her face completely red, with half-lid eyes and a slightly open mouth.

"I think I just came a little," she said a second later, after recomposing herself enough to form words. Harry said nothing but decided to return to the task and rectify that "little." But she wouldn't let him, stopping his head with a hand on his scalp. "Another time, sweetie. Tonight is about you. Besides, I only want to cum again with your cock inside me."

Harry gulped and nodded. He rose to his feet, taking her in his arms and kissing her again, enjoying the feeling of his rod against the warm flesh of her crotch. It lasted long enough so they could get rid of the rest of the clothing—he throwing away his shirt and, more awkwardly, his socks, and she stepping out of her high heels.

They had truly walked to the bed now, and she pushed him with strength. He landed on his back, dick slapping against his stomach. She climbed after him, crawling like a cat on all fours, smiling mischievously, until she was completely above him, legs and arms on each side of his body.

"Now, Harry," she said, from behind the curtain of golden hair framing her face, as she grasped his dick with her hand. "Auntie is going to put your cock inside her, and we are going to have sex, and you will fuck her until you cum inside her and she screams and passes out from pleasure, okay? Is that alright? Can you do that for Auntie?"

"Yeah, I can do that," replied Harry, his shame having long since departed him.

"That's my Harry," she said, smiling shamelessly.

She straightened her back so she was looming above him, crouched over folded legs. His cock, enclosed between her fingers, was a stake—long and hard and erect, it waited just below her open cunt as it dripped lubrication over his engorged head. The feeling of her fluids falling over his meat and knowing it was coming from her pussy, coming for him because she desired him and wanted to get it nice and ready for him, was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

And then she lowered herself.

Slowly, at first, only the head broke through the entrance of her sex cave, bathing in her overflowing juices. Harry groaned, and she soldiered on, taking more and more of his length into her welcoming cunt. It was slippery inside her, but her walls pushed him back as much as he stretched them, adding some difficulty to the journey and even more pleasure for him. It was also very hot. Her pussy seemed to be on fire with all the heat it was passing to his cock. Looking up, Harry saw Aunt Petunia with her eyes closed, enjoying every second his hard meat spent traveling up her channel. He was finally fully sheathed in her, the meaty and squishy feel of her walls evolving all the way down his mast, his tip pressing against some kind of hard block deep inside.

Aunt Petunia groaned softly. "God, you're in my womb," she breathed out. Sitting on top of him now, she tried to adjust her position, slightly shifting her hips right and left until coming back to the initial position. "It's like you're knocking on it."

"Sorry, I'll try to-"

"No, no, no," she interrupted him, her eyes finally opening back up again. "It's just - it's... so good! And you're so fat too! It's stretching me all over." She resumed her shifting from before, moaning all the while, and soon had her hips gyrating on his dick with increasing speed, trying to paint a picture on the entrance of her womb with its large tip. She held her hair up as she ground on him, rubbing her pussylips on the base of his cock and showing him the erotic sight of her armpits. Feeling something stir within him and demand more pleasure, he grasped her hips and forced them to stay put. She opened her eyes, which had been closed again, and looked down at him. "Oh, sorry, sweetie," Aunt Petunia said. "It was just too good. I'll milk you nice and hard now, okay?"

She raised herself from his cock until only the head remained inside her wet cave, and with a sudden and fast motion, she slammed down again. Both moaned loudly this time. She repeated the action, albeit not as sharply as the first time, and soon they settled into a tempo in which she bounced up and down on his cock at a rapid pace, effectively fucking herself.

Harry watched her through the haze of pleasure.

She was beautiful like that, Harry decided, with lips slightly parted and emitting soft moans ("oh, oh, oh"), just the shadow of lipstick remaining, misty half-lidded eyes, and marred eyeliner on the very top of her cheeks. She was never prettier than she was then, with his cock deep in her cunt. Her body was stunning as well: lean and soft, with shapely legs, a flat stomach, and a delectable ass he couldn't quite see right now. He could just drink in the sight.

Her tits especially drew his attention at the moment; the two not-quite-small-not-quite-big mounds jiggled in frenzy with her quick, vertical motions of love-making, acting out a hypnotic dance that would not let his eyes go. The hardness of the pink nipples called to him, inviting him to come over and have a sample. And so he did.

"Ooooohhhh," Petunia moaned when he took a tit in his mouth. "Oh, Harry, yes, suck it, suck my tits, suck them. Do them both, sucking them both, sucking on auntie's breasts, oohhhh yeah, like that yes," Harry agreed, alternating from right to left tit, licking and sucking and almost munching on the nipples, relishing the opportunity he never had as a baby. Petunia, for her part, had unfolded her legs and now had them locked behind Harry's back, using the boy's body as support to increase the speed at which she bounced on his fat cock. One arm was hugging across his shoulder, while the other had its hand grasping strongly at his dark locks, pushing his face against her bosom, urging him on his quest to bite her tits off. "Harry, Harry, Harry," she chanted as the storm of lust raged around her. "I'm close - I think I'm close; I need to cum now, sweetie; I'm going to cum - cum with me, cum inside your aunt now, cum, cum, cuuuuUUUMMMM."

Harry did, finally allowing the insane stimulation to take over his being and set free the bursting volcano that had been in his loins for a good set of minutes. He sprayed his sperm into her quivering pussy, still pumping his hips up as she shook uncontrollably in his arms. She clutched at him, refusing to let go even after the last drop of his spunk was safely stored away in her womb, lost in a post-orgasmic high, while Harry nuzzled her breasts, equally content. Finally, her strength gave out, and both fell down on the bed—Harry on his back and Petunia upon him—both enjoying the exhaustion that resulted from their love-making.

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, basking in the afterglow, panting softly into each other, until Aunt Petunia lifted her head from his hair. "I've never cum that hard," she said with a shy smile, blushing prettily. She kissed him again, tenderly this time, and Harry got the impression she might be trying to convey her feelings that way. Nevertheless, he responded accordingly, kissing her back with as much affection as he could.

"I'm so full, it feels like it's gonna burst," she complained when they broke off the kiss, and she regarded him with an impish gleam in her eyes and a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You've filled your aunt's womb with too much semen, Harry; aren't you afraid you'll get her pregnant?" Harry opened and closed his mouth, unable to form words, horror-struck at the notion. She laughed at his helpless expression. "Don't worry about that, sweetie, I'll take care of it later. Actually, I just had the most fantastic idea."

She rose back to a sitting position, bending her head so she could look at the point where their genitals met, prompting him to watch as well. His soft cock finally slid out of her as she raised her hips, coming to lay flat on his stomach. Her pussy appeared abused; as red as a tomato, it appeared as if it had been spanked harshly. I guess we were doing it harder than I thought. There was some pain in his pelvis too, he noticed, but it was an almost pleasurable kind of pain that reminded him he had just had a really good experience. He was snatched away from his thoughts as Aunt Petunia brought her hand down to the entrance of her pussy and plunged two digits inside, up to their knuckles. She seemed to move them inside, parting and shifting them, stretching her fat lips and widening her cave in the process. At last, she retrieved them, taking them out coated in a misty, cloudy liquid that Harry could only imagine was a mix of their respective ejaculates. She then brought her hand to her mouth and licked each finger clean, until only her saliva covered the digits.

But that was not the show she had prepared for him, as he came to realize when something that felt like lava began to land atop his cock. He looked down again, to see his semen slowly dripping out of her vagina, falling drop by drop at first, then faster until it became a small stream of viscous, yellowish, burning-hot liquid matter. Aunt Petunia swung above him, back and forth, spreading his cum over his penis and sack in a homogeneous manner, until it covered all of his junk like a second layer. She unmounted him then, crawling back to the level of his pelvis, and lowered her head to hoover between his legs. She grinned and locked eyes with him, then proceeded to kiss her way up the inside of his tights to his genitals, where she took a long and open-mouthed lick from the base of his cock, beneath his balls, to the tip of his shaft, then back again, repeating the process until he was clean, soaked in saliva, and throbbing hard. She took him fully in her mouth then and used her head as a piston to suck up and down the range of his boy-meat, slurping noisily and gagging whenever he hit her throat.

It was too much for the recent ex-virgin Harry, who came again inside her oral cavity. He gave no warning and just grasped her head with both hands, burying his fingers in her golden locks and her face in the curls of his pubic hair, driving his cock past her throat and into her neck, shooting his load directly into her stomach.

Finally spent, Harry threw his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes, enjoying once more the afterglow. A wet slurp, and he felt his dick free from the warm and wet blanket. A soft body covered his own, hugging him at the chest, and a face nuzzled his neck, covering it in soft kisses before lying still. He heard a content sigh before falling asleep.

000000

Harry woke up to a sight he had never even imagined before in his life: an Aunt Petunia sprawled above his body, the two of them naked, her head resting on his chest, tangled blond hair covering them both, and his arm possessively around her waist. For a moment he did not know what to think, much less what to do, but then the memory of the past night came back to him.

He had sex with his aunt, his mother's sister, and the woman who did her best not to raise him. Not only sex; he had fucked her and pumped so much cum down her throat and up her cunt he would be surprised if she did not spend the rest of the day smelling like semen. And now here she was, sleeping in his arms like a lover.

There was a stir, and he saw her waking up as well, dizzily rubbing her face on his chest until she was fully awake. She looked up, staring into his eyes for a couple of seconds, and seemed to gather her thoughts for a moment, then smiled and reached up to capture his lips in a kiss.

"Good morning," Aunt Petunia said, running a lazy hand down his torso to his crotch to grasp at his erection, which had been poking at her leg. "And what do have here?" she teased, tugging on his cock, masturbating him gently. "Isn't a bit early to be up, Harry?" He chuckled at the bad pun and shrugged. She giggled and gave a last hard squeeze before letting go, using her arms to rise from the bed. "Sorry, sweetie, I really need a shower right now. See you down for breakfast, okay?" She blew him a kiss and turned to leave the bedroom, still clad in her birthday suit. Harry watched her butt as she went, enjoying the sweet view of her swaying hips.

Naked in bed, Harry was finally left alone with his thoughts.

He sighed.

That was not what he was going for when he accepted the Geass. He had taken the power on an impulse, curious and more than a little amazed by what it promised to do, but never in a million years would he have imagined the effect would be so strong as to throw his aunt, who had hated Harry with all the fibers in her body, into the literal incestuous bed with him. And he... he had no excuse. He knew the Geass did not affect its owner, so everything he had done he had done of his own volition, out of his own lust.

Still, he had liked it; he had enjoyed her body and affection; he knew they both did, so it couldn't be that bad, right?

From that day onward, Harry and Petunia became something like lovers. They would make out in most places of the house, kissing and fondling each other whenever the other inhabitants were out of sight. The Diet stayed the rule of the house, hard as iron and stronger than ever, which led to longer and longer periods of time away from the place for Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Aunt Petunia grew used to waking up on Harry's bed after a night of passionate sex with her nephew, all tangled in his arms and cum leaking out of her pussy. They became more daring as well, frequently having sex on the couch during the nightly soap operas, or at least a blowjob if Dudley was in the house.

He took her ass for the first time in the kitchen, in the morning after a night they hadn't slept together, and his cum churned inside his balls after almost twelve hours without being released into a wet channel. She had been wearing a particularly high-waisted skirt that accentuated the curves of her hips. As soon as Uncle Vernon left, Harry grabbed her arms and pushed her down the dinner table, lifting her skirt and yanking down her white frilly pants, recalling her own words from the night of his aunt had already been wet by the time the underwear hit her ankles, and Harry stuck three fingers up her moist cunt as she moaned loudly, swirling around to gather as much as he could of her woman-juice, which he used to lubricate his shaft, spreading the oily fluid around it. He tapped the tip a few times against the pink rosebud, watching it open and close in anticipation. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia, I can't resist anymore," he had said, arching over to hold her by the shoulders, plunging into her butt in a sudden and fast movement until he fit completely inside and his sack slapped against her labia. She'd collapsed under his weight, screaming in half-pleasure and half-pain every time he drew back and drove back to the bottom. She was the first to cum, drenching his balls in her ejaculate minutes before he did the same inside her , when both had recovered, they made love properly on top of the table.

After that, buttstuff became a regular in their repertoire of sexual activities, which only became more depraved as time went on.

And so Harry's dream summer continued happily. Marked by Petunia's caresses and generous ways of showing her love, it was one of the best times of his life so far. Until the letter from Mrs. Weasley arrived, inviting him to watch the final of the Quidditch World Cup together with her family, announcing the early end of his time with the Dursleys that year. It was the first occasion when he had wanted to refuse them and stay home until September 1st, but he accepted nonetheless and did his best to convince Uncle Vernon to let him go.

The night before the day the Weasleys had agreed to pick him up, Aunt Petunia sneaked into his room after Vernon had fallen asleep, to make love to him one last time before he was gone.

Harry fucked her from above, in a position where she could lie on her back and simply enjoy the age-old motion of mating, eagle-spread for better access and his arms pulling his body against hers as Harry reveled in her tits and nipples.

"Harry," she called among moans, just low enough so as not to wake the sleeping occupants of the other rooms. Harry rose, letting the reddened meat slip out of his mouth. "Stay, oh, stay with me," she whispered, as he pumped her body, making her shake back and forth. "Don't go back to, oh, that school. Stay here, oh, oh, with me - I'm yours, you can have me anytime you want. Or we can—oh, God—we can leave and live by ourselves somewhere else, just the two of us, just—just don't go," she said, taking his head in her hands, cupping his face, and staring deeply into his emerald-green eyes with her pale ones. Something not quite sane glistened inside them. "I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you." Harry silenced her with a deep and passionate kiss and increased the rhythm of his thrusts. As he felt the shaky tell-tale of her orgasm, his tongue was still inside her mouth. As her legs clutched at his sides, he took his cue to ejaculate as well, hoping to finish that session.

He said nothing in response to her request. Eventually, she dressed up and went back to her own bedroom, where her husband slept soundly.

And he probably was one of the few who did that night; for long after Aunt Petunia was gone, Harry stayed up, gazing into the ceiling, and wondering what her words could mean for him and, more importantly, for his Geass, the Heart of Eros.

00000000

"Mr. Weasley, it's Harry... the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there," Harry said, holding his laughter lest he upset the already turning purple Uncle Vernon.

"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley's annoyed voice. "What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"

"They've got an electric fire," Harry explained.

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that... Let's think... ouch, Rony!"

Rony's voice now joined the others'. "What are we doing here? What did you idiots do this time?"

"Oh, sorry, Rony," came Fred's voice, very sarcastically. "We just thought it would be totally funny to prank ourselves into a tight dark space."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he were squashed against the wall.

"Kids..." said Mr. Weasley vaguely. "I'm trying to think what to do...Yes...only way... Stand back, Harry."

Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward.

"Wait a moment!" he bellowed at the fire. "What exactly are you going to -"

BANG.

The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Rony in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backwards over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys, all of whom had bright red hair, including Fred and George, who were identical to the last freckle.

The girl of the group, a busty teenager almost as tall as Harry, was the first to come to her feet, her torn jeans and sleeveless jacket covered in ashes. She brushed off the dust harshly, angry it got on her outfit in the first place, then looked around to gather her surroundings before finally fixing her eyes on Harry himself.

"Hey, Harry, terrific place you got here," she said, flashing a winning smile. Harry couldn't help but snort and shake his head. Only one person would blow up the Dursleys' fireplace, crash into their living room, cover the whole place in ash, and still have the nerve to call it terrific.

Only Rony Weasley, his greatest friend in the entire world.