As a reminder, you can find MORE of this on my SubStar (dot adult slash KajaWilder), it's posted up past chapter 50 there... And if you guys haven't seen an update in at least a week, please let me know! I have a busy life, and I get distracted and forget things. This story(as well as ZpoW and PTaL) are supposed to be updated WEEKLY!

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Chap. 76: Falling(?)

To her credit as a Healer and Nurse, Poppy Pomfrey did not panic when a woman who, for all intents and purposes, looked like a Hell-spawned demon appeared in her infirmary, carrying what looked very much like the now one-legged corpse of her boss. What she did do, was whip out her wand and burst into a flurry of motion and spellcasting.

Beds rearranged themselves along one wall, taking their side-tables, curtains, and visitor's chairs with them in seconds. Potions flew outward in a long line from the suddenly unlocked store-cupboard, and sigils flared to life on the center of the now-cleared stone floor. The first words she asked were, "What happened," followed quickly by, "Where's Mr. Potter?"

"I can't tell you," Lilith replied to the second question first, "but I'm going to get him as soon as you take the Headmaster. No, really, I can't. Some magic is preventing me from saying the name."

"Fidelius," Poppy grumbled, then jerked her chin toward the circle of runes on the floor, "Place him there, as flat as you can get him, then return with Mr. Potter. How did the Headmaster collapse? What happened to his leg?"

"There was a snake bite, he- Dumbledore- begged Harry to cut off the leg before the poison spread further. Harry did, and then Dumbledore did some other magic. Something ancient, powerful. Very powerful. Words that sounded like... thousands of languages, all at once. The- the thing we were after was safe after that, and Dumbledore explained a bit of what he was doing, then he said he couldn't stand. I caught him half-way down, but he was already unconscious."

"So some sort of virulent venom, likely magical if it spread that quickly, or the effect of a curse, and the effects of powerful magic on an old body whose owner should know better."

"Something like that," Lilith agreed as she straightened from laying the headmaster down as the Healer instructed, "Anything else you need from me before I get Master?"

"No, no, bring him straight back here, though. I'll need to check him, too."

"That's the plan," the Succubus agreed, "Oh, and we aren't sure how my Shadow Step would have affected Dumbledore, either. It's safer if you're unconscious to start, but it's described as quite cold for a human, so he might be suffering from that, too. Or having had his soul pulled out."

Before Madam Pomfrey could look up in horror and shock, the Succubus disappeared in a whirl of black flames and pink smoke, just as she had appeared.

It was oddly quiet around the old Gaunt Shack, Harry decided. The last many minutes, perhaps an hour or so, had been a storm of chaos and frantic action. From the first wards, to the huge, army-like mass of snakes that had swarmed them, to trying to keep up with Dumbledore's lightning-fast spellwork and keep them safe, to cutting off the leg of the old man he thought of as a surrogate grandfather at the knee...

Harry shuddered, but that still wasn't everything. The Shack itself had been horrifying. Not for the old, mouldering mess and remains, but for what it had represented. The home of Voldemort's squib-like mother, the abuses that had been heaped on her for years, the generations before that as the family descended into inbred madness, and... and what came after.

The Horcrux.

It had not put up quite the fight that Harry thought it would. He thought it might have some dark, twisted magic to confuse, to incite, or even directly attack or control one who wanted to destroy it. The Diary had certainly done so with Ginny and, later, Harry. If the diary was, as Dumbledore suspected, the first one Voldemort had created, would not a later one be even more dangerous?

But no, aside from the enchantments around the hovel and the tricks inside it, the Horcrux did not seem to have the same ability to fight back. The shade of sixteen year old Voldemort, Harry's own age now, had mentioned that Ginny had poured her heart and soul out to the Diary, and that had let him in. Was that the reason why? Had he been protected by Lilith's bond with himself, and Dumbledore simply guarded his thoughts and feelings well enough that Voldemort could not even truly start?

There was, he supposed, no way to be sure. Still, he was alone. Well and truly alone, for perhaps the first time since he cast the ritual that Summoned his pet Succubus. At the Castle there were always people around, students, teachers, his friends, his lovers, and of course Lilith herself. At Sirius' house his godfather was there, and at his relatives'... well, they had been present too.

Here, outside the small village - hamlet might be a better term, Harry's old history lessons had taught him - of Little Hangleton, on the south end of England, there was... well, basically no one.

The last people who lived at the hidden Gaunt Shack had died a decade or more ago according to Dumbledore, and they had walked through at least a half-mile of wooded trail after leaving the worn road. Little Hangleton itself had a population of maybe two hundred, and was more than a mile down the valley, with a great many trees, shrubs, and more between them.

Now that Dumbledore was gone, possibly dying, poisoned, and maimed (Harry briefly imagined the aged wizard with a metallic enchanted leg like his friend, Mad-Eye Moody had, making him smile a bit sadly), with Lilith transporting him with an ability that might well kill him, he was the only one within... Well, who knew how far, really?

All that was left were the memories.

The ones he, his Succubus, and and the Headmaster had made just recently as they fought their way into the shack and destroyed the Horcrux, yes, of course.

But there were older ones here, too.

Harry relaxed his body and mind, sure that the danger had largely passed. Voldemort's defenses had been broken by their combined efforts, and the Horcrux itself was no more. Instead of tension, anxiety, and yes, he had to admit, fear, Harry let his senses flow outward.

There was so much pain here, echoes from decades long gone, from people just as lost to the depths of time. Morfin Gaunt was the source of a lot of it for Merope, his sister. He had not only abused her physically, verbally, emotionally, but Harry got the impression that he had used her sexually as often as their father had.

Too often, in other words.

It was one thing for two consenting people like the Weasleys to enjoy each other, especially since it was highly unlikely they could or would have an inbred child, but this was something... else.

He knew from the echoes of her pain that Merope Gaunt's descendant, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had been the fourth child she had conceived. Two had been her father's, and one her brother's. None had lived long, too twisted and broken by generations of inbreeding to have any sort of normal life. One, he thought with horror, had actually been stepped on shortly after it was born by Marvolo, 'to keep from having another mouth to feed'.

Harry shuddered with revulsion. These people had all been sick. Even Merope, pitiable as she was, as much as he understood why she had sought escape, had wrought so much evil in the world. Her love potion-induced pregnancy had resulted, after all, in Voldemort.

Was he any better?

In the silence of the Shack, where the only sound was the whisper of leaves in the breeze and the low moan of the air through the shattered rafters, Harry once more questioned every decision he had made in the last many months.

Summoning Lilith had, as Hermione claimed, changed him. Changed him greatly. Love Potions... they had resulted in Voldemort. Someone without, as Dumbledore claimed (and Harry firmly believed) the capacity to love. How was it different, though, from what he had done?

Fog of Lust, the scaly little flecks of pink that Lilith had used, starting with his first night with Daphne Greengrass, did much the same, did it not? She claimed differently, and her logic did seem to ring true, but... was it really so different? Magnifying what was there was not that far off from creating something completely artificial, was it?

Then Pansy, and Romilda, and to a lesser extent Lavender... would any of them be with him without the Succubus?

He had definitely developed feelings for all of them. Hermione and Ginny, of course, though he doubted both would be willing to be his lovers at the same time without Lilith. Daphne... she had only been dosed once, then admitted afterward that she would not object strongly to another night like that. She had initiated Tracey using her virginity as a ritual component on her own, the Slytherins all had. He still didn't know what the thing was for, either. Now both were his in a way, almost as much as they were each other's. Pansy... probably among, if not the, worst he'd done.

She had been expecting Draco, after all, and he'd used her relentlessly, even mocked her while shagging her silly. The Fog alone had made her enjoy it, he suspected, but could not quite be sure. She seemed to like being taken and used, after all, but... was that artificial, too?

Lavender might not be his girl, but she could have been, maybe. She certainly wouldn't be entertaining half of Gryffindor every week, without him claiming her and turning her loose as his 'gift' to the House.

Mandy Brocklehurst was dead, because he was willing to make use of her tied-up body and listened to her very compromised wish to stay there and get more information. Likely, her killer would be brought to justice eventually, but Harry did not know if it was Malfoy, Nott, or someone else who had done the deed.

Fleur... Merlin, he'd ruined her and Bill's marriage. Possibly driven Bill to an early grave from heart failure. She was not mad at him, her, their time in the future Potter Manor had proved that, but how different would the future be, if only he was not such a lust-addled arse?

He honestly couldn't say, "At least I'm mature enough now to know I'm messed up," he murmured into the vacant space, chuckling at the irony of it all.

Part of him wanted to simply agree with Hermione and Lilith that the Dursleys had, by giving him a love-starved upbringing, created the Harry that had done such things. Summoning Lilith had itself been a desperate act by a truly lonely (and randy) teenage boy. That part, he knew, was true.

But blaming it all on the Dursleys took away his choice.

That, Harry knew, had always been his alone.

He had chosen to take out his anger and frustration, his loneliness, his hormones, on his friends and foes alike, and now most of them were quite firmly at his side... one way or the other. It was done, now, and he could not change the past.

Harry didn't even know if he wanted to. Some, yes, he would definitely change if he could have. Romilda would have been asked, rather than made the broken shell of a young woman she had become, for one. Mandy would likely still be alive, because Harry would have freed her the first night he had found her (after, probably, making use of her as she had requested).

Fleur may still have been with Bill.

But aside from those things, Harry could not allow himself, and did not want to, feel much regret. Not anymore. Pansy was a better person now, Daphne and Tracey were happy with him as their lover, even if it was scary to share each other. Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Lavender, they all wanted him badly now.

Luna Lovegood, for Merlin's sake, had been shagging a tentacled plant-girl for a year longer than Lilith had even been in the picture, so Harry truly could not blame her for his actions that day. He couldn't even change how he had reacted to the snakes overwhelming them, distracting the Headmaster from the snake that had bitten him in the end. He couldn't give the old wizard his leg back. He couldn't have changed whatever had made him pass out.

This day...

Well, he could do something about what he did with the rest of it.

There were many memories here. The shattered planter box, the chest full of old clothes, the mess and mouldering dishes... He could do something about that. Harry's right hand lifted, wand free, and in his palm a glowing, purple-violet flame began to flicker and grow. The egg he held in his left seemed to warm further at the action, which caused a momentary distraction, but the flames did not flicker in anything but the light wind.

The clothes that had held Voldemort's Horcrux as if it was some jeweler's pad were the first to ignite, and Harry tossed the ball of fire toward it almost casually, his face expressionless.

The cookware went next, the planter box after, and the bed fourth. By then, he was snarling, a lifetime's worth of pain fueling each blast of Passion Fire. Moments later, a final bolt smashed against the rafters overhead with a roar of long-pent-up anger and fury.

Then Harry turned, his Succubus-given empathic abilities no longer needed. Those emotions, that pain, he had bottled up for so long... he left it amid the ruins of Voldemort's old family home. The emotions there stoked the flames higher, hotter, and brighter as he moved out into the yard and turned back to face the old house.

When Lilith arrived a minute or so later, the ramshackle building was barely more than a smoldering frame, the emotion-driven fires had consumed it almost completely in moments. "Master?"

"I'm alright, Lilith," he answered quietly, sending her a brief glance and a soft smile, "That was fairly therapeutic. Ah... the egg here, it warmed up when I used Passion Fire. Still pretty warm now, actually."

"Strange," the Succubus murmured, looking down at the round object he held aloft, "I'm not sure what would do that. Any emotion-driven creature, in theory, but I've no idea what. Your world's flora and fauna weren't exactly my area of expertise. I very much focused on human psychology and our own magic."

"Hm. Is Dumbledore alive?" He felt like a heel for not asking it first, but she had been the first to speak after all, and it would have been rude to not answer the unfinished question.

"Last I looked, about... thirty seconds ago. He survived the Shadow Step, at least. While your Healer was concerned, she wasn't panicking."

"Good. We should go back once the flames die out."

"Yes. I can douse them...?"

"No," he shook his head with a small smile as he turned back toward the last remnants of a horrid past, "No, I think I'd just like to watch those memories die."

"Sounds good, then. You... You know we all love you, right? I sense your turmoil."

"I know, Lilith. I love you all, too. Now, hush- listen. Can you feel the screams the Gaunts inflicted on each other? I'm glad to see them go."

"Unfortunately, yes," she answered with a frown, "that's why I wanted to go. It's so... ugly. Not at all passion or happiness."

"No. But it's almost gone, they're so faint now. Just a few more... there. Alright, my love. Let's go home."

A moment later, they were gone, and even the smoking remains quickly went out.

No trace of the Gaunt Shack, its memories, or the tragic history of the place and its family was found by humankind again. Nature, once the darkness had been burned away, quickly reclaimed its own, after all.

They appeared in the Hospital Wing hand in hand, just as they had vanished from the ruins, but the situation there was not as peaceful and quiet as the one Harry and Lilith just left.

"Pomona! I need two bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion! Minerva! hold those straps tightly! It's no use keeping circulation going if his magic rips his body to shreds anyway! Horace! your strongest Magic Replenishing Potion, as quickly as you can brew one! We won't be able to hold him much longer, and the rate he's pouring energy out will kill him quickly! It's only a question of whether we or he dies first!"

The Healer was directing some of the most skilled spellcasters in the United Kingdom like her own personal orchestra, while her wand was conducting an entirely different symphony. Potion bottles still flew through the air, bits and bobs of each's contents lifting out with a glance alone measuring them before the hastily portioned liquids, oils, unguents, and fluids flew down the oldest wizard Harry knew mouth, or poured themselves onto lesions and sores that had broken out all over Dumbledore's body.

His robes had been cut away as he floated, back arched as if he were on some medieval torture implement, with his torso some three feet in the air, his hands and remaining ankle held by rune-encrusted bandages to some sort of anchor in a circle of sigils on the floor that glowed with a violent, deep red glow, pulsing and shaking with every tremor Dumbledore made.

Her instructions given, the professors redoubled their efforts, and Pomfrey turned her attention to the newcomers, "Potter! Tell me everything! The snake your friend mentioned, the spells used, everything!"

Stammering, with a hesitant glance at the other concentrating professors, he told her everything he could. How the Headmaster had taken him and Lilith to a secret location, and undone many powerful protections cast by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then fought against the swarm of snakes. The one that had bitten him, prompting Dumbledore to require Harry to cut off his leg. The Shack, and the destruction of 'something that tethered Voldemort to this world'.

Horace Slughorn had paled slightly at the mention of it, which occurred just as he returned, huffing and puffing, with a small, dusty vial, "Had- had one in my stores, Poppy, lucky enough. It's old, potent, but not the best I've made. I'll go work on another right now!"

"Excellent, Horace," Pomfrey cried, and the glowing silvery-blue liquid that flew out of the crystal vial completely vanished into Dumbledore's mouth a moment later. The Headmaster's body convulsed again, then started trembling as a blue-white aura rippled out of him almost like a vibrating bubble. It went out to a space of about eight feet, and as it hit Professor Flitwick and McGonagall, who were closest, they were knocked back, the shorter wizard falling to his rump with the impact.

"Hold it, hold it," Pomfrey cried, her own wand momentarily flicking to the space on Dumbledore's missing leg had been held by the Charms Professor while he recovered his feet and re-cast his spell. Harry wanted to help, wanted to do something, anything, to help his mentor, but he did not dare add a voice to the chaos, much less just start adding spellwork willy-nilly. Instead, like he had done when Luna had been attacked what felt like forever ago (Was it really just a day? Two days?), Harry was forced to be silent, still, to hold himself back while those who actually knew what they were doing went about their business.

He hated it.

But there was nothing else he could do, while the Matron who had caused him so much personal grief and her assistants, his teachers, fought to save the leader of their school, their friend.

The most fallible, imperfect, dangerous, powerful, wisest, and foolish person he knew.

Harry did not know tears were running down his face until Lilith pulled him into a hug, still in her battle-form, and wiped some of the salt water from his cheeks with a kiss.

Hermione watched in awe as the green energy moved from both of the Patil twins down their arms in different ways, surging and soaking in bits and flecks into Lavender's more muted but shining, pink and violet aura. From there, they were quickly absorbed, especially around the more violent coloration that suggested her injury. She had already noted that a witch or wizard's aura of magic changed if they were injured, but she had not yet truly witnessed healing of this kind.

Poppy Pomfrey's spellcasting when she had bandaged her fingers was one thing, and only a little of it had been this green color, so very like that of the Killing Curse, but so very, very different in nature.

The effect the twins' massage was having on Lavender was obvious, even without magical vision. Her pain had not been that bad, of course, little more than a strained muscle, but it was enough to be annoying. The position she and Padma must have tried, no doubt modified from the majority heterosexual positions listed in the Kama Sutra, was a point of interest to the increasingly sex-addicted Gryffindor, but Hermione was above all else a woman of learning. While she could and did value whatever position could have done this (likely many of them were hard to pull off properly, after all, at least for a beginner who was not well-versed in Yoga or other Ayurvedic practices), it was the healing that came afterward that most fascinated her.

Holistic healing seemed rather silly if taken from a purely muggle standpoint, though she and her mother had always appreciated the health benefits of eating well and regular exercise. But with magic taken into account, it made far more sense. As Parvati and Padma, more the latter to no one's surprise, had explained to Hermione as she asked one question after another during the process, Ayurvedic practice in general had begun with Hindu magicals, and only spread after a century or more to the muggle population of the Indian subcontinent.

Parvati's aura flowed downward onto Lavender's like a slow-motion waterfall or stream, melding and mixing in a whirlpool of color before it withdrew as her hands pulled away from pressing down on one muscle or another, and left trails when she dragged an oil-slicked hand or wrist or even elbow (which seemed like it should be painful but always made Lavender groan with relief instead of pain) along the blonde's body. Padma, on the other hand, had a more solid, staid aura that left controlled spirals of the green flecks moving downward around her arms in a corkscrew, and each and every bit seemed to land where it was most needed

Together, the pair had not only relieved the pain of Lavender's shoulder muscles, but released tension and tightness across her entire body on the back side in under twenty minutes. When the girl was prompted to roll over, even Hermione wasn't surprised to see her bare form revealed to all three. She had seen it enough over the last weeks, after all, to be well used to it.

Morgana only knew how often she had gone down on the little slut, or Lavender had gone down on her in her efforts to service Hermione between study sessions or other lovers.

Harry's personal slave was, after all, a beautiful example of feminine grace and strength. For all her classwork had once been slipshod, barely satisfactory, Lavender had taken Hermione's help with homework very seriously in an effort to please her new master. Her grades, predictably, had shot upward to the point that now she was among the highest in Gryffindor, right alongside Ron, just below Harry and Hermione herself.

How Harry's grades had gotten so good, when just a few weeks ago Professor McGonagall had seen fit to publicly reprimand him and Hermione for falling behind, was a testament to his own work ethic when properly motivated. After all, after calling out the Professor for her own (admittedly rude) behavior, he could not very well slack off himself. No, he had to prove he was right by, well... Giving the older witch what she wanted.

Which, Hermione conceded, had probably been included in her favorite teacher's plan from the beginning. At any rate, the goal had been achieved: All of them were more focused on school-work. Not more than sex, of course, that would just be ridiculous. But with sex as a reward once more, it became far easier to get things done and get them done well.

Lavender had also not let her physical duties, satisfying the needs of those who asked, if Harry and his other friends didn't have need of her that night, slide. In fact, she partook of that particular duty whenever she could, and occasionally she didn't even wait until the younger years were gone before giving out hand-jobs to those who asked.

At least the blowjobs, cunnilingus, and outright shagging in the common room waited until even the fourth-years (mostly) were gone.

Hermione found her mouth watering just a little, along with a distinct moisture in her groin, when the dusky brown girls put their hands on her friend and lover once more. It was entirely professional, at least to her own inexpert eye, but still she watched as Lavender's pink nipples puckered and rose into the air. The blonde witch was totally relaxed, but her aura was increasingly pink: a color Hermione had come to associate with Lilith, and more generally, those who carried her people's Runes. It shone even brighter from each of them as they became aroused. And, judging by the intensity and hue, not to mention the increasingly erratic, and spiky edges of Lavender's aura, she was very, very aroused, and growing more so by the moment.

Hermione was herself, come to think of it. What would it feel like to have the twins' silky, oily hands caress her, mold her body beneath their powerful fingers, to work out her own tensions? Amazing, she was sure, if that word was even adequate.

She wanted to experience it herself, yes, absolutely. But for now, she would be content to watch. Watch as Parvati gave her sister a questioning look, their hands working automatically. Watch Padma, less familiar to Hermione despite their similarities in personality, but so familiar in appearance, hesitate, then nod. As one, both girls stepped from where they had moved down to Lavender's soft, painted toenails to each press two hands around Lavender's full, firm breasts.

The girl sighed, and whispered, "I'm happy you're both doing this."

Parvati asked, just as quietly, "How- how long have you two been, um..."

"Intimate?" her twin asked.

Parvati nodded, and Padma gave a one-shouldered little shrug, her eyes never leaving the breast she was working and twisting with both hands, one set of fingers occasionally delving deep into the pectoral muscle beneath it, the other seemingly now focused on pleasure, "Just once... a week or so ago? Six days, yes."

Lavender made a small, "Mm, hmm," noise, then more clearly, "Goddesses, that feels so good. My tits are always so heavy, it pulls on them really hard."

"They're beautiful, though," Padma reminded her, "All the blokes, and I, think so."

"That's right," her sister agreed, "I... I always kind of felt a little jealous of them, Lav. And now I know my sister's been able to go further than our practice sessions ever did."

The blonde's eyes opened, and Hermione watched in further awe and growing joy too as she told her best friend, "Then go just as far. Padma doesn't mind sharing, does she?"

The more serious twin blinked, looking up from the tit she was manhandling to Lavender's face, then Parvati's, and then Hermione's, "I- I, er-"

Hermione herself only shrugged casually, wanting nothing more at that moment than for Parvati to do just that, if only to encourage more. More of this, more chances to watch them work, more massages, more, just, everything happening in the Room of Requirement right then, "I'm fine just watching this time," left unsaid was the fact that 'this time' did not mean 'every time', but she wanted to make it clear she wasn't leaving, either. She wasn't giving up this opportunity unless she absolutely had to. She had to distract herself from whatever danger Harry was in, after all.

"It, um... it wouldn't be the first time," Padma whispered, just loud enough Hermione could make it out, then leaned over to kiss her sister across Lavender's supine body.

Parvati moaned into it, and broke it off only several seconds later, "Are you sure, Pad? You know... what I want. If we're going to... to do this, with her and... well, with Hermione here... You know what it means."

Padma nodded, "I'm... in. You're always enough... but if I can have more? I'm a selfish sister, but I want it. I want more. I want all of them, all the girls Harry Potter is stealing for himself."

"Even if he's going to shag you, too?"

She shrugged at Parvati's question, "It wouldn't be the first time he's claimed a lesbian."

Hermione agreed, "It's true."

Parvati suddenly squealed, her beautiful, sari-clad body shaking, "I can't believe it! I get to be in Harry's harem! Awesome! Oh, Lav, we're gonna make you feel so fucking good!"

The twins kissed again, then lowered their mouths to Lavender's nipples, instead.

Soon she was writhing on the table, and Hermione had to change position to better see as they moved one hand over the blonde's body, caressing, spreading more oil, kneading...

Goddesses and demons, they were so good at making her squirm! She wanted them on her own body so badly!

Then Parvati and Padma, together, as if they had the exact thought at the exact moment as their twin, both shoved a single finger inside Lavender's twat. She squealed, and her hips bucked. Just that single insertion made her squirt a spray of clear fluid over the white cloth between her legs, splashing against both browned arms, and even splattering Hermione's more distant robes a bit.

She just barely resisted the urge to lap up the delicious flavor. Maybe if they were doing a ritual orgy, when everyone was a bit out of control... but no, not just now, watching three other girls have a bit of fun. No, that would be unseemly.

For now.

After she had climaxed once, the girls moved a little. Parvati went downward, shifting to explore her best friend's private parts a little more intimately. She kneaded, folded, and prodded, spread Lavender's delicious lips for Hermione and herself to both get a good look at the tender pink insides (So that was the particular hue of Lilith's hair! How had she never made the correlation before?), then pushed two full fingers inside this time, before she began sawing them in and out at a fast pace.

Parvati, meanwhile, kept one hand moving back and forth between Lavender's round boobs, then kissed her, instead. It was clear to Hermione that the two had done it before, because while there was a little awkwardness, there wasn't much hesitation. Only a slightly embarrassed giggle on Padma's end as their noses bumped, with each tilting in the same direction on the first attempt.

Then their tongues started tangling, and all embarrassment went out the proverbial window.

"Damn it," Hermione muttered to herself, then shrugged off her robes, too. They fell to the floor in a wash of black, but she didn't hesitate a moment to push down her skirt and knickers, too. She was already masturbating her own twat when the thin cotton underwear she wore only out of habit these days joined the rest of her clothes. The other hand was busy undoing the buttons on her blouse... but she didn't join the other girls.

Even if she was sure, now, that she would be allowed, she didn't want to scare them away. But she had to get off, this was just too arousing not to do something about.

Lavender climaxed again in short order, the attention from the two gorgeous Hindi witches just too much, apparently. The twins traded sides then, giving Lavender a taste of her own pussy juice from Parvati's fingers, while Padma drank from the fountain directly. Her Sari twitched and moved as she worked her own twat, but so far Parvati had refrained.

That was, at least, until Padma climbed up onto the table, her white clothing, already mostly see-through thanks to the oil that now soaked it, discarded too.

She was so beautiful, Hermione ached to take her back to Harry's private quarters and tie her up on the stocks, or the X-frame, or the saw-horse, and just... do things to her. All sorts of things, everything. Transform a cock, maybe, along the lines of Lilith's own and fuck the girl senseless. Spear the pink flesh deep and hard, break her...

She was not particularly close to Padma for all they had in common; their different Houses had largely seen to that. It wasn't a shock, therefore, to find out she was a lesbian and that Hermione had never noticed or known. But knowing that she, like Daphne, preferred women but, unlike that same girl, did not have any real desire to be exclusive, it... it was tantalizing.

Ginny was enough, of course, and Lilith too, for Hermione to be satisfied. She wasn't greedy and endlessly horny for all sorts of pleasure like Harry. But Padma, apparently, was. And she wanted to be one of the girls to satisfy that pleasure, that need.

But for now...

For now she could only watch as Padma raised one of Lavender's legs against her perfect chest and touched their clits together, before they began to grind, circling and dancing pussy to cunt, both dripping and flowing with abandon.

Watching the two scissoring was gut-wrenchingly arousing, and Parvati gave up making out with Lavender's mouth and shaking, quivering nipples after just a few seconds. Instead, she joined Padma on top of the girl, mounting her face with a saucy smile, "It's not all about you, Lav. My turn."

At least the blonde didn't mind, Hermione knew, because soon the twins were kissing each other again while Padma continued to gyrate against Lavender's cunt and she licked away at Parvati's with more skill than Hermione would have expected. She herself stepped closer, now to the side where she had been before, with fingers plunging in and out of her own body.

She was so close...

They were so sexy, all of them...

Morgana, Circe, and even Morrigan, they were all, so... so...

"Cumming," she gasped, wide-eyed, almost embarrassed that she had climaxed first. Well, after Lavender's first two, of course.

It seemed she triggered a chain reaction however, as Parvati gushed against Lavender's eager mouth, giving her a drink of an entirely different sort. The tribbing girls both followed just a few seconds later as Parvati gasped her orgasm into her twin's mouth, then Padma returned the favor as she started coming down. Lavender, already satisfied twice, was riding the edge with Parvati's dose of pleasure. Feeling Padma shiver and moan, her body quaking directly over Lavender's over-stimulated clit, could not have held back for anything short of her master's direct order.

Ten minutes later, Hermione was the first one back together enough to leave the Room of Requirement, but she politely waited while the others recovered from their knee-weakening climaxes, dressed, and started up a more casual, tame conversation about the benefits of massage in general.

Completely unspoken, for now, was any talk of the almost too-lewd, but very tantalizing and exciting, moment the four girls had shared. Each of them, thankfully, already knew it would not be the last.