Chapter Sixty Eight
The Grand Magical Symposium. Harry had been worried about how grand it could be — Grimmauld Place was hardly the country manor that most purebloods preferred, even if it was a big terraced town house.
Bellatrix had done well though, with the aid of magic. The drawing room had been extended, and then extended, and then extended some more, such that it now appeared larger, length to length, that the entire Hogwarts Express.
The walls had not been widened though, so it still had the air of a cosy cigar lounge. Large windows overlooked the London city streets below, and it was decorated as old money did.
Ornate glass-fronted cabinets down the entire room, showcasing artifacts from centuries of travel, from an age when only the rich could travel. The chandeliers lined the ceiling in a neat row, with the back of the room holding one large glass mirror, so that one could mistake themselves for standing in a room of infinity.
The guests had begun to arrive already — a goblin was playing an aggressive wartune on one piano, dueling with a gentleman playing the boogie-woogie blues on the other side of the room.
Champagne glasses clinked. Smoke filled the air, pink and green and gray.
Harry leaned over to Bellatrix, who was nibbling on her thumbnail. "What is that smoke?"
"Cigarette holders are in fashion." She said, nodding at the pureblood ladies. Some wore bodyhugging satin gowns which clung to every curve, while others wore short beaded flapper dresses, their many beads sparkling in the chandelier light. Silk gloves either at the wrist or the elbow, emblazoned with their House emblem.
"But," Bella continued. "Not everyone wants the tobacco, see? Smoking's not as fashionable these days — so they smoke on clouds of strawberry or lime. Something new out of Honeydukes."
"Who are the notables?"
Her lips curved into a smirk. "You can see by their furs."
"Huh?"
"Their shawls. See, the girls with gleaming black fur — that's Niffler fur. An in-joke, right? Nifflers dig for gold, so the rich women call themselves the gold diggers ironically."
Harry squinted. "I get it."
"The other girls? Kneazle fur." She sniffed. "They can call it gold fur from Wampus cats, but everyone knows the fur is Kneazle ginger."
Harry took the host of the Symposium in. "And where are your furs?"
She gave him a desultory glance. "I hardly think I need to stand out, do I?" She stuck her nose in the air. "Blacks have a beauty all their own."
"Indeed they do," He murmured. Bellatrix was dressed to impress in a satin black gown that ran down to her ankles. It was a plunging backless dress, letting him see the dimples of her lower back, just before her ass began to curve, hidden away.
His eyes flowed over the dress like the dress flowed over her curves — hugging her full breasts, her slim hips, her plump ass and her slim tight stomach. Harry was always amazed that these pureblood beauties could be so waifish and so stacked at the same time, like Daphne was.
"You like the excitement, don't you?" He muttered.
"What do you mean—oh." Bellatrix flushed. Her nipples were hard and pressing through the thin black dress — she hadn't been able to wear a bra with the plunging neckline. "It's just the champagne."
"Of course it is." He said patronisingly. "It's good, don't worry. We want your name to be on everyone's lips tonight."
"I wish you hadn't talked me into this." She complained. "Father has been driving me insane — if he's not ranting that I'm destroying the family name, he's trying to micromanage everything."
"It'll be worth it." Harry promised. "The name of Black, back on the world stage. And look who's here to see it…"
From the stage, they watched the large fireplace on the opposing side. It had been covered with long moss-green velvet curtains that hung from the ceiling, so each entrant had to push through the curtain to make an entrance. It became a game, each new face getting a cheer from the drinking crowd.
The Lestranges, the Rosiers, the Macmillans, the Malfoys. Carrow and Crouch, Greengrass and Selwyn. The who's who of magical society. Harry even saw Slughorn, a little less fat than he'd been in the future but no less red-faced — he already had a whiskey flask in hand.
But today, they were outnumbered. The Symposium was for all magical races and they had been waiting for a chance to speak their cause. The Goblin king Ragnuk led his entourage, wearing so much silver finery that he was practically blinding.
Bellatrix leaned over. "Is he King Ragnuk the fourth or the fifth?"
Harry shrugged. "Does it matter?"
The cheer from the crowds was quieter when two trolls came through. They were security trolls, like the kind Dumbledore had hired to protect the Fat Lady after Sirius had supposedly attacked her.
Bellatrix wrinkled her nose. "They say security trolls are more intelligent and less smelly than mountain trolls." She whispered.
Harry nodded. "That wizard, whats-his-name, he's made a career out of training them."
"Still seem pretty smelly to me."
The beautiful black-haired woman had a comment to make about every race that came to the symposium.
The vampires. "Blood-sucking losers — they just spend their whole time indoors, drinking and having sex with each other. I don't know why anyone is scared of them."
The hags. "Saw one of them in the Leaky Cauldron the other day, ordering a plate of raw liver. Can you believe it? They used to be contained to Knockturn Alley and the wizards that don't mind an ugly fuck."
The werewolves. "I deliberately checked the lunar cycle for tonight, don't worry." She murmured, covering her mouth with her hand. "Just in case, the cutlery at your table is made of pure silver." She grinned.
The Veela got the loudest whoop when they arrived. The Queen wore a red hooded robe of velvet, but the sash that should tie it shut was loose, revealing a inch-wide doorway of tempting naked flesh from her neck to her toes. Harry saw plenty of the side of her tits, but her groin was covered in shadow. One wizard even stood on a chair to try and get a better look at her.
"Whores." Bellatrix said derisively — the Queen had brought many of them. Veela that split into the crowd, incomparable beauties of fluttering eyelashes and coy smiles. They attached themselves to wizards and integrated into groups, and in a moment, it was like they had never arrived, except for the Queen, who could never hope to hide away.
She met Harry's eyes — this was their deal. To create a party for her Veela to find targets and in return, she'd use those targets to further his power, so he could his power to further their aims. That, and the promise of her body for one night only.
One night will become many more. Harry thought with a shiver.
"No giants?" He asked, thinking of the beings who hadn't arrived.
Bellatrix shrugged. "I don't think there are any willing to brave coming to Britain — the Aurors have been killing any they see, since it's presumed they're all allied with Voldemort."
Harry hummed — the giants had been in the papers, committing some atrocities against the Muggles in particular.
He took in the sight of the wizards who'd cliqued together, drinking and talking quietly. Some of Voldemort's Death Eaters were in this very room, though few knew they had the mark. Harry had no interest in them, not today.
He was here to make good on his deal with the Queen, to sway Bellatrix into believing that he could give her power and importantly — to find Slytherin's locket.
Kreacher must have brought the locket back here and stashed it away. When the party was up and running, he'd disappear and search for it.
A loud cheer from the crowd as two familiar faces pushed through the curtain.
Alice Longbottom and her husband Frank, who waved wildly at him until Alice tugged his arm down sharply. Baby Neville had a babysitter, presumably.
Behind them, Harry's parents entered.
"Oh." He said suddenly. His heart clenched. James and Lily and in her arms, a bundle of blankets. Him.
Bellatrix whistled. "I didn't think they'd come, not with Rosier and all that. And you know, our reputation."
He frowned, thinking. "If they feel safe enough to come, then that must mean—"
The fireplace flared. A tall thin silhouette appeared. And through the curtain, he emerged.
Albus Dumbledore.
A little less old, his smile a little more free. His eyes twinkling as he embraced James and reached down to scratch the chin of little Harry.
On the stage, Harry held his own jaw, as if he could feel it.
Of course Albus would be here. The old man was a sucker for anything about unity.
"Time to kick this thing off." Bellatrix blew out a nervous breath, holding her wand against her neck.
"Good luck. Keep it short, keep it sweet. Maybe make a joke — everyone loves to laugh." Harry advised, jumping off the stage.
"Wait, where are you going?"
"I'm gonna go mingle."
Bellatrix scowled, before recovering. She pressed the tip of her wand to her throat. "Sonorus! Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the House of Black and to the first ever Grand Magical Symposium. Here's a little joke — what do you get when a wizard, a Veela, a hag, a troll, a goblin, a vampire and a werewolf walk into a room?"
Bellatrix smirked into the silence. Harry winced — where was this going?
"You get very nervous and very drunk!" The room roared with laughter, with Dumbledore the loudest of them all.
Harry exhaled a heavy breath and shook his head. That was the first test of the night — it wouldn't be the last.
###
"Girls!" Narcissa's knuckles rapped at the door. "I've baked some brownies in case Harry comes over, do you want any?"
"No, Mother! We're busy!" Helena shouted back, rolling her eyes when Hermione gave her a glance.
"Okay. I was just asking." Narcissa harrumphed. They heard her high heels clip-clop away.
"We're trying to build boundaries," The young Malfoy girl explained as they sat side by side on their bed. "But it's difficult when—"
"—When Harry has you exchanging his seed as you kiss." Hermione finished dryly.
Helena giggled as she embraced her new friend. "What are you wearing?"
Hermione squirmed, plucking her skimpy black thong out as it kept riding against her bare pussy mound. "I got a letter from Greengrass saying Harry had ordered us all only to wear a thong and his Quidditch shirt." She sighed heavily when she saw Helena's amusement. "Which nobody else got." She realized.
"It's a good look." Helena assured her. Hermione scowled — Harry's Quidditch shirt was cut in half and barely longer than her breasts, leaving a lot of skin between it and her high-cut thong.
"I see your disciplining session had zero effect on little miss perfect." Hermione muttered.
Helena patted her hand. "Honestly, everything we did, she loved. I've never seen anything like it — I wanted to get an umbrella at one point!" She said, holding her sides.
Hermione sniffed. "She's shameless, really. And your mother didn't hold back?"
"She was very rough. I couldn't have taken it…at least, that's what I thought until yesterday." Helena blushed, staring at the floor.
"Oh?"
Helena crossed her arms beneath her pink bra. Her own matching knickers weren't anywhere near as revealing as Hermione's. "I know why you came, Hermione." She said archly.
"I just came to hang out—"
"Ask me."
"I don't know what you mean—"
"Ask me!"
Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, alright!" She said crossly. "Just out of intellectual curiosity—"
"Not like that." Helena grinned. "I can see your plug, you know."
Hermione flinched, looking at the mirror on the wall. It was true — with her knees raised as she hugged them, her ruby red plug was gleaming from both sides of her little black thong.
"I know you're curious." Helena said triumphantly.
"Alright, fine." Hermione clasped her hands together. "Tell me everything. Did he take your bottom? Did it hurt? Did you cry? Did he love it? Did he…climax inside there?"
Helena sighed, basking in Hermione's undivided attention. "It was…amazing."
"I saw him with Daphne — he was like an animal."
"Not with me." Helena defended. "Harry was so gentle. He had his tongue on me, tasting me — it felt so good."
"I always feel guilty when he does that to me." Hermione admitted.
"Me too. But he said he needed to lube me up." The blonde girl said demurely. "He, like, used his thumb to sort of open me up a bit—"
Hermione peeked from between her fingertips — even just hearing about it felt scandalous.
"He bent your legs over? He's always doing that to me."
"No." Helena swallowed. "He…he made me sit on him."
"What?!" Hermione couldn't even imagine. "So, like—"
"He said he wanted me to work for it if I really wanted it." Helena said, flushed red, biting her thumb. "Harry just held his cock straight and smirked at me!"
"Oh, I hate that smirk!" Hermione swooned.
"And Mother p-parted my cheeks while I…lowered myself. I didn't think it would go in, until it did." Helena shuddered. "Merlin, did it."
"Like, just the tip?"
"At first." Helena murmured as she relived the memory. "It wasn't painful, not really, because I was just focused on how excited Harry was and how wonderfully…"
"Wrong." Hermione supplied.
"Wrong it was. I was dripping." Helena said, clasping her hand over her mouth, mortified.
Hermione leaned forward, feeling her own panties grow wet. "What did it feel like?"
"So full." Helena said furtively. "Merlin, Mione, you'll never feel so full." She hugged herself. "It's like he was in my soul. And your…your hole." She whispered. "It's like a glove around him. I could feel every vein as I sank down."
"Oh, fuck." Hermione whimpered. She gave up any pretense and slipped her fingers under her thong, curling them into her pussy.
Helena joined her, pulling aside her own panties. On their backs, their legs spread and high, one leg entwined with the other girl's, so they could imagine Harry was taking turns with them.
"And I kept sinking down and down and I thought his cock would never end. Until I felt my cheeks press against his skin and he calls me a good girl."
"Yesss."
"At first I'm just rocking back and forth, trying to get used to him, you know, but Mother spanked me hard and said to get to work."
"Work for him." Hermione echoed dumbly, the sounds of her squishy wet pussy loud.
"So I climb up and down, but it feels too good, and I'm shaking. My thighs are burning and it felt like he was, like, reshaping me each time he…bottomed out."
"Stop, stop, stop." Hermione begged, but her fingers were getting faster.
"And I can't take it anymore. I was at the highest tip of him, and my thighs give out, and I just drop. His whole thingy is just stabbed in me, deep as can be."
"He loved that, didn't he?"
"I did." Helena said shamefully. "I came. Like Daphne does. I…don't tell the others. I sprayed him!"
"No!"
Helena nodded guiltily. "He was so smug. He said I was just like my slut mother, that I was a dirty anal slut who orgasms when she gets sodomised."
"Oh, he's so crass!" Hermione cried, but the two girls trembled together as they came.
"I couldn't even climb up, I just kept cumming." Helena moaned. "Mother had to wrap her arms around my waist and just lift me up and down."
"D-did he cum?"
"Not until he took over." Helena gulped. "He pulled me forward, onto him, and just, like, wrapped his arms around my back, held me there a-and-and—"
"Pounded you?"
"I was out of it." Helena confessed. "I just remember the awful slapping sounds. It was so humiliating."
"And then he—?"
"Filled me." She finished, rolling her hips as they worked themselves toward another orgasm. Without a word, they switched, so Helena's hand worked Hermione's soaking cunt, and vice versa. "Merlin, you're not prepared for how it feels when he cums b-back there. It's like the heat gets doused away but you somehow get hotter, and you can feel every r-rope."
"A-and then?" Hermione wondered. Everyone knew what Harry made Helena do to her mother and back.
Helena covered her face and groaned shamefully. "He made me sit on Mother's face while he stood on the bed and he made me…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Clean him."
"Gah!" Hermione arched her back and shrieked as she came, flooding the sheets and Helena's hand. Helena wasn't far behind, biting her own wrist as she quivered.
The two girls caught their breath and giggled, feeling naughty and mischievous.
Hermione exhaled as she lied back on the bed, toying with Helena's hair, curling it around her finger. "It is reprehensible, what he's done to us."
"It is his fault that we're so shameless." Helena agreed. "Want your Christmas present?"
"It's January." Hermione said flatly. "But yes."
Helena reached under her pillow and retrieved a pair of Omnioculars. "Mother recorded the whole thing. She said it was for Harry but I'm pretty sure it's for her." The girl smirked at the look in Hermione's eyes. "You want to eat all Mother's brownies and watch the whole thing until we're all cummed out?"
Hermione shivered and tugged roughly at one of her friend's platinum blonde hairs.
"Hey!"
"I'm just checking — how is it possible that you're a Malfoy and you've got such good ideas?"
Helena snickered. "I'll get the brownies, you get the towels."
###
"Albus, I don't think you've had the pleasure of meeting Lord Edward Harry Foxham. He prefers to go by Harry, I believe." Lily said, tugging Harry by the arm.
The Headmaster was wearing a white robe patterned with green frogs and a hat with an actual bell on the end of it. He had a champagne glass in one hand and a potion vial in the other — both smoking from their tops.
"Ah, no, indeed! But I have heard your name tumble from many a mouth recently." Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I would shake your hand, but I'm afraid I have my hands full."
"Headmaster," Harry smiled. Even as a wizard of power himself, he still found Dumbledore's presence comforting. "I'm told your might is only matched by the horror of your fashion sense, and so you must be very mighty indeed."
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with amusement as he threw his head back, even if Frank Longbottom behind him looked horrified. "Would you believe me if I were to tell you that, in my youth, these robes were fashionable?"
"I would not."
"A wise man you are." Albus said amiably. "Harry," He showed his glass and vial. "I'm trying to show young Frank here that magic is indeed all around us. One champagne glass, one potion vial, both billowing smoke — which one is magic and which is Muggle?"
Frank rolled his eyes. "Come on, Professor. I'm not twelve. The potion vial is a smoking Pepper-Up and when you add a drop of the potion to alcohol, you'll get the same effect."
"Harry?" Albus teased.
He peered through the glass. "Trick question — both are Muggle. You've put dry ice in both." Every elementary science teacher used dry ice to liven up a lesson.
"Yes!" The Headmaster cheered. "Clearly, Harry has some secretive Muggle roots."
Harry swallowed uncomfortably — he'd been playing the pureblood expat noble over from France.
"You can learn from anyone." He explained simply.
"My point exactly." Dumbledore took a big gulp of champagne and breathed a smoky cloud into the air. The nearby bystanders watched in awe as the cloud formed into a dragon and swooped away, without even the swish of a wand. "And exactly why, Frank, that Muggle Studies remains mandatory on the curriculum, at least until students can choose their OWLs."
"I was just saying that it loses us political points." Frank grumbled.
"You're so smart, Harry." Alice had her hand on his arm, beaming up at him. Her black dress would have been conservative if she didn't have post-pregnancy breasts, making the petite witch rather busty. She couldn't have weighted much more than a hundred pounds, and he bet thirty of those were in her tits. "But I never want to hear the word dry again." She quipped, downing her own champagne glass and throwing it behind her.
"Alice!" Lily Vanished the glass in mid-air before it could shatter. "Behave!"
"Oh, psssh. It's my first drink in nine months, sue me." She giggled.
"How's little Nev?" Harry asked.
"Crying a lot." Alice leaned closer as Albus and Frank were distracted by a goblin who was breathing fire into the air. "He gets that from his father." She murmured with amusement. "My dear mother-in-law is looking after him, so finally, a little freedom." She said, pushing out her chest when she caught his gaze.
"A little freedom is a dangerous thing." Harry said slowly.
Alice pouted with glossy lips, running her tongue over them. "Mmm, especially when it's only a matter of hours before you go back into the cage."
"Not one for chains and cuffs?"
"No," She took his glass and ran her long tongue over the condensation that dripped down the side. "Because I'd never want to escape."
"Oookay," Lily interrupted loudly, taking Alice's arm. "Sweetie, why don't we get you some water?"
"But I've got a drink—"
"Well, maybe you need another."
Harry watched, amused and more than a little hard. Neville's mum was a firecracker — he'd thought that he was seducing her, but he was actually just fanning the flames that already touched the sky.
She was a sure thing, wasn't she? That was refreshing — he just had to find her alone when his Mum and Dad weren't there. That was half of Alice's appeal, in a way — he could imagine that he was Harry, the normal teenager, trying to get laid under the watching eyes of his parents.
"Here, Harry." James dumped a bundle of blankets into his arms. "Take little Harry for a minute — I want to ask Mad-Eye when the next Auror intake is — don't tell Lily!"
"No, wait, I don't know how—" Harry trailed off as James disappeared into the crowd, staring down fearfully into the blankets. A little cherub face looked back at him with a toothless grin, all gums.
He swallowed — those eyes. The eyes he saw in the mirror but so very different. Baby Harry's eyes were so sparkling, so innocent, so happy.
"Don't worry, chap." Frank clapped him on the shoulder. "You look like you've seen a ghost, old boy — I was the same when I first held my Nev." The young man punched his arm, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't tell Alice, but I dropped Neville the first time she left me alone."
Harry looked at him with alarm.
"That explains a lot." Tom sniggered in his mind.
"He loved it — bounced like a ball." Frank said, tossing his head to one side to rearrange the brown mop that always curtained his eyes. "You look scared, dear fellow, want me to take him?"
"No-no." Harry said, shifting the baby closer to him.
What if Frank drops me and it turns future me into a dribbling wreck? Wait, if I wasn't here, would Frank be carrying me? Maybe I'm meant to be dropped!
Harry scowled. Time was so confusing.
Frank beamed at him obliviously. "Well, it's splendid, absolutely splendid, to get some boys time with you. Lad on lad, tête-à-tête, you know?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Alice talks about you fondly." Frank winked at him. "You know, if she weren't a happily married woman, I might be jealous, haha!"
"…haha."
"Can't believe my luck, sometimes." He sighed contentedly. "Always been more worried about putting my foot in my mouth rather than my todger in, well, you know."
"Quite."
"But now I'm under ball and chain," The man snickered at his own words. "I'll be living vicariously through you, old boy. So, have at it, my lips are sealed — any of the ladies eager to get on your dance card?"
"My dance card." Harry repeated dumbly. With Sirius and Seamus in his ear, he'd forgotten that euphemisms could be so innocent. "Right, uh, yeah."
He looked into the crowd. At the drinks table, Alice was looking at him with fuck-me eyes, her tongue coiling around a straw.
Harry averted his gaze and pulled at his collar. Even baby Harry seemed to be scowling at him. "No ladies at the moment but, y-yeah, I'll let you know."
"Alright, I see, the perfect gentleman." Frank elbowed him. "Well, you ever need any tips on wooing the fairer sex, you know where to come." He thumbed his chest. "This guy knows how to put a ring on it."
"I…I will, thanks, Frank."
Harry grimaced. He was doing this for Neville, he told himself. Bringing Alice back from delirium, one dicking at a time.
"Say, Frank, do you think there's, like, any ethical lines when it comes to saving a life—"
"No luck, boys." James said loudly as he scooped up baby Harry from Harry's arms. "Mad-Eye said it was need-to-know! The Auror recruitment exam! Paranoid bastard."
"Bad luck, old chap. You'll get there." Frank assured him.
"I didn't drop him." Harry said absently, staring at the baby.
James gave him a thumbs up. "Passed the lowest bar, mate." He nodded up at the stage, where Amelia was finishing up with her speech. She looked devastating in a scarlet red dress with a split from leg to hip, which meant she was getting a lot of attention for one reason or another.
"You and Bones are friendly, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Sort of," said Harry.
"She's a good match. She's…not married." James finished lamely, glancing at Frank.
"And what curves!" Frank said enthusiastically. "Like the rolling hills of Dorset." He gave them both a shifty glance and rubbed the back of his head. "I've never done this kind of changing room talk before."
"It was a good effort." Harry patted his back.
They applauded together when Amelia finished her speech, joining the room in the ovation. Amelia had surprised a few with her calm measured speech — little did they know that the stacked redhead was a shrewd political operator with decades of experience.
The three watched as she made her way off the stage, shaking hands and smiling.
Eventually, she made her way to Harry and gave him a tight embrace. Over her shoulder, Frank gave him a thumbs up and mouthed 'Dorset'.
"Did you see that?" She said excitedly, holding his shoulders and bouncing in her high heels. "They loved my speech."
"Biggest applause of the night." Harry said honestly — Amelia had spoken of the importance the Ministry had in maintaining traditions but also in recognizing the needs of minorities.
Since everyone thought of themselves as a minority, even the blood supremacist purebloods, it had gone down well.
"Even Dumbledore said he enjoyed it." Amelia beamed. "And Lord Selwyn said he'd be watching out for me as I rose up the ranks," Her smile dropped. "Even if he was looking at my tits at the time."
"I knew it'd be good for you." He said, holding her hips.
She pressed her body to him and took a satisfied breath. "Thank you, Harry. Really."
"We're gonna change the world." He promised her. "Now go get some bubbly."
"Way ahead of you!" She smirked as she walked away, her thick ass swaying, each firm buttock bulging out of her silk dress.
Harry watched her go with more worry than arousal — it was a fine line he was walking, trying to convince her that he was on her side without actually changing the timeline drastically.
One little speech won't hurt, will it?
Frank nudged him out of his reverie. "Bet you can't wait to, uh, hike that countryside, am I right?"
"Please stop." Harry begged.
"Quite right." Frank nodded as if he'd been expecting that all along, taking a big gulp of his champagne.
"Harry, splendid symposium." The Headmaster handed him a glass. "Am I right in saying you had a hand in this?"
"Oh, just a little advice here and there."
"I didn't realize you knew the charming Miss Black." Dumbledore's eyes lost a little of their twinkle.
"A recent acquaintance." Harry said innocently. He really didn't want Dumbledore seeing him as an enemy. "She has a lot of passion, it just needs guidance."
"Showing the path to the misguided has been my life's work." The Headmaster said approvingly. "On that note, you've not had the pleasure of seeing Hogwarts, have you?"
"No, sadly."
"Well, we're always looking for teachers, you know. Plenty of students in need of guidance."
"Something to think about." Harry said, sipping his glass. He wasn't about to be locked up at Hogwarts again, not when there were Horcruxes to find and Veela to conquer. Dumbledore's watch would be too restricting.
Though Dumbledore's offer reminded him that he did need to get into Hogwarts. After Helena had made him think of Helena Ravenclaw and the diadem that Tom had stashed away in the Room of Requirement, Harry of the future had searched the Room thoroughly for the diadem.
And found nothing.
He'd been furious with himself, for opening the Room up to all and sundry, to every Slytherin that he thought he could influence. Who knew where it could be?
But in the past, Harry knew that it was almost certainly still in the Room of Requirement. He just had to get into Hogwarts.
It was easier said than done but that was why he'd ensured that Horace Slughorn had been invited.
"Please excuse me." Harry nodded at Frank and Dumbledore and swept off into the crowds.
A vampire droned on from the stage, trying to convince the audience that vampires weren't dangerous. Nobody seemed that interested, especially those who'd been targeted by the Queen's Veela.
Giggling flirty things, falling into laps, dresses accidentally climbing up their hips, their hands stroking any bit of skin they could find. Harry had ensured there were plenty of private side-rooms for them to pull their targets into.
"An important display of unity, my congratulations." The Queen toasted as he passed, her smile soft. The dark-haired woman by her side was a young Elodie, Harry realized, the same stocky warrior woman who'd fought him at the Veela's court — he hadn't recognized her without her lilac hair.
"I may have a friend that requires some particular congratulations. He's an educator, if you get my drift." He replied quietly.
"I will make the preparations."
He nodded and departed, making aim for Slughorn.
It took him a while to get through the crowds, the distractions many. A young Narcissa sniffed as she examined the paintings on the wall. "I don't remember these paintings being so ugly." She said to no one in particular. Harry pulled his gaze away from her bottom — his Cissy looked so delightfully snooty that he had to resist the urge to inform her that one day, she'd be begging him to ream her ass out.
Alice bumped into him as he tried to move past, batting her eyelashes at him. "Harry! Another drink?" She said, pouring a champagne glass all the way up to the brim.
"Uh, haven't you had a few already?"
She shrugged. "You know what they say, when it rains, it pours. No? More for me." She said, pouring herself a second glass.
"I don't think that's what it—"
"Harry," She said seriously, taking hold of his chin suddenly and squeezing. "Seeing you hold that baby, it reminded me of a woman's purpose. To make life, to multip—" She burped drunkenly and then giggled, red-faced.
"Excuse me a sec." Harry peeled her hand off.
"But don't you want to dance?" She said forlornly.
"Ah, look at that painting!" He said, pointing over her shoulder. "It's a goblin on a horse!" When she turned, he disappeared.
Drunk MILFs were fun, but he had a mission. Alice had to wait.
Slughorn was holding court as he lounged on the sofa, a glass balanced precariously on his plump stomach.
"Horace Slughorn." Harry cried as he sat next to him. "The man everyone said I absolutely must meet."
"Oh, aha! Lord Foxham," Slughorn said with delight, his walrus-like nostrils flaring. "The only social butterfly who can beat his wings faster than I! Who was it who said that, by the way?"
"Oh, who was it?" Harry said coyly. "Lily and James, or was it Alice and Frank, perhaps even Dumbledore himself."
"Good friends all." Slughorn nodded firmly. "I was just telling my good friend Lady Zabini here—" He gestured to a divinely beautiful lady of cream complexion and dark hair, who looked indescribably bored. "That I was honoured to be invited to such an event."
"Well, the honour is all ours." Harry assured him. "Come, let me get you something a bit stronger. All that bubbly will play hell on your stomach — I bet you're a brandy man, aren't you?"
"How did you know?" Horace said, heaving to his feet.
"Oh, a little birdy." Harry tapped his nose, smiling broadly. "Brandy and crystallised pineapple for Horace was an absolute must, they said."
"Oh-ho-ho!" Slughorn said with delight. "Who was it? I bet it was dear Ambrosius Flume, wasn't it? Or Barnabus Cuffe? You simply must say!"
"A gentleman never tells," Harry grinned as he reached under the tablecloth of the drinks table and retrieved the box he'd hidden there. "But we aren't gentlemen, are we?"
Slughorn licked his lips at the sight of the pineapple box. "Only when the students are watching."
"Honestly, my friend." Harry put his arm around the fat man and leaned in conspiratorially. "I don't know how you manage at Hogwarts."
"Oh, the workload is a bit much but—"
"Not the teaching." Harry murmured. "Those students — those young nubile women, skirts and stockings, all so eager for attention." He shivered. "I couldn't control myself."
Slughorn paused for a long moment, considering him. He looked over one shoulder and then the other. "Well, one tries to behave, of course, but if a young lady requests some tutoring and is, of course, quite well aware of what she's asking for…"
"Good man!" Harry roared with false cheer. "I knew I sensed a kindred spirit. We should go to a game this year, I have a spare Falcons season ticket, you know?"
"Do you really?" Horace said greedily. "Well, I do prefer those lovely Harpies but—"
"Horace, you old dog."
"Now see here, whippersnapper, who's using the word old?"
"Ahaha!" Harry grinned. "Come, I had a little present set up for myself but I think you'll appreciate it more." He pushed a tall glass of brandy into the man's hand and navigated him with a hand at the back.
Slughorn frowned as they made their way to the back of the room and through a door to a dark corridor. "I do so hate to leave a good party, Lord Foxham."
"Call me Harry, please. Don't worry, you'll love it." Two fingers poked out of a door and beckoned, showing him the way.
He pushed open the door. The Queen had worked quickly — a beautiful slender Veela lay on the bed, working two fingers into her wet cunt, her schoolgirl skirt around her waist, her stocking-clad legs spread, her heels digging holes into the mattress.
"Merlin!" Slughorn choked.
"Pardon, Professeur, I need some 'elp with my schoolwork!" The Veela begged.
"Enjoy, friend." Harry pushed Slughorn into the room and shut the door behind him. He locked it for good measure.
Harry whistled cheerfully as he left the corridor. The Veela was making a big sacrifice by getting her cauldron stirred by the heavy sweaty man, but that was what she'd been trained for.
Slughorn's friendship would mean an invite to the Slug Club, which was just about the only way for a non-student to get access to Hogwarts.
That was the diadem picked up, with any luck.
Now for the locket.
Narcissa had told him where Kreacher had made his den in the home. The basement was down a set of narrow stone stairs near the entry hall of the ground floor, the house given an eerie atmosphere with the sound of faraway laughter and buzz.
Into the darkness and the gloomy kitchen — Bellatrix had wisely found outside catering rather than rely on her family's house elves. The large fire at the end of the room lit up the looming pots and pans that hung from the ceiling.
"Kreacher?" Harry said into the darkness. No response.
Off the side of the kitchen was a dark cupboard that he had to stoop to get inside. The house's boiler thrummed loudly within, and beyond it, just as Narcissa had said, was Kreacher's den.
The foul smell of the blankets hit him first, littered with stale bread crusts and mouldy bits of cheese. Above the blankets, Kreacher had hung some green garden wire from wall to wall and hung photographs of the Black family. Bellatrix, Narcissa, but pride of place was Regulus.
Harry scanned the den. The den was dirty with food, but not dusty — Kreacher took some pride in that, at least. Beyond the blankets, paint chips littered the floor.
Paint chips.
He leaned past the smelly blankets, his fingers caressing the ceiling, sliding across the rough paint.
There.
A little groove — a patch of thin wall pulled away that revealed a wooden shelf.
Harry stared. He could feel the Horcrux, the evil of the locket. Harry knew the feeling of its magic — he'd felt himself murder the Muggle tramp and force his soul into the locket.
Not me, Tom. He corrected.
But though he could feel its stain here, he couldn't see it. The shelf was covered in a thin layer of dust, except for the completely clean centre.
A circular patch where the locket had been.
Harry's stomach sank. It had been taken. He was too late. But how? No dust — it had only just been taken.
A silver goblet clanked to the floor, the noise loud. Someone swore.
Harry growled, his wand jumping into his hand — whoever had taken the locket, they were still here. He darted out of the cupboard, smacking his head on the doorway.
The kitchen was empty — but for a flash of a coat.
"Hey! Come back!" He shouted, taking chase. He skidded around the corner and pounded up the stairs back to the entry hall. He tripped on goblets and silverware that were toppling to the ground from the thief.
At the end of the entry hall, a fireplace flared green. The thief scrambled into it, shouted a destination and then turned, fear in his eyes, a haul of silver in his arms, before he disappeared.
The flames returned to licking orange, but Harry felt cold.
Angry.
The thief had taken the locket. The only consolation was that Harry recognised him.
Mundungus Fletcher.
Harry didn't know him and nor did Tom. But Narcissa did, and she was his most bonded, his most taken, his most first — it was her memories that he held the most of. And the short, odorous wizard had done plenty of dealings with Lucius.
A petty criminal to have somehow finagled their way to the event and then spent it stealing the Black's goods.
Harry would have to make sure it cost him — even if the dimwitted alcoholic likely didn't know the importance of the treasure he'd stolen.
Harry sighed, resisting the urge to punch the wall. He'd been so close — who knew what the moron would do with the locket or who he'd sell it to?
"Aww, so unlucky." Tom murmured into his mind.
Deep breaths, Harry. It was fine. He could deal with Mundungus — the locket wasn't as lost as it was in the future, taken by a mystery person. The night was still a success — Slughorn was getting fucked into friendship, which would make getting the diadem a doddle.
Amelia was warming up for him. Alice was gagging for it. The Queen would owe him for the target-rich environment he'd provided. And Bellatrix's speech would cap the night off and show her that he could be trusted to lead her to power.
"You're fine, Harry." He muttered to himself, trudging back to the drawing room. It would be difficult to conjure the levity he needed to match the atmosphere of the symposium, but he could act happy.
But back in the drawing room, the mood was far from happy. Everyone was silent, the air chilly, all traces of amusement gone. All eyes were locked to the stage, where King Ragnuk was giving his speech.
"—and it is a human foolishness to think that we goblins want rights, that we goblins are to be content with the scraps that wizardkind feed to us." The King snarled, stabbing his sword into the ground, leaning on it like a staff. He bared his teeth.
"My people want power, not for whatever pathetic vision you wizards have for equality. And if we aren't given it, then it is my honour as the fifth of my name, as said the Kings before me, as befits my blood, to say this. We. Shall. Take. It!" He roared.
The room erupted. Angry yells from the purebloods. Ministry officials clutched their robes tighter, their faces pale, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Dumbledore frowned, his eyes cold.
Harry searched the room in disbelief, taking in all the wand holsters that were now empty. How had this happened? There'd be no smoke before the fire, no rumors of a goblin rebellion.
No.
This doesn't make sense.
There'd been no goblin uprising in this time and he could not have sparked a thing just by throwing a glorified conference. Amelia couldn't have created this rage, not in her own position.
Around the stage, he saw Rosier and Malfoy, the Carrows, hands hidden under their cloaks, no doubt clutching their wand.
Adrenaline shot through him, making his fingers twitch. Were the Death Eaters about to attack the Goblin King?
But no — they stood with their backs to the stage, watching the proceedings. Not attacking, Harry realized.
Protecting. Protecting the Goblin King, which would only make sense if…
If the King wasn't the King at all.
Harry shoved through the crowd as they shouted in anger and fury as the King kept speaking.
"—wake up, allies former and future! Do not let the wizards cow you into obedience! Don't mistake society invites for society acceptance! Don't you remember the call to arms against Grindelwald, how we were promised laws, rights, acceptance? And then, in the light of victory, what did we get?" Ragnuk pulled up the sword and swung it in a clean slash — the podium splintered into halves. "Nothing!"
Ahead, Bellatrix watched silently. He grabbed her arm roughly.
"Ow!"
"What did you do?" He hissed.
"Nothing!"
His grip tightened, his eyes burning with rage. "Do you think I'm more merciful than him? I will fill these fucking glasses with your blood."
Bellatrix swallowed and pulled her arm away, scowling. "Did you think he wouldn't know about the Symposium? You have your demands." She sneered. "And he has his."
"You should have told me!"
She dropped her eyes to the floor, the closest she got to regret. "Just because I haven't taken his mark, haven't joined him, it doesn't mean I'm able to disobey — that's a death sentence." She whispered harshly.
Harry's heart thundered as the Goblin King continued to whip up the room. Divisions in society, a war between races — it would be Voldemort's greatest wish. The perfect storm for him to take advantage of.
A fascist's dream — to make the disenfranchised believe their sorrows were the fault of another race. Harry could see the rippling effect of this already, like he had the Qilin's precognition — the wealthy would pull their money out of Gringotts, fearing it wasn't safe. The economy tips over as people lose their jobs. The protest goes to Gringotts' doors, who put on a strong front.
The Prophet would fan the flames, a protest into a rally into a militia. What would the headline be? No Mercy for Goblin Treachery?
A stray spell from either side…a single death. Blood to drip down the cover of every morning paper.
Britain falls and the future is changed forever.
He had to stop it. The King's speech continued, his face contorted with righteous anger, bloodthirsty. But Harry saw that thirst for blood for what it was — Voldemort's desire to see that blood spilled today, not in a few days time at the doors of Gringotts.
He'd keep whipping up the rage, shouting above the fray, while his Death Eaters protected the stage. Harry couldn't fight through the crowd and the Death Eaters without the Goblin King escaping, with no chance to prove that he was an imposter.
Which meant he had to unveil him from afar. The only way to do that was to find the real Goblin King. If the Dark Lord had replaced him, it wasn't done at Gringotts — the King was unreachable in his fortress.
Which meant it had to have been done here, in this very house, under Harry's nose. No wonder Bellatrix had been so nervous.
"Where is the King?" He growled into her ear.
"I don't know! I swear — I just got told who to invite and to stay out of the way." Bellatrix said earnestly. He scanned her eyes, searching for honesty. She was telling the truth, as best as he could tell.
"Fuck." He snapped.
"I…I think he's still in the house — the King arrived late and…and they wouldn't have had time to Floo him out discretely." She offered, wincing.
"Great, just great." He had just minutes before the speech ended to find where they'd stashed the King and to bring him back out. He needed help.
A tap on his shoulder.
It was Alice, tipsy and falling into him. She tried to hand him a drink and ended up pouring it over him. "Come on, my Lord — show me your broomstick." She slurred, giggling. She tried to put her finger against her lips coyly but only ended poking her nostril.
"Fuck's sake." Harry caught her as she slumped against him and began snoring. His hands were full with the drunken MILF, his Mum and Dad were trying to keep him away from her, Bellatrix was shady, the room had more Death Eaters than dames, there was about to be a riot and the real Goblin King was hidden somewhere in the house.
He sighed as he brushed his soaking wet robe, now covered in champagne.
When it rains, it pours.
###
Voldemort stewed in his chamber, drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne, contemplating his two problems. Harry Potter and Dumbledore. They sheltered like cats in the rain, burrowed in the cold of their castle.
He'd tried to use the tools he had within Hogwarts.
The Malfoy boy hadn't managed anything. Zabini had failed to do anything more than kill the caretaker.
Clearly, he mused, the next generation of wizards were useless. He could not trust these children to do anything more than tie their shoelaces and polish their wands.
He himself had been a better student, he was sure. Or perhaps he'd just had better teachers.
His fingers paused.
That was an interesting thought.
Harry Potter had been so interesting at first, using dark machinations to gain power, unafraid to use dark spells too. Surely such a wizard would forge his own path.
But no. The boy remained firmly in lockstep with Dumbledore. The Dark Lord could not, he admitted, fight both of them at once, which meant he needed someone.
Not a student of his own, but a teacher.
"Yes." He whispered.
"My Lord?" Bellatrix rose her head from her prostrated kneeling. He'd quite forgotten she was still here after her debrief. She looked at him with foggy eyes — she'd been so odd, recently. Clearly, Azkaban had taken a mental toll on her.
"My faithful Bellatrix." He murmured silkily. "You are here for an awakening of the mind. I, too, must seek an ally."
The woman startled, her eyes wide. "M-my Lord? It is not…not usual, Master, if I may say so. An equal?"
Voldemort smiled as he looked upon his three paintings. Not Hogwarts, not Azkaban, but Nurmengard. "Not an equal, no." He said softly. "But, perhaps, the closest there ever was."
First Dumbledore and now Harry's the pimp! It's all Bellatrix as we continue to tie up some threads. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Harry and Bellatrix fight to retrieve the Goblin King - and in the process, Harry attempts to close the deal on the stubborn dark witch. Can he make Chapter 69 an appropriate one?
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