Chapter Seventy Three
"What happened exactly?" Harry said. He held Narcissa tight but he looked at Hermione through her platinum hair — he had felt this same fear when Hermione had been taken. But this was different — a time limit and a trading piece on the table.
"I-I don't—" Cissy sniffled. "The s-school, they told me she went to bed last night but she didn't come to class this morning."
"Why don't I go with Narcissa to Durmstrang and search her room?" Hermione suggested, looking at him — she wanted to take Narcissa off his hands so he could get to work. "After that, I'll study the Portkey, see how it's built. If they made it in a hurry, they might have screwed up."
"I'll get back to Hogwarts." Daphne added. "Maybe one of the Slytherins knows something."
Harry grimaced, stroking Cissy's hair softly, holding her into his neck. When had he grown so tall? He was growing tall — but was he growing up? He'd kept Helena at Durmstrang hoping she could recruit some foreign girls, give him an in over there.
She'd have been safer at Hogwarts.
"Please, please, please—" Narcissa choked. "Find her!"
"Ssh," Harry kissed her forehead, face grim. "I'll bring her back."
Twenty four hours.
A locket lost.
In this time, but not in the past. Regulus stole it from the Dark Lord, Mundungus Fletcher from him, and Umbridge from him. Harry would have to add himself to the list of thieves.
Helena's life depended on it.
###
The Ministry Atrium was busy. Umbridge, even at this age, somehow had an entourage. She'd achieved a role in the Improper Use of Magic Office, not as Head, but as assistant to the Head.
Even the slightest bit of power had gone to her head — she walked through the lobby with a gaggle of interns who held her coffee and her bags.
Harry and Amelia watched with pursed lips.
"Why's this so important, anyway? I thought we'd agreed I'd tackle this for you," said Amelia.
"I have reason to believe the Dark Lord will notice it missing soon — and maybe someone will take note of it walking through the Ministry morning and night." Harry lied — he didn't want to tell Amelia about Helena. The woman didn't even know there was a secret second Malfoy child — who knew what she'd do if she did?
"She calls herself the Assistant Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office." Amelia scoffed. "Business cards and everything — even though she's assistant to the Head."
"Sounds like Umbridge alright." He muttered.
"We'll need to make a move soon — once she gets in that elevator, she'll be in her office all day. She only comes down to Patro's for lunch."
"What about after work?"
"Not seen her leave — I think she Floos home from her boss's office." Amelia's lips curled. "His home or hers, I don't know."
Harry frowned. That made things difficult. "You want to take first run at her?"
Amelia traced a stray hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing. "Sure." As he watched her hips sway in her high heels, Harry tried not to think about the woman's niece, covered in his cum and licking it from her fingers.
He didn't like to acknowledge his little fetish of family get-togethers.
Harry trailed behind her to stay in earshot.
"Hi Dolores." Amelia said brightly. "How are you doing this fine day?"
"Oh," Umbridge stopped short — she gave Amelia an evaluating glance even as she smiled. Harry knew that glance — the bitch was deciding whether Amelia was worth sucking up to or not. "Amelia, isn't it? You said that a two-year sentence for the man who attacked his Muggle bully was inappropriate, I remember."
"He wasn't a man, Dolores, he was sixteen. And he just turned the other boy's hair green. Hardly Azkaban material." Amelia caught herself. "Anyway, enough about work! I just wanted to say I love that outfit on you!"
"Yes?" Dolores smiled as she did a little twirl — a pink and brown plaid miniskirt and a matching argyle jumper. Even for eighties fashion, it might have worked, were her calves not bulging from hot-pink stockings, belly-bloat pushing her skirt's hem out. "I do seem to be getting a lot of looks today." She cocked her head and sighed, pushing up her shoulder-length curls. "It is hard to be a woman in a man's world, isn't it? All the attention."
Harry held his nose to cover his snort — next to the stacked hourglass that was Amelia, Umbridge looked all the more frumpy.
"So hard." Amelia sympathised. "Say, that's a beautiful locket — it's so…" She paused, struggling for a word — Harry imagined she'd never had to do women's small-talk before. "So you."
"Oh, you're so sweet." Dolores looked pleased, rubbing her locket. "I do feel more confident, wearing it."
"Where did you find such a beauty?"
"Family heirloom." Umbridge said fondly. "You know how it is — pureblood traditions and all that. The S stands for Selwyn…I am related to them."
Harry very much doubted that but he didn't care for her lies, just getting the locket.
"Of course, I only wear it for the protections." Her pouchy eyes lingered on Amelia's cleavage. "Not all of us can get ahead on our fashion, after all." She stroked the locket lovingly. "This holds old family magics — charmed to prevent summoning. It'll even stop me from being stunned or Confunded." She tugged it taut, suddenly — the chain didn't break. "Look, to prevent snatching."
She stuck her nose in the air. "Not even modern jewellery comes with these protections. Why — it'll even prevent an Imperius!" She gave a throat-clearing cough. "Hem, hem. Or at least that's the old family rumour, at least. I can't exactly test it, can I?"
Amelia's face looked as sour as Harry's. "Incredible. Say, could I see it? It's marvellous." She reached out to take it, overly bold—
"Ah!" She hissed in pain, her hand burning red. She held her hand up and Harry saw that her flesh was burnt into a perfect circle.
"I did warn you, didn't I?" Umbridge looked at her oddly. "It only comes off when I allow it."
"I was just admiring—"
"I'm sure you have better things to do, as do I." Umbridge said pointedly. Her voices turned icy sweet. "The Magical Law Enforcement department keeps denying all our recommended criminal sentences, after all."
She brushed past Amelia with her gaggle in tow. At the elevator, Harry caught her as she entered.
"Good afternoon — Dolores, is it?" He said smoothly.
Her smile was sweeter for him. "Lord Foxham, what a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about you."
"Could I have a moment of your time—"
"Hem, hem." She coughed into her hand. "I'm so sorry, but you'll need to book an appointment if you want to meet my boss." She sighed in disappointment. "I'm afraid my hands are tied — he's been quite clear about—" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "The Lords and Ladies trying to get away with a little improper magic here and there."
"No, I—" Harry floundered. No stunning, no Imperius, no summoning, no yanking the locket off her neck. He could drop her with a thousand different spells, but he was in the middle of the Ministry, and short of taking her head with him, he wasn't sure how to take the locket off.
Helena was in danger. He was desperate.
"I wanted you, actually." He blurted. "To, uh, take you to dinner. Tonight."
Dolores simpered, but it was the intern behind her who Harry glanced to — the look of embarrassment on the young man's face, as if to say 'really, man? You're that desperate?'. For a childish moment, Harry wanted to reveal he was bedding Bellatrix Black.
"Oh, well," Umbridge toyed with her locket coyly. "I do usually reject the many offers but, if you insist…"
"I do." Harry said, attempting a smile without a wince. "Maybe a little countryside pub—"
"How about The Potion Room?"
The intern behind her almost sniggered. The Potion Room was the most public restaurant for the well-to-do — the Prophet and the tabloids snapped everyone going in and out.
Harry sighed. In for a knut. "Sounds great — I can pick you up from your home? Where do you live?"
"No, we'll meet at the restaurant." Dolores smirked. "See you at seven, handsome."
The elevator closed. Harry turned, almost defeated, to see the amused look on Amelia's face.
"Not one word." He growled.
"Hey, no judgment here." She said innocently. "If you want to stir her cauldron of love—"
"I mean it!"
"—do you think she wears pink under that skirt too?"
"It's for the locket." He whispered harshly.
"Aww." She grinned and patted his face. "Pink cheeks too."
###
While Harry of the past waited with dread for his dinner date, Harry of the future stalked towards the Slytherin's dungeons. He felt helpless as the countdown ticked down — he couldn't find the locket, couldn't find Helena, couldn't surveil the meeting spot.
With nothing to do, he went to see if Daphne had found anything out from the Slytherins. But down the stone steps which descended deeply, he found the Carrow twins walking up.
Twin beauties, perfectly straight hair combed behind their backs, a reddish sort of brown. They creeped him out a little, especially when they spoke in unison.
"Harry!"
"Hi Flora, Hestia." He said distractedly.
"Can we talk—"
"I don't know when the next DA meeting will be just yet, sorry."
"No, wait." They held up their hands.
"What?" He said, with barely hidden irritation.
Flora — he thought it was Flora — looked to her sister nervously and spoke. "We heard our father talking about a trap they're setting for you."
Hestia looked over her shoulder. "Y-yeah, we don't…we don't like what he does, but we don't want him to hurt you either." She fidgeted.
Harry stiffened, surprised. "Do you know where?"
They shook their heads, perfectly straight hair swinging like a metronome. "Only that, sorry." Flora took her sister's hand. "Be careful Harry."
"Do you need help?"
They gave thin smiles. "It's not so easy to go against family — we never said this."
"Thank you girls — seriously." He stepped to the side and watched them walk up the stairs. Little black high heels — they held the bottom of their skirts down as they climbed, ensuring he didn't get a flash.
Harry coughed. When he turned — Daphne was watching him from the bottom of the stairs with a raised eyebrow.
"What?"
"I don't trust those girls." She scowled.
"You heard all that?"
"Yeah — but we already know it's a trap." She looked after the girls thoughtfully. "I still don't like 'em."
"You're the one that said they could join the DA."
Daphne crossed her arms and waited for him to realize.
"What? Oh, yeah, that wasn't you."
"I wouldn't have let them join." She muttered.
"You just like being my only Slytherin girl." He teased, pulling her into his grasp so he could grope under her short skirt, taking meaty handfuls of her world-class ass.
"H-Harry!" She hissed. "Someone could come out of the dungeons at any second."
"I know — I'm not in the mood for fun anyway — not until I get her back. Have you learned anything?" Despite his words, he kept palming her smooth bubble-butt, jiggling it up and down. His personal stress-toy.
"N-no," She gasped — even days later, she was still sore from her night of discipline. "Nobody's acting differently. Crabbe's a bit smiley, but maybe he just managed to spell his name correctly. You think this is the Hogwarts crowd?"
"Unlikely." Harry said, absently tracing his thumb across her minuscule thong and over her pronounced mound. "The Dark Lord sees my dream at night and takes Helena first thing in the morning, so—"
"So he had someone in place. Watching—"
"Waiting." He nodded. "He probably had plans that got fast-forwarded when he learned his locket was gone."
"You'll get her back." Daphne told him confidently, twisting her arms around his neck, brushing his hair lovingly. He — less lovingly — pulled back her thong until it was taut and let it snap back into her pussy, making her gasp.
He trailed his fingers across her puckered rosebud, kissing her in apology when she winced.
"Still?"
"You try taking a tree trunk up your ass and see how long it hurts for." She jabbed without fire.
"Where's your plug while you heal?"
"I let Tracey borrow it." Daphne paused, rethinking. "I mean, I made her borrow it."
"Oh, right. She's back." Harry said darkly. That had been an unpleasant surprise — he'd almost forgotten about her. "She's still conscious?"
"Fog in her brain and timid as a mouse — Father's re-education process has her…eager to stay in my good books."
He scowled. "She still needs punishment and I'm not just talking about a plug."
She smiled, arching up on her toes as he squeezed her sculpted globes. "Do you trust me?"
"As far as I can throw you." Harry muttered and then grimaced at the look of hurt on her face that was quickly hidden away.
"I can understand that — but believe me, she's better off alive, as our pet." She parted her legs, granting his roaming hands better access to herself. "Don't you want her to lap your seed from my every hole?" She whispered into his ear, tongue darting out against his earlobe. "To kiss your feet and beg for mercy? To break her—ah!"
The sharp spank he gave her resounded up the stairwell.
"Minx." He said evenly.
Daphne fluttered long voluminous eyelashes and crossed her hands behind her back. "Yours," she agreed.
He sighed as he smoothed her skirt back down. "Keep your ears open."
"Always. Go get her back."
"I thought you didn't like her."
She shrugged as he looked back at her from the stair's top. "She's naive and lets her mother do her thinking for her, but she must have some of her mother's spine in her somewhere. You have to take the good with the bad. And besides, a Malfoy at my beck and call — what's not to like?"
###
Seated in the centre of the dim light of The Potions Room restaurant, Harry felt like he was in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. All eyes on him from every table, judging, sniggering. Why was that man with the beast in pink?
Umbridge had shown up in an evening gown, a beach ball wrapped in straining velvet. The locket lay between two large breasts, half-hidden by the neckline, like it was taunting him.
Look where you need to go to get me.
He'd rather have fought off the Inferi again.
"Hem, hem." Umbridge coughed, her smile sickly. "Sorry, Lord Foxham, am I boring you?"
"Not at all." He recovered. "I was merely admiring your beauty — I feel like all eyes are on you tonight."
"Oh, you're silly!" She waved him away and downed the last drops of red.
"Another glass?" He poured it without waiting for an answer. "You were telling me about those awful furry beasts."
"Awful indeed! I was surprised to hear they were at your little symposium the other day—"
"Oh, hardly mine. That was a Black affair, I just threw a little money in to keep my name on the invitation, you know how it is."
"Of course, of course." She said, her smile tight. "Who doesn't?"
"But they are a menace, I agree." Harry leaned forward. "There are so many of these filthy animals now, trying to take the fortunes and rights of those that have worked hard."
Dolores' eyes lit up — he could practically hear her short little legs kicking in excitement under the table. "You've stolen the words right out of my mouth — it's Dumbledore and his ilk, trying to open up this country to every type—"
"The wrong sort." Harry interjected. He'd tried flirting, at the beginning of the dinner, but Umbridge only responded to the right racist remarks. The next table over gave them a dark look.
"Quite! First, the goblins — okay, yes, if we need them for the banks. But then, what next? Centaurs? Those disgusting little half-breeds! And then werewolves, vampires?" She shuddered as she gulped her wine. "If Dumbledore had his way, those foul creatures would be teaching our children."
"Can you imagine?" Harry pursed his lips. "The only protection are the proper families and, of course, the Ministry."
"I'm so glad you think so." Umbridge smiled, shaking her head. "You know, I had you pegged all wrong, my Lord."
"Oh?"
"I thought you were another of Dumbledore's airy fairy 'love will change the world' hippies. But no," She pointed a fork at him, chewing on the huge steak she'd ordered. The most expensive thing on menu. "You're quite the man."
Harry's smile felt as oily as Lucius' Malfoy's. "If you thought so, why did you come to dinner with me?"
She giggled, her mouth open — she still had a chunk of steak in her mouth, chewing. "You're rather handsome — sue me, I'm superficial! The secret's out."
Merlin save my soul.
He reached a hand across the table to take her clammy paw. "Your secrets are safe with me." He winked. "How about we skip dessert?"
"Oh—" Her eyebrows jumped to the top of her head and she almost choked on her steak. "Yes," Umbridge gave him what she thought was a saucy smile. "Do you want to show me your manor?"
The Leaky Cauldron?
"It's being renovated at the moment — blasted money-grabbing goblins are robbing me blind, as usual. How about your place?"
He saw the tremor on her face.
"W-well, my pureblood home, my ancestral home, I mean, is undergoing some work too. And I have some family staying at my second home." Dolores took a hasty sip of wine. "But I could take you to my third home — it's a pigsty, really, I've been renting it out and you wouldn't believe the state of it, I'm so embarrassed—"
"It's okay." Harry cut her bullshit off. "Just anywhere we can…get comfortable." He said, rubbing his thumb on her hand. The duck confit in his stomach was in grave danger of flying back onto his plate. "I'll get the bill."
"Oh," She flushed, opening her handbag. "Well, if you insist."
Instead of a back entrance to avoid the photographers, the restaurant had a private Floo. Harry followed Umbridge and stumbled out of it to see his date hurriedly stacking a handful of discarded pizza boxes.
Sweet baby Merlin. The walls — what wasn't pink was covered in china plates, stacked in columns, arranged from small to large, each with a kitten mewling or licking itself. The curtains were a floral pattern, pink flowers over cream, but now the fabric was yellowed and nibbled by moths.
The whole place smelled like—
"Kitties? Kitties, where are youuu?" Umbridge sang. A gang of them scampered in, rubbing themselves against her fat ankles. That was the smell that was hiding — under the heavily perfumed air fresheners and the numerous scented candles around the room, the place was musty and almost fishy.
"I had a little party last night — forgive the mess!" She said, sweating a little. "Do you like cats?"
"Love them." Harry said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "They're all so young — where's their mother?"
"Oh," Umbridge picked up one kitten by the neck to tickle its chest. "I get rid of them when they're adults — they get so lazy and I can't stand laziness."
"Get rid? You mean like, give them to another family?"
"Yes," She gave him a cloying smile. "That's what I mean." She set the kitten down and walked towards him. "Anyway, where were we? The night is still young."
It felt like the Dark Lord himself was approaching. Heavy stomps on the laminate floor.
"You have greater courage than I imagined." Tom hissed in his mind.
"Do you think she really kills the cats?" Mei Chang wondered.
Umbridge licked her lips and turned, jutting out her fat ass. "Unzip me?"
With trembling fingers, he pulled the zip down just past her shoulders. He couldn't do it, not even for Helena. "I think it's stuck," he lied.
"Really? Are you sure?" She pouted.
"Certain." Harry said.
"Well, in that case, you sit down and I'll make us some tea and," she toyed with her hair, "slip into something more comfortable?"
"Can't wait." He said dryly. She didn't appear to notice — the little house shook when she stomped up the stairs.
He bounced his leg anxiously as he ran through his options. He couldn't stun her, Imperius her, Confund her, or yank the locket off. If the locket blocked the Imperius, it probably blocked memory charms too. He had other spells he could use to knock her out but they could all permanently damage her mind— he didn't care about not hurting her, but he did care about not overtly fucking the timeline. Who knew who the Ministry would place at Hogwarts instead of Umbridge if she was reduced to a vegetable?
You can do this, Harry. You don't have to fuck her, you just have to convince her to take the locket off.
"Hem, hem."
Harry jerked his head up to see she'd changed. A black nightie revealing ham-hock hairy legs and even more of her saggy breasts.
"Oh…wow."
Dolores simpered. "I can see the lust in your eyes, naughty thing."
"Can you?"
She disappeared into the kitchen, allowing him to gather himself, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise. On the coffee table, a kitten looked at him with judgmental eyes.
"It's for the greater good." He whispered.
"Aww, you get sweeter and sweeter." Umbridge beamed as she carried a tea tray back in. "I talk to the kitties too." She sank onto the sofa next to him, her leg rubbing against his.
Without a thought, his wand was in his hand. A biological reflex to dangerous beasts.
"Oh, I don't think you're going to need your wand." She plucked it from his fingers and set it on the table. Her hand settled on his thigh. "I…imagine you have a big backup, don't you, Lord Foxham?" Umbridge murmured.
"C-call me Harry." He reached for the tea hurriedly and gulped it, the only excuse to shrug her hand from his leg. It was fruity and over-spiced.
"In that case, you can call me Dolly."
"On second thought—" His head swam. He peered into his cup. Dolly took it from his hand and put it back down.
"Uh oh, someone's had too much wine." She giggled.
"Did I?" Harry held his head. Dolores — Dolly — he'd been too harsh on her. She had a certain fairness to her and at some angles, she almost looked lovely. She was smiling and her face wasn't toad like, it was just round, a certain symmetry to it.
You love her.
No, I don't.
Dolly batted her eyes and looked away. "You're staring, Lord Foxham," she said.
"Call me Harry, Dolly."
"Well, if you insist."
You love her.
She smiled at him, a knowing look in her eyes. "You are a lucky boy, aren't you?" She thumbed the strap of her nightie. Her hair gleamed.
You love her.
Harry shook himself. This feeling in his core — it was love…if it was processed through a factory, squeezed into a pink purée like a fast-food sausage. Just a pale imitation of the love he held for his girls, that they held for him. How could it possibly compare? He could no more mistake it for love than he could mistake the Dark Lord with Crookshanks.
You love her.
Laughable. He was here to save his real love — Helena. His family, with Narcissa.
He looked at the tea cup on the coffee table. She'd poisoned him, dosed him. It wouldn't do.
She parted her fat thighs a little.
She's not fat, a part of him said — she's curvaceous.
"What do you want to do to me?" She asked eagerly. "Tomorrow, you can give me access to your bank account, my love, but tonight — I'm yours. Lose your money but get a little Dolly." She giggled at her own joke. "You take the good with the bad, don't you?"
The idea was repulsive. He took a deep breath — she smelled like she'd dunked herself in a barrel of cheap perfume. His eyes watered.
"I want to…I want to…"
"Yes?" Her eyes widened.
"I want you to bathe."
"Oh." Dolores shrank back. "Oh, I see, a romantic bath. What a good idea — you wait there, I'll put the water on."
Harry stared straight ahead, battling with himself. The love potion was making him dazed — the walls were brighter, closing in. His ear kept twitching.
"Oh, Harrrrrry." She sang from up the stairs. "I'm ready for you."
He walked up the stairs slowly, robotically. All the doors were an identical pink.
"Which room are you in?"
"Hem-hem," came her cough. Harry pushed open the door and his heart beat into overdrive. No, he realized — not his heart, his stomach, contents roiling.
Umbridge was naked, looking at him over her shoulder. Fat rolls glistening in baby oil, cellulite dimpling from back to lumpy ass cheeks. The rosy steam from the bath water choked him, making him swallow the bile that threatened to rise.
And laced around her neck, the locket.
"Come to me." She ordered.
He placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Have you no shame?" Tom hissed. "She should be catalogued in Fantastic Beasts."
"You can touch me more." She simpered. "Don't be afraid of your goddess."
For Helena.
He traced the latch of her locket. "Let's make sure this doesn't get wet."
Dolores snorted like a pig, pulling her hand into her mouth seductively as she craned her neck around. Her neck fat almost formed into a fleshy mouth. "It's too late." She murmured. "I already am." But she unlatched it as she leaned back into his arms.
He took it from her hands and then pocketed it.
Yes!
With her oiled skin against his, he felt like he did after his nights of reliving Tom's massacres. Like he could wash himself a thousand times and never be clean.
Enough playing around.
"It's so wet in here." He muttered. Steam buffeting the ceiling, tiles reflective. "You have to make sure you don't slip."
"What?"
His wand to her back, his lips to her ears. "My love, I never thought I could fall so easily."
The slightest push. A Trip Jinx. A fall in slow motion, every roll clapping together. In the bathroom, porcelain and marble, it was almost too easy. Her head smacked against the tub and she was but a sack of spuds on the floor. Oily potatoes.
"Oh. Oh no." Harry said flatly. "Are you okay?"
Dolores didn't respond. The white porcelain trickled blood. She'd be fine — with any luck, she'd have a gap in her memory caused without magic.
Harry shuddered, holding himself.
Something brushed his ankle.
"Meow." A kitten stared up at him with mournful eyes.
"I can't believe I almost got date-raped by Umbridge." He told the kitten.
She mewled in sympathy and looked at him with fixed green eyes. Folded ears, cocked head, pink nose.
"I can't change the timeline." He told her.
She meowed.
"I'm sure she just gives you away to a deserving owner when you're old enough."
The kitten bared its teeth.
"Well, I can't save all of you."
Tail in the air.
"Alright, fine." He growled. Locket in one hand, kitten in the other.
First, he deposited the kitten in Grimmauld Place. He wasn't at all sure that the kitty was safer with Bellatrix than Umbridge, but he didn't have any other options.
"Bellatrix is out right now." He warned her. "She's crazy but she won't kill you or eat you." He hesitated. "I think."
The kitty meowed, cocking her head.
"Stay skinny, just in case. Not too much meat on the bones." Harry added.
Now he just had to deal with the locket.
Where to go? He had to place the Horcrux somewhere safe, somewhere he could retrieve it, over a dozen years from now. Malfoy Manor — impossible, while Lucius resided there. He had no access to the Hogwarts grounds, not until Slughorn invited him to the next Slug Club.
Privet Drive? Too dangerous — a young Harry could stumble upon it or Dumbledore might sense it when he came there. He thought about the people he trusted most.
Hermione. With just a thought, he'd Apparated.
Northwest London, the suburb of Hampstead Garden. It was raining. Of course it was raining.
The future him had been here but once since he'd bonded Hermione, playing taxi service to his girl, who'd been eager to pick up some books she'd left at home and to see her parents. She'd begged him to come in but he'd refused.
He hadn't wanted to play the high school boyfriend, to make them wonder if their daughter's first love would turn out to be her one and done. Not when he couldn't give her the Muggle dream — the wedding, the picket fence, the two kids in the backseat.
He jumped the fence into their back garden. There was an wet cardboard box outside their back door, slowly shrivelling in the rain, a box that had held the crib that was now built to hold baby Hermione.
A spell turned the cardboard box into a wooden one. Another tore the garden up and the last brought the turf back down — a thirty second landscape job to hide the Horcrux.
"I'm just saying — you can do the two AM wakeups as well, you know!" A woman in the kitchen window snapped. For a second, he thought he was going mad, thought her Hermione.
But no — it was her mother. Darker hair, but no less bushy. A fuller figure that filled out tight blue jeans. Beautiful.
"I have to rest well so I don't screw up at the practice—"
"Oh, yes, whereas I don't?" Mrs Granger said sarcastically. "You're not the only dentist in the house."
Harry smiled. Hermione was just like her mother.
He Apparated away.
And in the future, Apparated in. The house was bigger. A conservatory expansion. New guttering and a re-tiled roof. The garden had a new fake-grass turf, overly green, too tacky beside the tasteful house.
It ripped up all the same and repaired itself. Harry clutched the locket tightly, relieved. He didn't have Helena but he had what he needed to make the trade. He could do this.
Back at Malfoy Manor, Hermione was on the sofa, studying an ornate knife — the Dark Lord's Portkey.
"Harry!"
He greeted her with a kiss. "Question — did your house always have fake grass?"
She did a double take. "Since I was a kid? Dad says it's bad soil — nothing ever grew there so he replaced it. Why?"
"No reason." Whoops.
She jabbed her finger at him. "You were there, weren't you? You're not stalking Mum, are you?"
"I was not!"
"I know what you're like with family." Hermione flushed. "Mum and Dad have always had their problems but they can work them out, okay?"
"My lips are sealed." Harry promised.
"It's your fly I'm worried about." She grumbled, bringing her stocking-clad knee to his groin.
"Where's Cissy?"
"Sleeping." She said guiltily. "I put a little something in her tea — she was driving herself mad with worry."
"Good idea. Any luck with the Portkey?"
Her face soured. "It's well-built. Only enough magic in it to transfer one person. And, look—" She traced her wand over the dagger's hilt. "See that tiny rune? It's to detect silver."
"Tom wants to make sure I don't come without the locket." He surmised.
"I hate to say it but I don't see a way out," she worried.
"I'll be okay — I'll make the trade and fight my way out, if it comes to it."
Hermione checked the time. "Few hours left. You look like a mess — shall I run you a bath?"
"No! No baths." Harry said hurriedly.
"Tea?"
"No, please, no tea!"
"Why are you being weird?"
"You're being weird."
She rolled her eyes. "We have six hours until the Portkey activates, Harry. I have four ways to pass the time and to try and keep your mind off poor Helena — a bath, tea, oral sex or homework." She said wryly, pulling the red hair scrunchie off her wrist.
"I choose blowjob."
"Yes," She murmured as she tied her hair back. "I thought you might."
He settled back onto the sofa and spread his legs with the sigh that came from a long day.
"When you bring her back, I'm going to tell Helena that while she was waiting to be rescued, you were getting your rocks off." Hermione said primly. She caught the look on his face. "Yes, I suppose you're right — she would be happy you're de-stressing." She glared. "And Harry?"
"Huh? Ow!" Her grip on his cock was painfully tight.
"You're not going to imagine my mother when I do this, are you?" She said acidly.
"No — well, now I am, but I wasn't!"
She sniffed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "You're lucky I love you."
"You're so right, Mrs Granger—ow, ow, ow, no teeth, no teeth!"
###
When the time came, it was only Narcissa and him. She sniffled, but her tears had run dry.
"I've positioned the girls all over the country," she reminded, her pink lips quivering. "With any luck, you'll land somewhere that one of us can feel the bond to you, even if the Portkey wipes off your tracking charms."
"Got it." Harry checked his wand-holster and the tightness of his boots, a pit of nerves in his stomach.
Cissy used her night-gown to wipe some imaginary dirt from his chest. "And I did as you asked — Dumbledore is on alert. If we find you, we'll notify him too."
"One minute left." Harry noted.
Her chin wobbled after he kissed her. "Y-you'll be on your own there!"
"I won't." He assured. "Helena will be there. Our girl is strong too, right?"
She gave a blubbery laugh, wiping her eyes. "She is." She looked to the clock, fear in her eyes. "Come home," Narcissa begged, clawing at his shirt. "Both of you."
What could he say to calm her nerves, to assure that they'd be okay? He could think of one thing.
He swatted her ass, making her squeak. "Have dinner ready for us, sweetcheeks."
The hook pulled somewhere behind his navel. His feet left the ground. Narcissa disappeared into a swirl of colour.
When the world reformed, he was falling, one of a million rain drops. The wind whipped at his robes, swept into his mouth, puffed up his cheeks. Below, the choppy sea and white sails—
The dagger Portkey fell from his grasp as he frantically pulled his wand, casting a Cushioning Charm just before he smacked into the wooden deck of a galleon. He rolled with a groan to the sound of laughter and stared up at the flapping sails and the stormy skies.
"Quite an entrance, Harry Potter." The Dark Lord called from the higher deck, his amplified voice being carried by the wind.
Harry hauled himself up using the taffrail. Where the fuck was he? It was so loud he could barely think — wind howling, rain beating, the ship creaking, a chorus of protesting wood, like the cargo hold was filled with banshees.
Across the crashing waves that grew as large as the ship, another.
Another ship, another galleon. They sailed in a circle around each other — and his eyes saw the whipping sails and a flash of a familiar platinum blonde.
Helena!
She was roped to the mast in a white dress. His legs weakened when he saw a vast wave throw itself against her galleon — she disappeared under its might — and then reappeared again, soaking wet.
"Both Spanish galleons from the seventeenth or eighteenth century." Voldemort said conversationally from the elevated quarterdeck. "That over there is the Santa Ana — but I took the liberty of renaming it Santa Helena, for the saint she might become if she dies today. The press does love a beautiful corpse, don't they? They still talk of your mother."
Harry stared at him coldly. "I have your locket — let's do the deal."
"The impatience of youth." The Dark Lord sneered. Behind him, a handful of Death Eaters, water dripping from their black hoods. "First, introductions. Harry Potter, allow me to introduce to you the man who showed me how far the Dark Arts could go—" His wand shot up — a firework in the sky, sparks and glitter, though the thunder was provided by the clouds.
In a flash of lightning, a robed figure stepped forward.
"—Lord Grindelwald." Voldemort finished.
Grindelwald shrugged his hood back and stood tall. To Harry's dismay, he looked healthier and stronger than he'd hoped, even if his hair was thin, his wrinkles pronounced. He wore a proud smile.
"How embarrassing, Tom." Harry called. "You had to dig an old man out of his grave just because you were afraid of me?"
The Dark Lord smiled. "It took me some time to rescue my old Master, but now we are united. See how the world trembles."
"Come on, Grindelwald — did your beloved student even send you a postcard?" Harry mocked. "A cake at Christmas?"
Grindelwald only threw his head back, laughing at the roiling clouds. "I glory in the rain on my skin again — how could you possibly hope to divide us?"
"Enough." Lord Voldemort held his hand aloft, his fist clenched. "These galleons burn easily, Harry." He pointed across as they sailed in a circle, their ships sailed by magic only, the ship's wheels twisting on their own. "Give me the locket or I set fire to Santa Helena. In this storm, you won't even hear her scream."
Harry hesitated. The Horcruxes were key — and giving Voldemort it back? He'd never see it again. He'd have no way of ridding the world of the Dark Lord.
The smarter play was to give it back to Voldemort, to hope the Dark Lord thought Helena insignificant enough to ignore, to hope he'd be too busy savouring the relief of having a splinter of his soul back to notice Harry flying across the sea.
But Harry was done overthinking. And he was done playing nice.
He felt the cool touch of silver on his hand, held it aloft, enjoying the power that was Voldemort's fixated gaze. "This locket?"
"Do not play games, Harry Potter." Voldemort's tongue slithered. "You can fight me, fight us both, even. But walk that road and your maiden burns."
"Fine." Harry smiled. "Take it!" He threw it high in the air, up the stairs to the quarterdeck — and in a flash, followed the locket's fall with his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!" The green glow shattered the locket to pieces, silver splinters in front of Tom's very eyes.
"No!" The Dark Lord shrieked, his nostril-slits flaring. He held his head in pain, like he'd felt a physical blow from the Horcrux's destruction. Harry's head was hurting too. "What have you done, boy?!"
"What's the matter — was it a gift for your new pet?" Harry taunted.
A roar of rage. Voldemort held his wand out, across the taffrail. His muttered whisper was lost to the storm but it didn't matter what spell he used — Santa Helena lit up with a flame. The carved figurehead of a woman on the ship's bow glowed, a torch under dark clouds.
"No!" A Death Eater behind Voldemort burst forward, his hood falling to reveal Draco Malfoy. "M-my Lord, you said you wouldn't hurt her! You promised her to me—"
"Silence!" Voldemort hissed. He pointed his wand. Without an incantation, Draco rose in the air, clutching invisible hands around his throat, legs kicking. He was thrown away without a thought, because he didn't matter.
Harry stared across the sea to the Malfoy that actually mattered.
The Dark Lord was wrong — he did hear Helena's scream, carried on the winds.
He had a new countdown ticking down, counted plank by plank in burning flames.
No time to lose.
No option but victory.
His wand out, he shifted back on his heels.
Up the stairs, Grindelwald and Voldemort adopted dueling stances.
Two opponents.
"Do not interfere." The Dark Lord said to his Death Eaters.
"Yeah, wouldn't want to make the numbers unfair." Harry muttered to himself. Two against one, but Grindelwald would be rusty and neither of them would have recent experience fighting as a team. He had to take advantage of that.
He took in the battlefield as they readied themselves. They were off the south east coast, by the looks of the dramatic chalk cliffs beyond them, Dover's famous white cliffs, barely visible through the fog and rain. They faced off on an old ship — Voldemort, calculating as ever, had likely stolen it in the knowledge that Harry's bonded could feel him when he was near. His own Death Eaters would work the same way.
Nobody was finding him out on the sea. He wasn't getting away, with Anti-Apparition wards blanketing them, his Portkey dagger fallen to the waters. But while they'd trapped Harry, they'd also trapped themselves. A small battlefield, on an ancient ship being battered by the storm, it halved the available spells, unless they wanted to end up in a swimming duel.
What could he fight with?
Cannons lined the taffrail, weapons of wars long since obsolete. Three masts, three sails. Coiled ropes, barrels, lifeboats hanging on the side of the ship. Rigging above — a maze of crisscrossing lines and pulleys to control the sails. No wonder Voldemort was sailing them with magic instead.
Harry moved first. A slash of his wand against the main stay sail above. The sail, waterlogged and heavy, landed between him and the Dark Lords. The sudden veil of flapping white hid him for a valuable second — until Grindelwald torched it in flame.
"No, you fool!" Voldemort snarled. It was too late — Harry blasted it forward, the flaming sail burning across the wooden ship, but Voldemort caught it on his wand and held it there.
Harry smirked — Grindelwald was rusty, to cast fire on a wooden ship. Through the holes in the sail, he saw the anger on Voldemort's face as he doused the flames. It bought Harry time to jerk his wand powerfully, wrenching the cannon from the rail, twisting it around. A single cannonball levitated into place.
When the sail was cleaved in two, Harry was ready. A cannon lit with an Incendio at the fuse's top.
BOOM!
"Engorgio." He tried to hit the cannonball as it exploded out and missed — Voldemort pushed Grindelwald aside, the ball smashing between them, a bowling split. A Death Eater caught it into the stomach and was fired back over the stern.
"Strike!" Harry sang, but his smirk was wiped when Voldemort took the offensive. A trident speared toward him — he sidestepped it until it suddenly changed direction. He dropped to the floor but found himself crouching into a bone-crusher. A quick conjured blob of metal nothing saved his blushes, but he was on the backfoot, batting away spells, conjuring shields that failed immediately.
The rain washed his sweat away. He hadn't expected Tom to lead so aggressively — but with Grindelwald managing his defense, Voldemort wasn't worried. He stepped down from the quarterdeck — and with each step, cast a new spell. None of them defensive.
The Dark Lord wasn't playing nice — ice to freeze the rain drops into sharp tacks, little daggers into the sky — Harry's old favourite idea. Shock to electrocute the pools of water at Harry's feet. A quick Transfigure to uncoil the ropes into snakes. A charm to animate the barrels, making them roll at Harry and explode into splinters, coating him in rum.
He could barely keep up — and with Tom taking the offense, Grindelwald concentrated on the long, complicated spells that were hard to cast in battle and even harder to defuse. Harry stepped back and a plank swung up and smacked him in the face — Gellert giggled madly, weakening the nails of every plank on the deck.
Harry brought his wand up in fury — but Grindelwald had spent half a minute conjuring a farmer's spell to concentrate rain on certain plants — Harry found himself under such a dark monsoon cloud that even holding his arm up was a struggle.
Something had to give — he caught a blue spell to his chest and felt a rib bone disappear.
"Gargh!" He growled — he knew that one, a curse to vanish the specific bone it hit. Lockhart had done it to him once.
He had to change things up — he was losing. The smoke from Helena's ship was growing by the second, a ship cast in a fiery orange glow.
When in doubt, change the fight. Grindelwald had told Tom that — he'd never thought the advice would be used against him.
Harry backtracked and his back smacked against the foredeck. The wind swung the main boom dangerously across the deck, making them fight while ducked. A quick glance — a net of cannonballs was on the side of the deck, attached to a triangle of ropes that ran up to a block and tackle — a set of pulleys.
A counterweight. Which meant there should be a—
"Nowhere to run, boy." Grindelwald smiled. He stabbed his wand out and fired a sizzling purple curse.
Harry didn't recognize it — but he didn't need to. He swivelled his wand and, timing it to the millisecond, batted the curse against the rope that held the cannonballs.
He leapt for the hanging rope just in time — as the cannonballs crashed down onto the lower deck, he was flung up, high into the rigging.
"Whoo!" He swung on the rope and, more by mistake than design, landed on his toes on a mast, half-way up the sails. "Uh—" He wobbled, arms outstretched, his mind searching for a charm to help him balance.
Nothing.
Quickly, he had more problems than his balance. Crows that rose from Voldemort's wand, screeching fury, flying at him in suicide runs, pecking at his flesh. Harry severed a wing from one bird, engorged it, and used it to bat the others away.
He edged along the mast, but the rigging was being destroyed around him. With the splintered wood shrieking and the whipping wind drowning out all sound, he had only the glow of spell colour in the dark storm to warn him of coming spells.
"Fuck!" Harry jumped from mast to rig to mast as the two Dark Lords wrecked the ship, adrenaline shooting through his veins. From this vantage point, he could see the flames wrecking Helena's ship. He was running out of time.
Finally, after constant dodging, Voldemort took the bait.
The Dark Lord took flight, rising up to meet him.
"Accio Ship's Wheel." Harry muttered — he'd give the Dark Lord a welcome. A quick and dirty Transfiguration to give all eight wooden spokes a metal spear tip and a gentle Depulso to get the wheel spinning faster than the eye could see.
When Voldemort floated opposite him, Harry hit the wheel with a real Banisher, sending it spinning into the Dark Lord's hasty shield. The shield held — but charmed by Harry's wand, the wheel kept spinning, grinding, sparks flying, until the shield could hold no longer.
Voldemort's spell to deflect the wheel away wasn't fast enough — it gouged into his chest and stuck in, a wooden accessory for the modern wizard.
He ripped it out with a snarl and held it like a frisbee as he gave it longer, nastier Transfigurations — acid on the tips, daggers on the spokes, shooting a spell at Harry between each Transfigure, wand-work blazingly fast.
Harry grinned — he wasn't going to stay long enough to play catch. Tom had already played into his hands — the two Lords were separated. Below, Grindelwald's shock of white hair and in front, Voldemort's serpentine face.
What goes up. This time, he leapt into the sail, using it to cushion his fall, sliding down the white, the waterlogged pools kicking up as he slid down his own waterslide.
At the bottom of the slide, Grindelwald smirked, seeing his prey delivered to him.
But though Harry knew little of ships, he knew the most important rule of sailing. Watch the boom. The boom behind Grindelwald at the sail's bottom, jerking back and forth in the storm, cut free of its restraints.
Wand up. "Accio Boom!"
The boom swung ferociously, smashing into Grindelwald's back and flattening him with a nasty crunch, just as Harry stumbled off the sail-slide.
He clenched his wand tight, the Killing Curse on his lips.
Only Voldemort had other plans. The boom summoned again — Harry heard it from behind and caught it in his spine, a bone-crack turning his Avada into a gasp of pain, his body weightless, carried.
When he spat the blood out, it was into the ocean — he was holding onto the boom like a sloth as it extended onto the ship's side, looking down on the monstrous waves below, the sea so black they looked like ripples in space. Black aside from the orange glow from the ship that burned, so close it felt like he could almost jump to it.
Helena. He thought miserably — she screamed from her bound position on the mast as the fire neared.
"Your tricks have run their course, Harry Potter!" Lord Voldemort laughed from the ship's deck. Alongside him, Grindelwald, wiping blood from his own lips as he stood.
Harry grimaced as he wobbled precariously on the juddering boom.
"Walk the plank, little one." Grindelwald called.
He looked down at oblivion below. A flash of platinum blond hair. Familiar hair.
Harry blinked. It was Draco in a little rowing boat, pulling desperately on the oars as he made his way to the Santa Helena.
What?
Realization settled quickly.
The useless boy, who'd probably the one to kidnap his sister…was now the one trying to save her.
Fuck.
Desperate times made for desperate allies. Harry fired an array of colorful spells at the Dark Lords, deliberately aiming high — he had to make sure the two men didn't spot Draco in the darkness.
More pressing was surviving himself. The two Dark Lords laughed as they shot spells at him, making him dance and writhe to dodge them, isolated on the boom.
He could take one or the other, but at the same time, without the power he could draw from his girls?
He had to end this. But how?
The wind hit him in a sudden gust. It felt like a message.
The wind.
"Spongify." Harry murmured a spell at the boom below — the wood turned rubbery, arched down like an elastic band and then twang — he bounced high into the sky.
This time, he didn't try to land. He forced his magic into his soles, flying like Voldemort did. Less graceful, more panicky, but flying none the less. Above the ships, above the flames and the smoke that wisped into the stormy clouds, eager for entry.
The wind was tearing the ships apart, spell-wrought ships barely holding on with their sails and masts destroyed by the duel.
Grindelwald Transfigured a severed mast into iron and fired it like a spear at him. The wind made it miss by metres.
Harry smiled.
Yes, the wind was an ally.
It was time to use it.
###
Draco wiped his eyes as his boat thumped into the flaming galleon. The heavy rain didn't stop the heat that poured from the ancient ship — the flames had enveloped half of the hull.
"Incarcerous." He murmured. The ropes slithered from his wand. His aim was true — they twisted around the taffrail and, when he tugged his wand, tightened. Just like Father had taught him.
Not everyone could do the Incarcerous spell-twist that kept one end of the ropes at one's wandtip, but Draco could. He flicked away the bubble of joy — there was no room for pride. Potter was fighting two Dark Lords at once.
He held his wand with both hands and settled both feet on the ship's hull, his biceps straining as he crab-walked up the side. The licking fire spilled the sweat that the rain swept away, but the storm couldn't stop the smoke from choking his lungs.
Finally, he made it onto the desk, spluttering and coughing.
There. Just ahead, Helena, impossibly beautiful. Drenched, her white dress see-through and clinging to her curves, her blue eyes startling. For a second, he took her in — her breasts fully visible under the soaked material, even the outline of her lips—
He wrenched his head up.
Of course she was beautiful, she was a Malfoy. And he was going to rescue her, from the Dark Lord and Potter both.
He stumbled to her side, tracing her ropes with his wand, a Severing Charm at its tip.
"Fuck off!" She growled, flinching away. Helena hadn't come easy — he'd had to stun her to get her out of Durmstrang.
"Listen!" He said desperately, as the fires came closer. "I didn't know — he said he wouldn't hurt you!"
"Oh, well that makes everything—"
"We're family!" He roared, a pounding in his ears. "Why can't you see that? I'm trying to help you!"
"Yeah?" She sneered, arching away from his wand, her feet kicking up to jab into his groin. "If we're family, why are you hard?"
Draco flushed as he looked down, his cheeks heated. He'd been watching her for too long — in her skimpy school uniform, when she bathed, when she tried on the endless packages of clothes she ordered — and despite what he knew in his head, she didn't feel like his sister. He hadn't grown up with her.
"What did he do to you?" He begged, hating how pathetic he sounded. "To Mother? Is it an Imperius?"
Helena twitched, her eyes narrowing in anger. But then those same eyes rolled back, her shoulders going limp, her head thrown back. "H-help me. H-he's in my head!"
"I k-knew it!" Draco stammered. He severed the last of the ropes and caught her as she fell from the mast. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of here — we can break the spell!" He said, cradling her cheek.
Her icy blue eyes opened, her arms around his shoulder, her perfect pouty lips parted, and—
"Oof!" He gasped in agony as her knee smashed into his balls, doubling over.
"You are a fool, brother." Helena sniffed from above as he toppled to the floor, holding his crotch. "All Harry has done is be a real man. You should try it."
Draco stared up at the unforgiving sky, wheezing. Helena looked down at him, unamused. She stepped on his dick deliberately, grinding her heel back and forth as he shrieked.
A soft smile spread across her face as she looked across the sea. "I knew he would come." She shivered, her lips parting subconsciously. "That's what family does."
I came! Draco wanted to roar, but he could only gurgle, his balls flattened under her foot. I came for you!
But she didn't even cast him a glance as she stepped over him. The last thing he saw before darkness descended was the glimmer of a jewel in her bottom.
###
Harry grinned as he hovered in the skies. Helena was free — he could see her rowing away in a little boat. And though she was tired and weak, he felt free to pull on the power she willingly gave.
He ripped the last sails from the ship, leaving it a skeleton in the sea. He melted them together into a winged behemoth and sent his canvas-dragon needling down at Grindelwald.
The Dark Lord lit the sails in flame, but Harry only twisted his wand. The Animated sails wrapped around him tightly, a hug from a flaming Lethifold.
Harry smirked. Grindelwald, his magic fossilized, was relying on the magic he knew best — fire, fire and more fire. His screams pierced the air.
An irritated Voldemort ripped the sails off him and Grindelwald emerged — smoking, skin peeling, redder than a Weasley.
Harry winced. "Gotta use sun-cream, Gellert."
To his surprise, neither of the two Dark Lords looked concerned.
"Perhaps," Voldemort licked his lips. "It is time to try your new powers, old friend."
Grindelwald nodded and closed his eyes. Clenched his fists. Harry watched, his brow wrinkled, as the old Dark Lord changed.
His torched skin crumbled away like ancient parchment, replaced by new milky skin. His shoulders broadened. He visibly strengthened, his eyes glowing with replenished power.
And behind him, the three Death Eaters, who'd spent the whole fight watching — they fell over like shop mannequins.
"No…" Harry muttered as realization dawned.
Voldemort hissed, his tongue flickering out to curl and uncurl. "My old Master has decided to walk the path you and I have chosen, Harry. Aren't you proud?"
Grindelwald looked down at himself in wonder. "Such power." He marvelled. "I feel young once more."
"And that is with just a handful of your own recruits." Voldemort boasted. "Imagine when you have an army of your own."
Harry's mouth was dry, even as the raindrops landed on his tongue. Voldemort had placed Grindelwald on the path to power. No, he thought, not just the path.
He'd given Grindelwald the tracks, the train. A first-class fucking ticket.
His heart felt like it was next to his ankles, alongside his stomach.
Fuck it.
If they wanted to play best friends, he'd buy them a double-plot into the same graveyard. "I didn't think you were one to share the stage, Tom." He shouted, flying above them. Behind his back, his wand twirled. The wind grew stronger, carrying the ship faster, further. "Doesn't Gellert realize you're a tyrant who'll stab him in the back at the first opportunity?"
Grindelwald sneered. "My former student is like a son to me, child. You wouldn't understand the bond we share. I made him mighty and he will return me to my former glories."
"I guess that's a no." Harry muttered.
"Such dismay, my boy." Voldemort laughed, reading the despair on his face. "Worry not — he chose my bond, not yours. He won't be competing for the worthless whores you court."
"Not even if I were of that persuasion." Grindelwald smirked.
Harry caught the glimmer of disgust on Voldemort's face before it was wiped away. No matter what act Tom was putting on, he knew their alliance was a false one.
But that didn't make it any less strong.
"Have you decided who'll sleep on which side of the bed?" Harry mocked. He had to keep them talking. His wand still worked behind his back. The gusts were ferocious, drying his eyes. On the deck, behind the Dark Lords, the barrels and cannonballs were flung off the deck.
"You jest because you cannot joust, boy." Grindelwald said, his eyes alight with a glow. He, too, called his magic forth.
"I tried to warn you, Harry." Voldemort interjected. "The bond I have chosen, the path we walk…it is more mighty by far than your chosen magic. When your bonded die, their power dies with them. When mine die, I am made into a God."
He pointed his finger and it crackled with lightning. "You cannot beat us, Harry Potter. So it is said, so it is seen. I, Lord Voldemort, have gone beyond the limits of magic." He boasted as he hovered inches above the deck, ready to take flight to do battle. "I blaze a new trail. I forge an unprecedented path. I walk where none have walked before. What have you done?"
Harry smiled. There was white in the darkness, finally, approaching quickly. Voldemort controlled the lightning in the clouds, but Harry had taken the wind. "Nothing so worthy." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm just trying to break…ground."
Voldemort must have seen something in his eyes, for his own widened. He whirled round, but it was too late.
The white in the darkness…it was not magic, but earth. The white cliffs of Dover, vast and mighty. Harry held his wand aloft, and the wand called the wind once more. A gust that smashed the ship into the cliffs with a sickening shriek. The bow splintered, the ship torn into two.
Grindelwald gaped, open-mouthed, as they were thrashed on the rocks. The ship dipped below the water and angled uncomfortably, sinking quickly.
"Rise, Gellert!" Voldemort snapped as he flew into the air.
"I don't-I do not know this magic—" Grindelwald yelled as a wave swept against him.
For a moment, it looked like Voldemort would leave him there, but finally he descended to take his arm. Harry peppered them with spells, but the wind was so fierce that he could barely aim his wand.
Instead, he blasted chunks into the chalk cliffs, sending boulders down at them. Below, the ship was rendered to planks and poles by the rocks, but above, there was light.
Wand light. Not one but many. Harry's heart soared as he saw the wand light through the storm, heard the unmistakable pops of Apparition as more and more came in.
Evidently, Voldemort had heard it too, for he and Grindelwald both stabbed their wands in the air.
Harry conjured a shield, but he needn't have — the two's spells soared into the sky. A colossal skull formed in the black sky, a constellation of emerald stars, and a serpent slithered from its mouth like a misshapen tongue. Behind it swooped a phoenix, only it was made of bones, a skeleton in the sky that stared without eyes. Empty sockets staring down at them.
When Harry looked down, the Dark Lords had Disapparated. He smiled bitterly — the Apparition wards must have been inscribed on the ship itself and with the ship destroyed…
He landed on the cliff's top, in the centre of the stunned crowd.
Aurors, civilians, journalists. Rita Skeeter, of course, always first on the scene. Nobody else he recognised except Shrike, the Auror he'd fought with at Greengrass Manor and at the Ministry. Fought alongside was a polite way of saying it, but at least Shrike had the talent of being in the right places when trouble came down.
"Lord Potter!"
"You can probably call me Harry at this point."
"First name terms are for when we drink together." Shrike bit his lip as he stared at the symbols in the sky. "Was that who I think it was?"
"Two for the price of one." Harry quipped without humour. "How'd you get here so fast?"
"Believe it or not, this is where I live." Shrike thumbed behind his back. "Got a cottage down there — damn near choked on my fish when I saw smoke in the sky."
Harry huffed when Rita gave him a hearty wave. "I don't suppose Skeeter arrived too late to see anything?"
Shrike snorted. "As if she would — pretty sure she's got an Auror on the payroll, if not in her bed."
"Have you seen a—ah." The crowd parted for the soaked girl in the white dress, who ran toward Harry and jumped into his arms. He held Helena tightly as she sobbed, feeling his own eyes glisten.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She cried.
"It's okay—"
"I knew there was someone watching me but I didn't—"
"It's okay!"
"—I thought it was just a random perv and I—"
"Helena." He said firmly, squeezing her tighter. "You did nothing wrong." He kissed her forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay. We were…I was…" Harry swallowed. "Yeah." He finished lamely.
"I was so scared." She admitted. She looked up at him with an adoring smile. "But I knew you'd come for me."
"I always will," he promised.
"I'll, uh, leave you to it." Shrike said uncomfortably. "I'll try to smooth over my report, Harry…though I don't know how we'll stop everyone from fleeing the country when they realize we have two Dark Lords."
Harry gave him a grateful smile over Helena's head. "If you figure it out, let me know."
As he left, Rita Skeeter approached, her quill out. Even she seemed a bit shaken — she pulled off her rhinestone-studded spectacles as she approached.
"Quote for the headline, Harry?" She asked, holding her quill at the ready. No Quick-Quotes quill for a story this big.
Harry sighed, giving Helena a squeeze as she nuzzled his neck. "Not sure how to spin this into anything hopeful, Rita."
She gave him a wiggle of her pencilled-on eyebrows. "Come on, Harry — give me something good and I swear I know a way to stop the country from collapsing in fear."
"You do?"
She scoffed. "I'm Rita Skeeter, darling — I'm not just a writer, I'm a mover and a shaker. Besides, I don't want everyone to move to France — I don't write a bloody word of French."
"I don't know, Rita…"
"Help me help you." She pleaded. "I want to spin this, darlin', but I don't work for free. I work for big juicy stories, like you and your Mistress."
He hesitated. Britain was only as strong as the public's morale. If it fell, it was children pulled from Hogwarts, people afraid to go to work, the streets empty — Tom able to work at leisure, recruiting those in need of money or purpose, picking off those that opposed him.
He beckoned Rita next to the cliff's edge and positioned his body so he blocked the crowd's of view of her, and Helena in his arms. "When the time is right," he said, "you can have this story."
As Helena breathed into his collar, he reached down and pulled the back of her dress up, revealing her sweet bare ass. He pulled her taut teenage asscheeks apart, revealing her gleaming white diamond plug.
Helena squeaked, hiding her red face in his chest.
Rita whistled. "Just as kinky as her mother. Let's think — the Mistress who gave away her daughter." She imagined the headline.
Harry shook his head. "The girl abandoned by her father who found a new family…and a new love."
Rita pursed her lips. "It's a bit…old-fashioned, Harry. The mother and the daughter both…some will disapprove."
Harry smoothed down Helena's dress. "If you can spin this dark day, I'm sure you can spin that too."
Rita grinned as she chewed on her quill feathers. "That's why I like you, Harry — you appreciate real talent."
###
At home, Harry collapsed into bed while Cissy and Helena had a tearful reunion. His body ached, his chest was killing him where he'd had a rib bone vanished, and he was bleeding from too many cuts and scrapes to even care.
He passed out to the gentle feeling of someone massaging his feet. He awoke in fits and spurts, panicked dreams that Helena was still kidnapped or nightmares of swimming in a sea on fire, but there was always a soothing body next to his. A healing wand at his cuts, soft fingers stroking his forehead, putting him back to sleep.
When he woke properly, a special edition of the Daily Prophet was on his bedside table. Helena was nestled into his front, dribbling cutely and using his hand for a pillow. From the way she grounded her thong-clad bottom back at him and her heavy breathing, she was having a pleasant dream.
He couldn't turn to see who was at his back, but those soft large breasts felt like Cissy.
Carefully, without waking up the girls, he reached for the paper.
The photo was of the two Dark Lords holding arms closely as Voldemort flew Grindelwald up the cliff, with Harry in the background firing spells at them.
He choked in disbelief as he read the headline.
TWO DARK LORDS OVER DOVER — DARK LORD REUNITES WITH OLD LOVER — CAN BRITAIN RESIST THE BUTT BANDITS?
"Jesus Christ, Rita." He muttered, scanning the page. She was absolutely shameless.
Lord Potter said that he will remain strong in the face of the Dark Lord's evil romance, urging Britain to stand with him against.
"Evil romance…?" Harry trailed off.
More: Lord Diggory's exclusive statement on how Britain must not give into homophobia in the wake of this shocking news. "My son had a golden heart — it is not one's sexuality that defines their morality."
Narcissa's giggles told him she'd woken up. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "She's a piece of work, isn't she?"
"A tremendous bitch." Harry admired. "But she does have talent."
"It's a bit juvenile, isn't it?"
"More than a bit." Harry agreed. "But her audience are the masses, so it'll probably work." He cocked his head. "And it needs to."
However childish, however tabloid-y, the headline needed to work. If the people were laughing, they weren't afraid.
Helena stirred in his arms.
"Morning, sleepy."
"Mmm," She reached between them to feel his hard cock. "And what a good morning it is." She turned to kiss him lovingly, pressing her breasts into him.
"Helena told me that you had to trade for Skeeter's positive spin." Narcissa commented.
"Mmm," Helena reddened. "Rita's going to tell everyone that I'm your naughty girl," she panted, squirming as her thighs trapped his cock. "So I have to make sure she's telling the truth." She giggled.
She sank down his body and rubbed her face against his cock, coating herself in his scent, her eyes closed. "Did you have to go through terrible things to get me back?" Helena pouted between kisses to his shaft.
Harry lay back against Cissy's fun-pillows, thinking about Umbridge's fat rolls, glistening with. He shivered. "Terrible, terrible things."
"Aww, Master." Helena jutted her lip out sympathetically. "I'm sorry." She looked up at the clock on the wall. "I did arrange a reward for you last night," she giggled. "I hope I'm not being too presumptuous."
"Helena," Narcissa scowled. "Master takes us as he wishes — sex is not a reward for us to give out."
There was a knock on the door. Helena jumped to her feet, her hand on the door-knob. "This might be an…extenuating circumstance, Mother."
The door swung open.
Harry sat up.
Hermione, in a jumper and tight jeans. She gave him an affectionate glance as she came around the bed to kiss him. "I'm so glad you're okay, my Harry. I was so scared."
He kissed the hand she caressed him with. "Me too, beautiful, but it's over now."
"I told the teachers that I wouldn't be in any lessons today." Hermione said primly, as she unbuttoned her jeans.
"You? Hermione Granger, missing lessons?"
She shimmied her jeans down and smirked over her shoulder. "I said I needed to process the traumatic news of the day."
Harry swallowed — she had a beautiful ass, a perfect handful, tight as hell. Even in plain white knickers, she was stunning.
"Pulling a sickie for me?" He swallowed, unexpectedly brought to emotion. "You're sweet."
She shrugged as she jumped onto the bed. "I thought we could relax, maybe read a book together or play some Exploding Snap."
Harry swallowed down his disappointment. With her warm body against his, Exploding Snap was very far from his mind. "Sure, sounds good."
Hermione smiled knowingly at him, her fingers trailing through his chest hair, around his belly button, down the curve of his groin and finding the monster that poked into her.
"Maybe that's not how you'd like to spend your recovery day." She sighed. "Maybeee you want to do something else."
"Else?"
"I think you know." Hermione smirked. "Because I know you. My heart, my Harry, I know you better than anyone." She said proudly. She slid over his body and sat back on his crotch.
"Oof!"
She wiggled her bottom and looked at him archly, her eyebrow raised. "Is this how you want to spend your day?" She leaned in close to breathe sultrily. "Taking my virgin bottom? To sodomise your dear, sweet, innocent first friend?" She gasped as she squirmed on his hard cock, as she felt it jolt. "It is!"
"Hermione…"
"Are you going to force your big cock into my tiny little hole?" She ground herself against him. "Are you going to make me beg for it?"
She swung herself around suddenly, so she was facing away, inching down her knickers until he could see the swell of her ass and just a glimpse of the jewel between her cheeks…
"Are you going to stuff my ass with your big hard cock, over and over and over?" She murmured, looking at him over her shoulder, through her hair, rocking up and down slightly.
Harry groaned. He felt like he was about to cum already.
She shrugged, mischievous. "Or we can just play cards?" He forgot, sometimes, that she had this wild streak to her — the side to her that brewed Polyjuice in the bathroom and used Time-Turners.
Harry ran his hands up her hips.
At the door, Cissy and Helena giggled. "We'll leave you to it."
"Cissy!" Harry barked.
"Master?"
"Bring plenty of food and water on the bedside table." He growled. He slid his hand up to Hermione's neck and grabbed her hair to pull her sharply back against his chest, a wriggly horny minx of a girl.
His best friend.
Hermione Granger extended her glossy bottom lip in a pout. "No Snap, then?"
Harry slid his fingers into her panties. "But plenty of exploding." As her laughter turned into moans, he let the memories of the bad day dissipate away. Umbridge had been right in one way.
He had to take the good with the bad.
I told you Harry would have to do terrible things to get Helena back. Thankfully, Umbridge remains unbreached. Next week, next Friday, next chapter - the full Hermione scene (sorry, it wouldn't fit in this already huge 12k chapter) and an encounter with Pansy.
Want to see artwork of the Hermione scene and read it too? Check my profile bio. As well as see 50+ art pieces, including the girls in saucy Halloween costumes, as well as fun little sexy story scenes.
Free no strings art on my X right now, link in bio. Fleur as a French maid, Helena and Cissy in lingerie together and Daphne in a teddy - don't miss it. Just a taste of the many more elsewhere.