Function
Daphne
Harry, for all of his many abilities, had no idea how to "dress slutty", apparently. Pansy had left her partners with those instructions to prepare for meeting her friends, and Harry had interpreted it as an all-black ensemble, a silk shirt over slim jeans topped off by a leather "biker" jacket, as the Muggles would call it.
Granted, he'd unbuttoned his shirt halfway to his navel, so it wasn't exactly a professional-looking outfit, but all Daphne could do was grin wryly as Harry goggled at her choice in clothing. She was wearing one of Pansy's designs, a leather number which straddled the line between a tube dress and a corset, open panels showing her midriff (nearly to her hipbones) in the front, her lower back (down to the top of her arse) in the back.
She'd also chosen to complete the look with fishnet stockings and an absolutely deadly pair of black stiletto heels, so she didn't exactly blame her boyfriend for the way that he just stared wordlessly instead of providing any meaningful commentary.
"Merlin," Harry finally spoke, his voice husky, "you look incredible."
"You're not bad yourself," Daphne teased, stepping towards him to brush her fingers against his chest, "I'm not sure if this counts as 'slutty', really, but you look good."
"Heh," Harry smirked, as his arm came around her to stroke his own fingers over the small over her back, "I'm not really sure what counts as that for blokes. Not exactly my usual scene, yeah?"
"You'll be fine," Daphne kissed him quickly, tasting a hint of whisky on his lips, "you've got the masks?"
Harry murmured indistinctly as he separated from her, pulling the aforementioned masks from a nearby drawer. Daphne wasn't quite sure what Pansy had in mind, but these items – a pair of black, masquerade-style coverings – were a specific requirement to attend the club they were meeting her at tonight.
"Clever bit of charms," she commented, turning the mask over in her hands. Pansy had explained that these masks were layered with a variety of disillusionment charms and obscuration enchantments to produce a disguise which went beyond merely covering one's eyes, which she supposed made sense for the clientele of "Cauldron", the meeting place which Harry and her were about to head to. An insignia on the inside of the mask read "Tim's Tantalizing Trinkets", not a merchant that Daphne was familiar with.
"Hmm," Harry muttered, looking at his own mask, "it is a clever little bit of spellwork, innit?"
"I'm just not sure who this 'Tim' person is, I've never heard of any notable Enchanters by that name."
"Heh, if I've got the right of it, 'Tim' is a joke. Y'know, the Holy Grail?"
Daphne stared at Harry, nonplussed. She wasn't sure how a Muggle relic from their religious practises related to a "tantalizing trinket".
"It's a film," Harry explained, "Monty Python?"
"Haven't seen it," Daphne shrugged.
"It always surprises me that you haven't seen many movies," Harry smiled, the look in his eyes warm, "you know so much about Muggle music, after all, I'd figured you're even better with pop culture than I am."
"Well, music and art are shared in both worlds," Daphne noted – not for the first time – that these kinds of explanations she often provided would have been significantly colder, more affronted, in the past, "Muggles are more creative in both those fields, yeah, but it's not like there's Wizarding Movies around that could have piqued my interest in their Muggle equivalents."
"I wonder," Harry began, then swallowed his words, his brow furrowing momentarily, "uh, I'm curious about something from your childhood, d'you mind if I ask? It's nothing serious."
"Go ahead," Daphne smiled, appreciating the moment of consideration.
"What did you learn about Muggles growing up, anyways?"
"Not a lot," Daphne admitted, "most of the culture I was exposed to was explicitly 'Noble' and 'Pureblooded' in nature, I can't really recall learning much about Muggle society other than the simple fact that most people don't have magic, and the magical and mundane worlds 'should be' kept separate. Music was an exception, apparently, I learned the classical Muggle composers alongside our own."
"Huh," Harry scratched at the back of his head, as she wondered what was making him nervous about this, "that's a bit surprising. I figured that your, uh, upbringing would have had more of the whole 'Muggles are inferior' bit, honestly."
"You know…" Daphne was struck by the realization herself, "that is surprising. I'd never really thought about it, but my father actually didn't get into those kinds of things. He's still a prejudiced bastard, of course, but he looked down on Muggleborns about the same as he looked down on Purebloods of so-called 'poor breeding', now that I remember."
"Well at least that's consistent," Harry chuckled.
"Can I ask why you ask?"
"Just a thought," Harry shrugged, "I definitely don't want to spoil the night by bringing up certain relatives, but it seemed a bit strange to me, considering how the 'prejudiced bastard' is riling up the old 'Pureblood Supremacy' types now."
Even after leaving his household, the spectre of her father's plots continued to linger around Daphne, a fact that she thoroughly resented. Not that she blamed Harry, of course.
"So, you ready?" he – thankfully – changed the topic.
"Of course, babe."
The pair donned their masks, and Daphne was impressed by the speed at which the enchantment took effect. She knew that she was at 12 Grimmauld Place, in the company of a man, so she understood that the figure across from her was probably the Lord of that manor, but a magical fog seemed to fall over her recollection of who, precisely, that might be.
"I'm Harry Potter-Black," the man – Harry, of course – spoke, and the disillusionment charms fell away, revealing her boyfriend once more.
"I'm Daphne Greengrass," she responded, and Harry quirked a grin at her as she must have similarly reappeared to him.
"That is a clever bit of magic," Harry whistled, impressed, "completely forgot who you were, once you put the mask on."
"Why, I half-expect you to start using this for Auror skulduggery," Daphne teased.
"I very well might," Harry leaned in to kiss her once more, "shall we?"
"Let's."
Harry apparated them in front of Cauldron, the "social club" where the pair was to meet their girlfriend. On the surface, the building was nondescript, even the signage much more subdued than was typical of Knockturn Alley, though Daphne supposed that may have helped it to stand out in a contradictory way.
Inside the front door, a man stood behind a desk, beside a second door just past the entryway.
"Welcome," the man – also wearing a disillusioning mask – spoke, "you have your memberships?"
"Invitations," Harry answered beside her, fishing in his jacket for a printed card. The man inspected the card, then nodded and tapped a hidden pattern behind the desk. Daphne continued to be impressed by this charm; while she could tell the man's general height and build, and had a sense that he was older than Harry and herself, his features seemed to be hidden just out of her focus.
"Your host will be seated at table number thirteen," the man explained, "enjoy."
The second door swung inwards, revealing an environment inside that seemed to fall somewhere between "high-end restaurant", "whisky bar", and, well…
"I can't believe Pansy invited us to meet her friends at a sex club," Harry grumbled beside her, as the duo navigated through tables and booths, seeking out the one marked with a thirteen.
"It's not a sex club," Daphne quoted their girlfriend, "it's a place for social gatherings, where privacy is appreciated."
"It's not not a sex club, is what you're saying," Harry chuckled, as they spotted the table they had been directed to, one which was ensconced in a corner booth.
There were five figures already seated at the table: two women, three men, all as indistinct and uncertain as was – apparently – to be expected at Cauldron. There were copious amounts of magical beverages scattered across the table, and the quintet were engaged in what seemed to be boisterous conversation, though Daphne couldn't make out the words.
As the pair approached the table, Harry cleared his throat hesitantly, before announcing their presence.
"We've got an invitation to table thirteen," he explained.
"I'm Pansy Parkinson," one of the women spoke, and their girlfriend's familiar shape clarified, "and these two are my guests tonight."
A bit over-ritualized, Daphne thought, I suspect that most of the guests here fall very much on the Pureblood side of society.
Taking their seats beside Pansy, Harry and Daphne shuffled in together, Daphne reaching to squeeze Harry's leg quickly in reassurance as they sat.
"Well, I've got to say," one of the male figures – tall, with a voice which left a vaguely urbane impression in Daphne's ears even while disguised - spoke, "I'm still impressed that someone managed to snag you, Pans. I suppose it makes sense that you decided to go for a set."
"You know me," Pansy chortled, apparently a couple drinks ahead of Daphne, "if I want something, I take it, yeah? Why limit myself to choosing one?"
"Naturally," the man spoke, before turning to face Harry and Daphne directly, "well, then. I'm Blaise Zabini."
Daphne wasn't exactly surprised as Blaise's features came into focus, but she supposed that the magic disguises were a necessity for him: anyone would recognize those eyebrows, Blaise.
"And I," the figure beside Blaise announced, "am Michel Delacour!"
Daphne felt Harry relax the slightest amount beside her as Blaise's own partner announced himself. Makes sense, she realized, we knew Blaise had a boyfriend, but not who he was, and Harry probably figures he'll be able to get along with Michel at the very least. Though maybe, she wondered, as she already planned to tease her boyfriend about it later, he's simply inspired by what "slutty" looks like on a man. The French blond, true to Pansy's recommendation, was wearing a mesh "shirt" which served to cover precisely none of his torso.
Which left the other two guests at the table: the woman was even more indistinct than the others who had been magically disguised, apparently average in height and build, her voice similarly "ordinary" behind the enchantment from what Daphne had caught. The man sitting beside her – presumably her boyfriend or husband, from how she clung to his arm – was not so ambiguous, leaving Daphne with a distinct impression of "bulk" even with a disillusionment charm in the way.
"Hmm," the woman spoke, "I seem to be at the disadvantage here, Pans. I was surprised enough when you mentioned you'd found yourself in a relationship, but two partners? How intriguing!"
"Variety is the spice of life, or something," Pansy quipped, raising her drink in a sarcastic cheer.
"Very, very intriguing," the woman continued, "will I recognize these two when they announce themselves?"
"Er," Harry answered, "yeah, I reckon you will."
"He's not Slytherin," the woman deduced, as Daphne felt Harry shrug beside her, "and he's speaking out of turn, which only makes this even more interesting. Are you well-known, Pansy's boy?"
"You could say that," Harry waved to a passing server, leaning past Daphne to order drinks for the pair.
She's trying to suss us out instead of just asking who we are, Daphne, in turn, took her own measure of the woman across the table, definitely from Slytherin from how she referred to it, likely around our age. Daphne hoped that whoever the yet-unrevealed pair was, that they weren't people who Harry would take particular exception to: Pansy had reassured him that Blaise would be here tonight, but had otherwise left the identities of her other friends hidden. Considering the history that Harry had with much of the Slytherin house, this did not fill Daphne with confidence.
"And what of you, Pansy's girl?" the woman continued her questions, "will I recognize you?"
"I quite expect so," Daphne replied, wincing at herself as she noticed her own clipped tone, "I also possess a certain… notoriety."
"Ah, she's either Slytherin, or else someone unpopular in our old house," the woman leaned back in her seat, and Daphne was sure that she was wearing a smug expression under the charm, "which makes this even more fascinating. Well done, Pansy."
"They're a pretty rare set to collect," Pansy smirked, knocking her knee into Daphne's under the table, "I think I've done rather well for myself, indeed."
"Hmm," the woman reached up to tap at her chin in thought, which Daphne could discern even if said chin remained vague, "around our age, if I gauge it right, which limits the options a bit. What do you think, pet?"
"Uh," the man spoke for the first time, "I dunno. I'm not good at this stuff."
There was something rather familiar about the voice, but Daphne couldn't bypass the disillusionment charm to remember who it belonged to. The dynamic that seemed to exist between the man and his presumed partner seemed uncomfortable to Daphne, but if it bothered either of them, then either they didn't show it or the charm also masked body language.
"No, you're not," the woman continued speaking, reinforcing Daphne's opinion, though she patted the man on his arm (which must be a large one, from how the woman seemed to wrap around it), "shall we make a wager?"
"Of what kind?" Pansy interjected, before Harry could make an objection.
"If I guess right, I get to make use of your pets for a night," Daphne could swear the woman was sneering at her, "and if I happen to be wrong, you get to make use of mine."
"Pansy…" Harry grumbled, his frustration evident.
"I'll handle it, hush," Pansy interrupted,
"I'm not a 'pet'," Harry continued to protest, before settling himself back down.
"No deal," Pansy rejected the wager, and took a slow sip of her drink before continuing, "they're not available in that way, nor do I want to make use of your 'pet'," the next words out of Pansy's mouth were garbled, the charm taking effect to obscure the man's identity, "sorry, ssshhhh."
"You're missing out," the woman kept issuing barbs, "he's rather obedient and well-trained. Very well. If you win, I'll advertise your shop officially, and if I win, you owe me a scoop."
Daphne thought she realized who the woman was, with this reveal, but the enchantment seemed to chase the name from her mind.
"Deal," Pansy reached across the table to shake the woman's hand.
"The way I see it," the woman somehow conveyed a sense of self-satisfaction, "they're both famous for something, and from how comfortable they seem with each other, I'm guessing that they're together too, not just both with you."
"Mm," Pansy frowned, "yes, you're not wrong so far."
"Even masked, I can tell that your girl is uncomfortable being here," the woman continued, "while the man? Oh, he's a dangerous one, isn't he? I can actually tell that he's getting mad at me, and that takes some power to get through these delightful little charms."
"I'm not uncomfortable being here," Daphne protested, "I just do not enjoy these sorts of games."
"Of course you don't," the woman slapped her hands down on the table, her voice raising as if making an announcement, "an intelligent, well-spoken, and prim woman, who's also dating a powerful, prideful, brooding sort of man? Celebrities of some sort, perhaps? Add in the way I feel that there's some history here, and the answer is obvious, but, frankly, I'm shocked."
The woman leaned forward conspiratorially.
"You're dating Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger!"
There was a moment of silence, before Pansy flung her head back, positively howling with laughter.
"Ha!" Pansy cried, her words continuing to be interrupted by outbursts of laughter, "I can't… you are so wrong! Not only did you miss your guess, you weren't even close!"
Not that far off, Daphne mused. Though she had to admit she was pleased to see the woman taken down a notch, the woman's assessment of her and Harry's personalities was uncomfortably accurate, with the description "prim", in particular, rankling Daphne.
"My sweet," Pansy continued to chuckle, pounding the table in mirth, "why don't you announce yourself first?"
Why don't I? Daphne thought, bringing her face into the most haughty, disdainful expression she could muster.
"I am Daphne Greengrass," she proclaimed.
"Fuck," the woman across the table muttered, "I was incredibly wrong!"
Pansy chose this moment to wave down a server, who quickly returned with an entire tray of shots in hand, two of which Pansy raised into the air.
"To ssshhhh being wrong for once!" Pansy proclaimed, before downing both of her shots in sequence. Daphne just wished that the woman had revealed her own identity, so that she could know precisely whose face she was rubbing this victory in.
"Right," the woman answered, as if prompted, "I'm Flora Carrow." Her features resolved into a woman of average height and build, with brown hair cut just above her shoulders. Pretty enough, Daphne thought, pettily, not exactly extraordinary.
One of the Carrow twins, Flora had - along with her sister, Hestia – been instrumental in helping to distract and otherwise reduce the harm that their Death Eater aunt and uncle had been able to cause at Hogwarts. Flora was known as the more "Slytherin" of the two, while Hestia had all but publicly renounced any association with her former house. Both sisters had wound up as different kinds of reporters following their graduation from Hogwarts: Hestia, from what Daphne could recall, reported on Quidditch, while Flora was one of the top writers who covered the Wizengamot.
Astoria used to be friends with you, Daphne recalled, I always did think you were mean. That said, I suppose being so sharp and observant is a necessary skill. If Pansy gets along with you, I guess I'll give you a chance.
"I'll even do you a favour," Flora continued, and Daphne had to admit that her tone was much more conversational now, "I won't speak a word of this to Hestia. Merlin knows she'd spread it around. So, then, Pansy's boy, who're you?"
Before Harry answered, Pansy interrupted.
"Oh, you'll know him," she bragged, luxuriating in her victory.
"Wait," Flora seemed taken aback, glancing at Pansy with a look of what seemed to be concern in her eyes, "he's not…"
The man beside Flora – still unidentified, Daphne realized – seemed to loom closer to the table, his sheer mass apparent even behind the enchanted mask.
"Marcus?" the man spoke, beginning to rise from his seat. There was something vaguely menacing about the action.
"No!" Pansy exclaimed, "no, no, fuck no. Never. My boyfriend's the exact opposite."
"Sit!" Flora's voice cut sharply through Pansy's uncharacteristic stammers, and the large man beside her immediately thudded back to his seat. I guess he really is her "pet", Daphne thought, confused by this development.
"Darling," Pansy interjected, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes, "announce yourself, please? I don't want any more assumptions being made."
"Er," if Harry was at all bothered by this odd outburst, it was impossible to tell. If anything, Daphne realized, he looks more relaxed than he did, "I'm Harry Potter-Black."
This announcement seemed to have the exact opposite effect on the man across the table: where he'd been – apparently – furious at the implication that Harry's identity could be "Marcus", his body language (that Daphne could make out) had immediately switched to being statue-still, and she was now left with the impression that the unknown man was terrified.
"You-you-you," the large man stuttered, before finding the word he was searching for: "unicorn."
Hmm?
"Are you okay, babe?" Flora's body language, too, had just taken a sharp turn, as she now turned to fuss at the man who she'd just yelled commands at as if he were a dog.
"Y-yeah," the man continued to stammer, "I, uh, I've got something to say. To, uh, Lord Potter-Black."
"I hope it's something to explain what this is all about," Harry drawled, casually sipping his glass of firewhisky, "because quite frankly I'm baffled."
"I thought you were someone else," the man muttered, as it seemed that he kept his gaze downwards, away from Harry, "but now that I know it's you, I've gotta say… I'm sorry."
"Uh," Harry quirked an eyebrow at the same time as Pansy did (adorable, Daphne thought), "for what, exactly?"
"Loads of things," the man grew quieter, as if he were speaking towards his own chest, "I've, uh, I've done my sentence, 'n Flora has really helped me stay out of trouble, I'm not like how I used to be."
Harry looked to Pansy, who rolled her eyes, then to Daphne, who shrugged. He's one of the Slytherin students who was sentenced to something after the Battle of Hogwarts, Daphne presumed, but whether it's due to the charm or I just don't recall, I don't know who Flora's boyfriend is.
"Okay?" Harry finally answered, non-committal.
"Oh, right, uh," the man grumbled something indistinct, as Flora reached out to rub his back, "I'm… I'm Gregory Goyle."
Ah, that makes sense.
Goyle was never going to be considered an "attractive" man, but the years after Hogwarts had at least been somewhat kind to him, his features now looking merely "rough" rather than "vaguely like a Troll". So too was his stature mostly unchanged; he was a large man, not fat in the way that he was as a teenager, but definitely not "brawny" in the way that someone like Neville Longbottom was. The most interesting thing about his appearance, really, was the thick leather collar he wore around his neck.
"Ah, right," Harry shrugged, "yeah, no worries, mate."
"No worries", he says, Daphne looked across the table to Pansy, whose bemused look of exasperation must have matched Daphne's own expression.
"Really?" Goyle did not seem to have considered this as a possible outcome.
"Yeah, s'all good," Harry reached his drink across the table, clinking his glass against Goyle's in a casual cheers, "I think the fact I'm dating Pansy fucking Parkinson should be proof that I'm well past all that old shite."
"And don't you forget you're so lucky to be," Pansy teased.
"Never," Harry chuckled, and, finally, the tense mood lifted from the table.
The rest of the evening turned out to be much more enjoyable, an environment that Daphne felt more and more comfortable in. Sure, Flora was sharp and had a talent for poking at Harry and Daphne alike to uncover bits of each of them, but the knowledge that she was doing so because she wanted to get to know Pansy's partners was enough to put Daphne's particularly frosty impulses at bay.
"Well, uh, I've always been the type to listen to other people, yeah?" Greg explained, answering a question that Harry had asked about how his and Flora's peculiar dynamic worked, "it turned out that it's, well, a bit of a thing of mine."
"Mine too," Flora grinned, reaching to ruffle the back of Greg's hair, "it's not for everyone as a lifestyle, but you saw Greg use his safeword earlier, so that's when we go back to being 'girlfriend and boyfriend' instead of 'Master and Pet'."
"Ahh," Michel observed, his French accent growing thicker as he continued to drink, "it is fun, to give power to another. What of you, 'arry, is Pansy as much la femme dominante as I think?"
"Oh, of course I'm in charge," Pansy drawled, as Harry stammered through a response, "but for us, well, we tend to trade off who's actually doing the dominating, yeah?"
"Magnifique, and so many options! " Michel replied, turning to Blaise with a needy expression on his face, "Blaise, ma flamme, it has been too long since we have indulged ourselves, non?"
"Well, we'll see what we can do," Blaise chuckled, his comfort with his own relationship still surprising Daphne, who'd only known him as a somewhat promiscuous type (to say the least), "perhaps we will find a boy at the club…"
Right, I forgot that's where Pansy drew inspiration from, Daphne recalled, I think that if the three of us ever wind up picking someone up together, I'd rather it not be some stranger at a club…
"Which reminds me," Flora interjected, unflustered by this frank discussion of sex lives, "we should get going soon, if we want to skip the line. Daphne, Harry, will the two of you be joining us?"
"Ah, not tonight," Daphne answered. Pansy had warned her and Harry ahead of time that she and her friends intended to go dancing to close out the evening, but The Asp (the closest thing to a nightclub that Knockturn had to offer) frowned on magical masks which concealed peoples' identities.
"Of course," Blaise nodded, "not quite 'public' with this relationship yet, I take it?"
"Not yet," Harry replied, as he and Daphne began to rise from the table, "one day, yeah, but for now it's something we're keeping to our close friends."
After a round of goodbyes, Pansy walked with them to the exit.
"Thank you," she murmured, pulling both of her partners into a hug, "that was… easier than I anticipated."
"It was fun," Harry kissed the top of Pansy's head, "just, uh, one question, really."
"Yeah?"
"Well," Harry licked his lips, "that part where Greg looked about ready to tear my head off, before he knew that I was, uh, me: what was that about?"
"Oh," Pansy's face fell a bit, before the gloomy expression vanished behind her typical defiant confidence, "you know how I've mentioned that I've dated some shitty men? Well, Marcus Flint was probably the shittiest."
"He didn't…" Daphne started to ask.
"No, he never hurt me like that," Pansy waved her hand, dismissing the topic, "nothing you need to hunt him down for, Auror Potter."
"Well," Harry smiled, pulling Pansy and Daphne tighter against himself, "good thing I'm not really an Auror, then. I'm just happy you're doing better now."
"You're both a substantial upgrade," Pansy teased, "unbelievably so, really."
"Look at you," Daphne kissed the side of her girlfriend's head, "being grateful, or something."
"Never," Pansy laughed, "anything else, you two?"
"I still can't believe you took us to a sex club for our date, but it's not off-brand," Harry joked, grinning.
"It's not a sex club," Pansy leaned up to kiss him, then craned her head to kiss Daphne in turn, "but it's not not a sex club, I suppose."
"That's exactly what this git said," Daphne murmured, the wry look that Harry and Pansy exchanged bringing warmth to her chest, "you two are impossible."
"You like it," Harry chuckled, and she had to admit that she did, "you coming over later, Pans?"
"Don't expect me tonight," Pansy replied, as the trio disengaged from their three-way embrace, "with the way that Michel loves to dance, I imagine we'll be out 'til sunrise. You think you can handle this brute, Daph?"
"Oh," Daphne smirked, "I've got lots of ideas. After all," she turned over her shoulder to wink at Pansy as her and Harry departed, "you did take us to a sex club tonight."
Pansy rolled her eyes, but grinned as she waved her partners off.
Harry
Altogether, he'd been surprised to find that it was meeting Pansy's friends which seemed to have gone most smoothly, although he might hesitantly admit that it was likely because Pansy's friends, by default, were already a fan of her particular quirks and habits.
While Harry was absolutely a fan of Pansy, he was just clever enough to realize that not everyone would be, and more than stubborn enough not to care about what other people thought about his relationship. Still, he recalled, half-expected her and Sue to drink themselves to death with that little shot-for-shot game they played.
It was true that Harry would never call himself the most observant person in a room, particularly when it came to noticing subtler aspects of socializing, but he could damn well pick up on it when it seemed like one of his friends might come to blows with his girlfriend.
"Hmm, mind fixing me a drink? I feel like a nightcap," Daphne, his other girlfriend (Harry still wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to trick the pair into dating him) asked, as she stretched languidly in the middle of his bedroom.
"Of course," Harry answered, after a slight delay taken to appreciate her figure. He'd never really had a proper "type" when it came to what kind of build or features he was most attracted to, and Harry supposed that this would continue to elude him: Daphne had perhaps the best arse he'd ever laid his eyes on, while Pansy's breasts were absolutely perfect, so between his two girlfriends, that age-old debate seemed to be perpetually unsettled in his mind.
Not that either are lacking in the other category, Harry smirked, as he walked to his lounge. Despite some of his fears about how this whole three-person relationship could work, he found that in practice, the trio simply fit together naturally, with no evidence that any of them had started to gravitate towards one of their partners to the exclusion of the other.
Sure, I wish Pansy was here too, he mused, as he poured a pair of gin cocktails, but it's more because I actually like being around her, not that Daph isn't enough or anything.
When he re-entered his bedroom, he was met by a surprising – if thoroughly enjoyable – sight: Daphne was sprawled on his bed, still wearing that absolutely delightful outfit from earlier, her hands… handcuffed to his headboard?
"I've been a bit bad," Daphne giggled, "sending you to fix drinks was just a trick to get you out of the room."
"Mm," Harry murmured, setting said distractions aside, "that so?"
"I thought," Daphne up at him, her eyes dark, "we might try something a little different tonight. These little trinkets," she rattled her restrained wrists, for emphasis, "are quite comfortable, really."
"Shame, though," he sat beside her, trailing one hand up her side as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other, "you are good with your hands, after all."
"Well, they're charmed to unlock if you tap them and say 'open'," Daphne explained, as she writhed gently in place, "but I'd rather keep them on for now, if that's okay with you?"
Harry leaned down to kiss her, rather than bothering to reply verbally. Of the differences between the two women, he thought, I guess the bedroom dynamic is one of them. While he wasn't sure if he'd call it his preference, per se, Harry was more than comfortable getting rough with Pansy, but the times he'd seen Daphne by herself had usually been on the more "vanilla" side of things.
Not that he was afraid of hurting her, really: Harry was fairly sure that both of his girlfriends were significantly stronger-willed than he was, and he had faith that they'd put a stop to anything that they didn't enjoy. He supposed that it was something like Pansy and Daphne each brought a different flavour to the cocktail that was their love life, in the first metaphor that sprang to his mind.
But if she's asking…
Harry adjusted his position while he and Daphne continued to kiss, pinning her underneath his body, in a way that his legs were straddled over her torso.
"What else did you have in mind?" Harry asked, pressing a kiss against the side of Daphne's neck.
"Well, that's the thing," she replied, her breath hitching, "you see, I'm awfully helpless right now, with my hands cuffed and all, so I imagine that you can do whatever you want to me."
Fuck, does she have a way with words. Daphne's habit of dirty-talking during sex was so much at odds with her precise, measured way of speaking the rest of the time, and the contradiction was one that drove both of her partners wild.
Harry grinned as he sat upright, pinning her hips to the bed under him, before he started to run his hands over her body. The outfit she was wearing had been catching his eye for hours now, and he fully intended to take his time in exploring its particular benefits.
"A little light petting is your fantasy?" Daphne teased, smirking up at him as he traced the edge of one of the cut-out panels, as if he didn't notice the way she squirmed when he ran his fingertip over her hipbone.
"Oh, were you presuming that I'd immediately start ravaging you?" Harry returned the teasing, tightening his grip on her hip until his fingers pressed into her flesh, "well… now that I know what you want…"
He silenced her noise of playful protest by leaning down to kiss her once again, pushing his tongue into her mouth, as his other hand flew to the top of her dress (barely even counts as a "dress"), gripping the fabric and yanking it down. Daphne gasped as her breasts were exposed, then made a soft, needy noise when his fingers instead started to travel between them, Harry's actions slow, measured.
Harry shuffled off of her, instead kneeling beside her, one hand continuing to stroke her chest while avoiding any particularly erogenous areas, the other going to rub at her thigh.
"I'm quite a fan of this look," he muttered, touching between different squares in her fishnet stockings, as if he were playing the world's most erotic game of tic-tac-toe, "maybe we'll find more occasions for you to dress up like this."
"I'm quite a fan of you wearing less clothes," Daphne grumbled, her leg twitching slightly under his ministrations.
"Well, I can't keep you waiting," Harry smirked at her look of feigned petulance, rolling off the bed to divest himself from his trousers, then returning to his previous stance, "there, better?"
"You're still not nake-mmff," Daphne's words were cut off when Harry pressed his still-clothed (much to her disdain, apparently) groin forward, shoving his half-hard member into her face.
That, apparently, she approved of; she began to mouth at his cock through his underwear, making a small noise of satisfaction as he started to stiffen between her lips.
Harry took advantage of her distracted state, shoving his hand underneath her hips, palming her (magnificent) arse roughly. After a moment where he determined that she had no objections to this kind of treatment, he pushed his hand further up her skirt, gripping the back of her stockings and underwear before pulling them halfway down, trapping her legs together with her own clothing.
When he slowly, delicately ran a single finger up the length of her pussy, he found that she was absolutely soaking.
"Why, I think you're enjoying this after all," Harry teased, punctuating his statement with a gentle thrust of his hips, smothering Daphne's response with his cock. Taking advantage of his kneeling position, he reached out to touch one side of the handcuffs binding her to his headboard, muttering "open" under his breath while he sent a spark of magic through his fingertip.
Harry reached down to grab Daphne before she realized her temporary release, flipping her over onto her front, before reattaching the handcuffs to his headboard, winding them around a pair of slats which would allow her hands to slide from the top of the board to the bottom without difficulty.
"Y'know what those are used for?" Harry asked, shifting behind her as she clambered to her knees, her hands gripped near the top of his headboard for leverage.
"What's that?" Daphne answered, her voice hitching.
"They put them on people who've done something bad," he muttered into her ear, pushing himself against her back, his still-covered cock pressing against her sex, "and if you've been bad…"
"Oh, I have been," she moaned, pushing back against him, "I'm quite sure I need to be punished."
Instead, Harry slowly worked down the back of her outfit, undoing clasps and loops of ribbon until the corset/dress/whatever fell away from her. He tossed it aside casually, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of his beautiful blonde girlfriend, bent over, her hips pushed tightly against his groin.
He brought his hand down sharply on her arse, hard enough to produce an audible slap, though nowhere near his full strength. Harry paused, leaning over her, waiting to hear if she made any complaint; instead, she just wiggled her hips against him.
Encouraged, he spanked her with his other hand, putting more force behind it, and the gasp that escaped her lips was definitely not a sound of protest or pain. With one of her arse cheeks in either hand, he hauled her against him, pushing against her hard enough that the length of his erection pressed between her pussy lips.
"You're definitely guilty," Harry felt his own voice come out hoarsely, "of being a tease. I've been looking at this arse all night, in that slutty little outfit of yours."
"Oh, were you?" Daphne's voice was much rougher than his, her lust actually audible, "and what are you going to do about that?"
He spanked her again in response, the sharp blow leaving just the faintest hint of redness behind, as he pulled his hips away from hers. Quickly, he shuffled his way free of his underwear, leaving him slightly more naked than she was, still bound in her half-off stockings.
With a final spank, he gripped her arse firmly, tilting her hips forwards as he pulled her cheeks apart, revealing her absolutely dripping sex. Not yet, he thought, as he set his sights somewhat higher. As slowly as he could, Harry ran his tongue against one of her cheeks, before dipping inwards, circling the rim of her arsehole.
He trailed one hand around her hip, his fingertips ghosting over her pussy, touching with just enough contact to make her shudder as he licked her incredible arse. When he brushed a fingertip against her clit, Daphne spasmed, her legs shaking and hips lifting even higher into the air.
She was wet enough that his finger encountered no resistance when he slid a digit inside her, only liquid heat, and Harry heard her groan in pleasure as he flattened his tongue against her arsehole, licking side-to-side as he slowly pumped his fingers.
"Fuck," Daphne moaned, "don't stop."
Harry, naturally, did exactly that. As he lifted himself up to a kneeling position behind her, she whined with need, trying to push herself backward against him, even before he'd lined his cock up against her entrance.
"What do you want?" Harry leaned forward against her, his manhood trapped between the globes of her arse, as he spoke directly into her ear once more.
"Fuck me," Daphne begged, "please!"
Bringing himself upright once again, Harry took a moment to appreciate the sight: in truth, Daphne's arse never failed to catch his eye, no matter what she was wearing, but "naked" was definitely his preferred type of clothing for her. He ran his fingertips slowly over the back of her hips, taking a moment to stroke the dimples on her back, before he gripped himself with one hand.
He tapped the head of his cock against her arsehole, making her shudder, before he pulled his hips back.
"I don't think you're quite ready for that," Harry teased, "we'll have to get Pansy to help break your arse in one of these nights."
Before Daphne could reply, he pushed forward, hard, sheathing his cock in her pussy in one vigorous thrust. She practically screamed as he did so, Harry not having time to give her more than a handful of hard pumps before she came around him.
Normally, he'd give her time to recover, as he knew that she was prone to overstimulation at times: tonight, however, he only increased the power of his thrusts, pounding into her without mercy as she began to yelp an incoherent stream of profanities.
By the point that he felt her cum a second time around his cock, her grip had failed her, Daphne's face practically planted into his bed as she collapsed under his vigorous pounding. He gripped her arse with both hands, pushing her hips into the bed to match her torso, straddling over top of her as he fucked her from her prone position.
Daphne's third orgasm, in rapid succession, was intense enough that the clenching of her sex pushed him loose of her entirely, the wet sensation around his member enough to tell Harry that he'd managed to make her squirt from sex alone.
Somewhat pridefully, he waved his hand towards her enchanted handcuffs, releasing her once more, as he turned her back onto her back, moving to crouch beside her face.
"Suck," he commanded, trying to put as much authority behind the words as he could.
Though he could tell she was still in a haze from her rapid-fire orgasms, Daphne's enthusiasm to meet his request more than made up for the deficit in her typical skill: she took him into her mouth quickly, sloppily, one of her now-freed hands stroking the length of his cock that she couldn't cover with her mouth alone.
It didn't take Harry much longer to catch up to her, as he wound his fingers through her blonde hair, groaning in pleasure as he came in her mouth. His climax didn't deter her at all: if anything, she started sucking harder, more intently, until he was forced to pull out of her mouth when his legs started to twitch.
"Mmm," Daphne muttered, lying on her back in a daze, as Harry flopped down beside her, "that was fucking great."
"Heh," Harry wasn't exactly more lucid than she was, "I agree. I'm glad you liked it."
"I'm glad you liked it," she murmured, rolling onto his chest to cuddle into him, "it's not so hard to do what you like, is it?"
"'spose not," Harry chuckled, kissing the top of her head.
Internally, he chastised himself to the slightest degree. Sure, he thought, it's not really that bad to take charge, but it's not like I'm complaining when I'm not… Harry knew that both his girlfriends had strongly hinted that they wanted him to be more assertive in sex, which he was happy to work on, but those scenarios which felt more like taking command still felt vaguely unsettling, for some reason.
I'll worry myself about my own stupid insecurities later, he decided, got better things to focus on right now.
He tilted Daphne's face up to his, kissing her gently, before the pair started to fall asleep.
"So, what's on your plate for today?" Daphne asked, brushing her hair in front of a mirror.
"Actually," Harry decided to float the offer, "I was going to meet with Hermione this afternoon, we've got some, uh, matters to discuss. No obligation or anything, but, er, you can come if you want?"
He didn't want to exactly spring this on her, but neither did Harry want to leave the offer un-made. While he was well aware that Daphne preferred to avoid the realm of politics, especially the matters centered around her father, the unfortunate reality was that he was obligated to start considering the role he could play in stopping her father's latest plot.
"Hmm," Daphne paused, pursuing her lips in thought, "I can't say it's what I would like to do… but I suppose I'll have to make myself useful eventually, hey?"
"You're already brilliant," Harry walked to her, closing his arms around her from behind, "I want to repeat, no pressure. I know it's a lot for you to deal with."
"I can't just avoid it forever," Daphne sighed, "I am somewhat of an expert on how Pureblood politics are handled, for better or worse."
"I'd be grateful for whatever you can help with," he kissed the side of her head, "but if it gets too much, just let me know."
"I will," she smiled in the mirror, and Harry pulled her a bit closer, "so… this afternoon, then?"
"Yeah?"
"So we've got about two hours to kill…"
She turned her head to kiss him, her tongue softly pressing into his mouth, as Harry's hands began to drift between her legs.
Later, at Hermione's flat, the pleasant memories of Daphne's legs wrapped around him were all that Harry could draw on to keep his thoughts anywhere near "optimistic".
"It's a lot to untangle," Hermione admitted, sipping a mug of tea, "but you see what he's pushing for, right?"
The byzantine document that Harry had just finished reading was only occasionally comprehensible to him: a bill, straight from the desk of Cyrus Greengrass himself, snidely titled as "Marriage Reform and Modernization". While Harry wasn't certain he'd managed to puzzle out all the ways that this proposal was prejudiced, biased, or just generally shite, he could still tell that certain aspects were targeted at either himself, or his allies.
"Surprisingly," Daphne jumped in to save him, "it's not as bad as I was expecting. Still horrible, of course, but there's parts of this that are almost something approaching progressive, for a Pureblood."
"I find that even more depressing," Hermione grumbled, "I knew that Purebloods were old-fashioned, but some of this… the Muggle world moved past some of these ideas a hundred years ago."
"You don't know the half of it," Daphne sighed, "the fact that they're actually acknowledging that marriages unaccompanied by a corresponding vow might be legitimate is, sadly, a step forwards for their lot."
"So this whole 'Duty of Lineage' section," Harry waved the document in the air for emphasis, "the part where Heads of House are obligated to marry by thirty, or lose their votes, that's a shot at me, right?"
"You and Susan," Daphne nodded, "I suppose Luna Lovegood, too, but there'd be some wiggle room with the 'Noble' part of the definition there."
"It complicates things even more than that," Hermione was clearly frustrated, "I mean, not to be presumptive or anything, but the way it's outlined, it'd make you Lord Parkinson if you wound up marrying Pansy, Harry."
"Yeah," Harry might be convinced to think of that possibility in another context, but not this one, "unless they'd vote against it, considering that they're trying to control all marriages of sitting Lords or Ladies, apparently." He pointed to another relevant section of the document, though he also realized that Hermione and Daphne were both smart enough to already know what he referred to.
"That's an odd bit," Daphne interjected, "while it's couched in very, very traditionalist language, I'd actually be shocked to see the Pureblood types vote in favour of that section. It's handing over a lot of control over their own affairs."
"Is there enough benefit in the other parts that it would be seen as a concession, or something?" Hermione asked, "I'm glad you're here, Daphne, because the cultural traditions involved here are out of my grasp entirely."
Harry didn't miss how Daphne perked up a bit at this recognition, and he smiled to himself seeing his girlfriend shine in this particular arena, even if it was one that he'd rather she not have to fight in.
"This is what's really puzzling me, honestly," Daphne answered, "this whole thing is clearly in my father's hand, but the different sections… they're all over the map, politically speaking. The section permitting divorce is oddly forward-thinking, and yet there's other provisions which might as well be from two centuries ago by the measure of the magical world."
"Distraction?" Harry grumbled, then continued to explain when the two women just looked at him with evident confusion, "are there parts of that he's just putting out there so that our side can argue against them, while he's sneaking the parts he actually wants passed through in other sections?"
"That's…" Hermione started, before stopping to think.
"Why, awfully Slytherin of you, Harry," Daphne teased, "not a bad thought, though. How many votes do the traditionalists have right now, Hermione?"
"A slim majority," Hermione frowned, "it's not ironclad, as some of the factions closer to neutral will vote against them, but, well, we'd counted your father in that number before all this."
What're you playing at, Cyrus? Harry wondered, not that I think highly of you, but some parts of this seem a bit mean-spirited even for the most Pureblood-y Pureblood lot.
"Who're some of the other notable voices?" Daphne had a gleam in her eye, as much as she hated this world, she was clearly still very effective in navigating it.
"Burke, Flint, and Yaxley," Hermione answered, the names clearly ones she was all-too-familiar with.
"Not surprising," Daphne sipped her own tea, as Harry pondered whether beating the piss out of Marcus Flint might serve as a two-for-one deal, "that's pretty much the worst of the worst. I'll admit, even for me… I'm surprised to see my father aligning with such figures."
"They were behaving themselves after the war," Hermione shrugged, "and now that it's finally starting to fade from mind, they're up to their same old tricks."
Harry felt as if he was missing something, so he decided to risk looking foolish by just asking what he was curious about: "So what's our next move, then?"
"Well… that depends," Hermione explained, "there's a few stages of readings and revisions before this bill would go to a vote, and then that depends on how we feel about the vote itself."
"In the immediate future," Daphne interjected, "I hate to say it, but, well… I'm afraid you'll want to make yourself a more public figure, Harry."
"I was afraid of that," Harry grumbled, though he quirked a grin at Daphne's look of sympathy, "it's not so bad, really. What's that entail? Shake down a few old traditionalists? Crack some skulls?"
"Not like that, Harry," Hermione scolded him, "more to try and convince anyone sitting on the fence to fall in line with our side."
"Oh, I'm quite in favour of your idea," Daphne smirked, "should you get the chance, then yes, putting the fear of Harry Potter into some of the more cowardly types might well work. Humphrey Burke might well piss himself if you drew a wand on him."
"We should win this the right way," Hermione insisted, "by democratic vote, not by… that. Don't get me wrong, I won't stand in your way, but we shouldn't plan on Harry simply dismantling their faction by force."
Why not? Harry mused to himself, "sic Harry Potter on them" seemed to work well enough for Dumbledore, after all.
"Well, the next stage of battle, as it were, is obvious," Daphne seemed particularly pleased with herself in this moment, "the Ministry's Winter Solstice Gala. It will be a 'who's who' of the so-called 'Noble' houses."
"That so?" Harry smirked, "well, I've got a ticket, so now I just need to plan my entrance, I suppose."
"Oh, we can help with that," Daphne's grin was vicious, and Harry knew that she meant Pansy as part of the "we" being referred to.
He could hardly wait.
From the desk of Lord Cyrus Greengrass
Proposed Bill of Marriage Reform and Modernization
In this bill "marriage" shall be defined as any of the following:
Magical Marriage – a matrimonial bond established by a Magical Vow sworn between a Wizard and Witch, who are each the age of majority (as defined in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery [DRRUS, 1875), witnessed by at least two adults of sound mind;
Marriage before the Ministry – a legal oath sworn before and accepted as valid by the Ministry of Magic, establishing a state of matrimony between a man and a woman, who are each the age of the majority (DRRUS, 1875);
Marriage by Petition - any bond of matrimony which is accepted as valid by the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) may be brought before the Ministry of Magic to be officially recognized within the authority of Magical Britain, so long as it is not found in violation of any restrictions outlined in Section 2.1 of this bill. Or;
Marriage by Contract – a formal agreement between two Houses (as defined by the Wizengamot Founding Statement, 1621, see Section 3 for further definitions) to establish a matrimonial bond between two members of these Houses - a man and woman of the age of the majority – sworn to by the affected members and witnessed by the relevant Heads of House(s). This may (but is not required to) include a Magical Vow as in the aforementioned case of Magical Marriage.
Restrictions and Limitations
The following conditions may, barring exceptional circumstances, render a marriage illegal and result in immediate dissolution, on penalty of up to no more than five years imprisonment:
Bigamy – if one of the parties is currently married to a third party, the marriage shall be considered invalid. The following exceptions apply:
Lordship of multiple Houses – should this situation arise, a Lord of more than one house is permitted (and may be obligated) to seek an appropriate wife for each of his lines.
In rare cases, and by the discretion of the Wizengamot, multiple marriages established in other countries (and viewed as valid by the ICW) may be recognized within Magical Britain.
Marriage by Compulsion – if one of the parties was found to be under the influence of any recognized charms, compulsions, curses, potions, or other deleterious effects which would cause this party to have been of unsound mind at the time of marriage.
Contract by Proxy – the known practice where Heads of Houses create Marriage Contracts between subordinate members of their Houses, whether living or yet to be born (e.g. "a son of House One shall marry a daughter of House Two, once both have reached marriageable age") shall not be rendered valid unless both individuals this contract applies to, at their age of majority, agree to swear to the contract as defined under "Marriage by Contract".
Marriage as Trade – while no restrictions are placed on any marriage which is accompanied by traditional gifts, dowries, or trades, if the Wizengamot comes to find sufficient reason to believe that any marriage was performed for the sole intent of material gain, as evidenced by factors including but not limited to: lack of cohabitation; evidence of known and accepted infidelity from either or both parties; stated intent that the production of Heirs will not be pursued, then the marriage may be rendered invalid at the discretion of the Wizengamot
Line Transfer by Widowhood – if a Witch obtains the Ladyship of her House-by-marriage due to the death of her Lord Husband, the Lady Widow shall not remarry unless any of the following conditions apply:
Her previous marriage produced a male Heir of legal age who will assume Lordship of the House;
Her second husband is a member of the same House as she married into, and an Heir is produced from the marriage in no less than five (5) years from its inception;
She surrenders the membership via affinity in her current House (which will pass to the next Heir in line), instead joining the House(s) of her second husband, or;
There are no surviving male members of her House, at which point her second husband will be recognized as the Lord of that House, in addition to any House(s) of his own.
Heads of House Requirements
Those who are the active Lord or Lady of a Noble House (recognized by the Wizengamot) shall be subject to additional restrictions and requirements in the marriages they pursue, should they wish to continue enjoying the privileges of their position.
Duty of Lineage – the Lord or Lady of a House is required to undertake reasonable efforts to ensure the continuation of their House, including (but not limited to) entering a marriage for the purpose of producing an Heir.
Should any Lord or Lady be the last member of their House, they are required to marry no later than the age of thirty (30) years, and to produce an Heir by the age of forty (40) years. If these conditions are not met, the Lord or Lady shall be presumed to be delinquent in their duty, and shall be stripped of their vote(s) in the Wizengamot unless there is reasonable evidence that the production of an Heir is being actively pursued.
Duty of Propriety – any marriage pursued by a sitting Lord or Lady must be approved by majority vote of the Wizengamot, as to prevent any of the Restrictions and Limitations outlined in Section 2 of this Bill from negatively impacting the stature of their House, or any other form of unsuitable match that would reflect poorly upon the nobility of their House.
Duty as Liege – a Witch who is either the sole heir of her House, or active Lady of her House via inheritance, shall pass Lordship of this House (and all associated powers and privileges) to her husband upon marriage, unless any of the following conditions apply:
Her husband is not Heir to his own House, and has sworn to abdicate his place in the lines of inheritance of that House;
Her husband is not a member of a Noble House, at which point the Lordship shall pass to the next suitable Heir of her House, or if none exists, shall be deferred to the next suitable male Heir of that line, or;
The Lady is the last surviving member of her House, and both parties agree to consolidate their Houses into a new line, which will preserve the individual rights of both the Lady and her husband, while ensuring that any Heirs produced will instead be afforded the combined rights, responsibilities, powers, and privileges which are appropriate to the status of this new lineage.
Divorce
"Divorce" shall be defined as the termination of a matrimonial bond while both man and wife survive. This shall be awarded at the discretion of the Wizengamot, with consideration for successful petition including (but not limited to):
Infidelity on the part of either party;
Suspected infertility, where the pursuit of producing Heirs has been unsuccessful despite the best efforts of both parties;
Derangement, degeneracy, disappearance, or life imprisonment of either party;
Abandonment of matrimonial life by either party, or;
Unreasonable and excessive cruelty on the part of either party.
The Wizengamot shall not be responsible for any prices paid or burdens afflicted due to either party becoming forsworn from a previously-sworn Magical Vow, though these factors may be considered in the decision to grant or forbid any individual divorce.
The Wizengamot shall not be responsible for negotiation or renegotiation of any aspect of a Marriage Contract, but will generally hold that in the event of divorce, any powers or privileges granted to either member as a result of their past marriage shall be revoked.
Any Heirs produced as a result of the marriage shall be considered to remain within the lines of succession for any relevant House(s) from each of their parents, up until such a time where these Heir(s) may be required to abdicate one (or more) of these lines, if remaining in this line of succession would cause them to violate any of the above restrictions in this bill.