Thrall
"Well? What took you so long?" said Mrs. Granger, "You stopped in an extra shop or two?"
"No," said Hermione, "Harry just … didn't execute his parent's betrayer."
Mrs. Granger stared at him. Again Harry became aware just how badly he was shaking.
"Come again?"
"I just held power, legal power over a man's entire future," said Harry, "and I didn't crush him. I need to eat something and go home and sleep."
"Of course," said Mrs. Granger, "how far can you walk?"
Harry shrugged, "walking isn't the problem, when I get home I imagine I'm going to be jump-roping until I can't stand, to make sure I sleep."
"Oh, that kind of adrenalin," said Mrs. Granger, "Do you want leaky cauldron food or something else?"
Harry shrugged, "That's fine."
Mind protection books, thought Nim, this way.
Oh, alright. Harry sighed.
.
Two bowls of soup later, Harry had stopped shaking. Meanwhile Hermione and her mom had devoured a huge plate of bread and bean-dip.
They said goodbye to Aurors Jameson and Torner and got into Mrs. Granger's car. She drove Harry and Nim all the way to Surrey, which Hermione tried to complain was an hour out of their way. But Mrs. Granger said would only add only half an hour to their trip home, 'because of hypotenuses', whatever that meant.
Harry realised he'd been asleep when they turned off the highway. By the time they pulled up before 4 Privet Drive, He was awake enough to thank Mrs. Granger for the ride, wave to Hermione and thank her for her help, and go inside.
"Well?" said Aunt Petunia.
"Peter Pettigrew is now a free man, but he'll lose his magic if he ever uses magic on another muggle."
Aunt Petunia raised an eyebrow, "Who the hell is Peter Pettigrew?"
"The man who the bad guys tortured and enchanted and who knows what all, to find out where my parents were hiding."
She went white, "And what does that have to do with you?"
"He … demanded I judge him instead of the ministry. I wanted to kill him, but … but he was telling the truth that he didn't mean to tell. So I had to punish him for the other things instead of for that."
"What's he doing now?"
"Going to pay his fine for one kind of magic he used, going to get himself un-enchanted, hopefully, I should have waited on part of his sentence based on that, but … I wanted it to be over."
"Live and learn?" said Aunt Petunia.
"And study a lot," said Harry, "I … I'm going to bed."
Come on, Nim.
Lord and Master.
.
Harry fed her two treats, though he let her beg for the second one. They curled up on Harry's bed for a long snuggle without benefit of book or pillow.
Master?
What?
What's wrong?
It's been a hard day.
Yes. Good Master was a good lord.
Harry sighed. And reached off the bed to get her another cat treat.
Good Master?
What?
What's this treat-to-little-Nim for?
Because … just eat it slow, alright?"
Savouring treat, not gobbling treat?
Yes, that.
She savoured.
Why a savouring treat? Why a savouring snuggle instead of a nap?
Harry sighed again.
The hard thing is done, Master should sleep, not be nervous and sad.
Harry took a deep breath. How does little Nim know about thrall marks?
Little Nim had one.
Does Little Nim still have one.
A thrall never grows up. Only gets lost or sold. Good Master has us now.
Show me.
In the morning Master, please sleep.
I already know, show me so that I can relax and sleep.
Nim is sorry.
Harry gritted his teeth, Nim will obey her master.
Nim jumped down from the bed walked to the edge of the room, the long wall with neither window nor bed nor picture, and became human. The human stood facing the wall with hands open, and far enough from hips to be clear that they were open and empty. Even though there were wand holsters of a familiar style on each forearm.
Stringy black hair hung from head to belt. A belt held closed a tee-shirt that had long ago been Dudley's, which had been worn out by Harry's use and Nim's claws, back before he'd got the shoulder pads and bought shirts that fit, and kept only two of Dudley's for night shirts.
She must have saved this one from the trash and sliced the sides open to make a tunic, then added a belt and belt knife. No money pouch.
Below the belt she wore stockings and dragon-hide duelling boots.
Harry stood up and walked behind her.
She didn't flinch or falter, just stood still and breathed.
"Please turn around," said Harry.
She did, he caught sight of the thing he hoped not to see. Not just that the wand holsters had wands, but that her left forearm had a green and black tattoo.
Harry took her hand and turned the palm up so he could study the tattoo. It wasn't a skull and a snake.
It was omega, sowilow, and theta … or maybe a Latin O with an infix hagall, none of that made sense. And then it did, he'd seen it before.
"Do you know what it is?" said Harry and glanced up into her eyes.
"No," said Bellatrix Lestrange, "Only that it changed, and I'm yours now."
Harry lifted her arm so her palm faced herself, and held it so her wrist was above her head and the not-a-theta was between his right eye and her left eye.
"It is the eye and ear of your master," said Harry, "when I am in lion form."
Her eyes stopped being the lifeless and hopeless glass that they had seemed since she'd understood the extra cat treats.
"You are the eyes and ears of your master," said Harry, "Bellatrix Lestrange."
She shook her head, "Harry's Bellatrix," she shook her head, "or Harry's Nim. Aliases include Bellatrix Lestrange."
"And that you keep an eye and an ear on me," she said, her eyes were now wide and hopeful. As was the ambience of the link to her mind.
Harry sighed, "Now what?"
Bellatrix shrugged, "My Lord promised to sleep."
"That's not what I meant," said Harry, "Now that I know which of many many possible death eaters you are—"
"Ex-death eater," said Bellatrix.
"That's not what I meant," said Harry.
"It is what I mean," said Bellatrix.
"I can't try you for conspiracy."
"But you can accidentally exonerate me the same way. If you ask the questions right."
"Hmm," said Harry, "I think I know what you're saying."
"Lord Potter," said Bellatrix, "your humble thrall begs the Mercy of the House of Potter."
"Is that really the easiest way to accomplish anything?"
"I have no idea, but it gives you two years to report me to the ministry without them being able to come down on you for accessory after the fact in my escape from Azkaban."
"Damn," said Harry, "Cunning."
Bellatrix smiled under the praise.
"Now can you relax and put the rest off until morning?"
Harry sighed, "I have heard you make the request and will consider whether I can answer your plea."
"Thank you my lord."
"It's a hell of a conflict of interest though isn't it?"
"No one turns down a case for conflict of interest, those are the most rewarding cases. They only turn them down if they know the Wizengamot will use 'conflict of interest' as an excuse to overturn the results."
"Oh, is that how it works," said Harry.
Bellatrix smiled.
Harry took a deep breath and took a step back to scoot onto his bed.
Bellatrix moved after him but stopped at the edge.
"What is it?" they both said.
"Nim wishes My Lord would relax, rest, and become again the Lord she follows, but she is no longer able to plot a likely path of actions to achieve that."
"Hmm," said Harry, "What do you want?"
"Tell me why you're no longer nervous but still much more awkward than we were this morning, and what Little Nim can do to help."
"Would you mind promising on your magic to protect me and mine, and not act to harm me or mine?"
"Until you release me," said Bellatrix, and held up her left wrist and pointed to it with her right hand. "That's what this means, I already promised that and to obey you, and I promised it so hard that it changed my soul."
"Could you kill me or torture me or imperious me in my sleep?"
"Only if you ordered me to, and meant it, and … weren't to my knowledge under imperious."
"Ah, fine," said Harry, "Can you act against my relatives?"
"I am under the impression that you'd rather I didn't," said Bellatrix, "Though I'm not entirely sure why. I think very very subtle or very very overt is most suitable to their case. Half measures won't work properly, someone's already gotten to them, and explained something, possibly very poorly."
"Probably whatever professor invited Mom to Hogwarts explained very badly, and 10 years later Aunt Petunia, full of envy and spite explained even more poorly to Uncle Vernon, who another 10 years later is now paranoid that the mere mention of magic might set off the obliviator squad on all his neighbours and business associates, perhaps even family."
"And you've let him stew rather than explain?"
"I was punished several times for the mere mention of magic. How do you think would be best to explain?"
"By owl," said Bellatrix, "perhaps as a cover letter in a package that contains the appropriate law book."
"Oh," said Harry, "Good point."
"You asked if I could act against your relatives: without explicit orders one way or another, I cannot, except in a case of defending you from them."
"Let's make sure that's not necessary," said Harry.
Bellatrix nodded.
"What else can I say to help you remember that Nim is your very very surrendered dangerous wild beast."
Harry shrugged, "Turn into her for a minute? Remind my eyes what they saw earlier?"
"I am her … turn small?"
Harry smiled.
Bellatrix leaned forward and sank into cat form and onto the bed in one motion.
"Still wonder where your wands and knife go when you do that?"
It is an advanced technique, but not that different from the beginner version of the transformation. The clothes and dragon-hide don't bother you?
Cotton and leather are biological materials, the knife not so much.
But the wands are biological materials also.
Dead wood vs dead cotton, similar enough. So, just the belt buckle then, and the knife.
Yes, is more difficult. Might require the version that can be done wand-less.
How is that different?
Might require spending in excess of nine months in your animal form. At which point it is also accepted wisdom that to be poisoned one must be dosed with enough poison to affect both forms.
Interesting.
Harry shrugged and lay back. Bellatrix curled up too, but not against him. About how she did when she was waiting for him to sleep, but intended to leave later to go hunt.
After a few more seconds he understood that he was not relaxing toward sleep. And within a second more the weight on the other side of the bed shifted and he knew Bellatrix was Bellatrix shaped again.
He sat up, "What now?" he said.
"You should rape me, or send me to sleep in the shed."
"That is not what I expected you to say," said Harry.
Bellatrix shrugged, "It would relax you, and it's accepted wisdom that an unmarried Lord your age with authority over a thrall of his preferred gender, will either rape it regularly or will assign it quarters far enough away to give him privacy."
"You think I should masturbate."
Bellatrix sighed, "that word means 'to rape by hand' and I don't like it, the muggle term 'playing with yourself' is significantly better, though I think the pureblood tradition has a better phrase: embracing yourself."
"That makes me think of how I hunch my shoulders and cross my arms when I'm cold, not the other."
"Whatever," said Bellatrix.
"What else does pureblood tradition tell us?"
"That two virgins in one bed is one too many."
"Huh?"
"It doesn't mean no bundling, it means when it is time to learn, it is better to learn from someone with experience."
"Fair enough."
Silence.
"If you're trying to seduce me you're doing a rather poor job."
"I am old enough to be your grandmother … well … at least if I had a teen pregnancy and my child also conceived you as a teen."
"So you're experienced?"
"Very experienced," said Bellatrix, "The Selwyn twins trained me, and I trained my sisters, and tutored one of the Lovegoods too, not the one that survived, sadly."
Regular slut?
"Certainly not," said Bellatrix, "While I was married I never touched anyone my husband did not know about. And I never bore a child that was not either in wedlock or contracted to be bred."
"Um," said Harry, "To clarify: pureblood society doesn't consider … err that insult to be about sex, but about conception?"
"Huh?" said Bellatrix, "Oh, yes. Technically about a conception that ripens far enough to attract a soul, something that can happen anywhere from one month to eighteen months after conception, though two to eight months is most common."
"What?"
"I remember listening to my mother negotiating with Father and Narcissa about what name would be acceptable to all three. She was seven months pregnant at the time. When Father finally lost his temper and named her Narcissa, she had something of a tantrum of helplessness right back until Mother told her what the name meant, then she accepted it. Andromeda was much more straightforward as I remember, but perhaps I was just oblivious about it at the time."
"I think we've gotten off topic."
"You want to back up to: if we're both horny, why I'm not seducing you?"
"Yes."
"Because I am old enough that it would be illegal for me to attempt to manipulate you in that way. I strongly recommend you get training, and I put myself forward as a possible tutor, and as body of sufficiently low status for you to use as an outlet until you attain that training, or for whenever you feel like for that matter. But to imply my horniness is your problem simply would not do."
That wasn't the way little Nim thought about going into heat, but perhaps … different body, different instincts.
"But me raping you is fine?"
"I am your thrall, I don't understand why you haven't already. Also I'm a fugitive convict, there is simply no way I could get redress against you."
"If instead of trying to rape you, I tried to seduce you, would it even work?"
"Not if you go about it like that, but yes, there's a good chance."
Harry realised what he was deciding, but also didn't want to think about it, he wanted to not think about it, in fact he wanted to use not thinking about it, as a refuge to not think about the other much more terrifying thing. "What would happen if I ordered you to seduce me?"
The reflected echo of emotion from Nim's mind flashed from one kind of excitement and desire to a very very different desire and excitement.
"I would obey," said Bellatrix, the tone of a soldier, the duty bound and the blood-lust of battle.
What did I just awaken? Maybe I don't want to step into that puddle before I get my feet wet in shallower ones.
Harry sat up the rest of the way and stared down at her prone form. She sat up too, though her position more nearly resembled a kneel.
"Bellatrix," said Harry, "Just to be formal and explicit, I request that training, and occlumency training, and whatever is left for animagus training, and everything else I need to be a proper Lord, powerful enough to protect my friends and thrall."
Her eyes flashed, "Your Bellatrix hears you My Lord."
She drew her wand, "Crucio."
The light flashed and impacted his chest.
...-...
The Bed
Harry opened one eye, then the other, a trail of sparks still connected her wand with his chest. She was smiling lazily.
"Was that supposed to do something?"
"You have to mean it," said Bellatrix, "and I'm a master at this spell. It is doing exactly what I mean it to do." She put her wand back in its holster, held it for several seconds, then let go. Apparently she could keep the spell up with contact from her left forearm just as well as from her right hand.
"Are you sure?" said Harry.
She leaned forward then glanced inward and through his mind and back and their eyes met. "Yes, it is doing as I intended."
She unbuckled her belt and pulled off her tunic. She wasn't wearing anything under it.
"What would you like to do first?" she said.
Harry looked her over. "Um, brush your hair, actually."
The emotion from Nim flashed surprise and intrigued interest. Though her face only reflected calm eager acceptance, she darted to the dresser and returned with his brush, then turned away and sat on the edge of the bed.
He reached for it, but she pulled it slightly back, "First dress for bed, except leave off your shirt."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said.
"Don't call me that," she said, "it is your thrall, call it 'mine' or leave off titles."
"Ah," said Harry.
"Although, when nothing else feels appropriate you may call me 'tutor' or 'professor'."
"That would be a different kind of weird," said Harry.
Harry stripped down to boxers and put his clothes away, mostly into the laundry.
He returned to the bed and began brushing her hair.
It took him almost no time to notice the difference. When he pulled her hair by accident he felt it on his own scalp. He started to be more careful, and then he realised, though he could sense the intermittent flickers of affection from Nim's window in his mind. In his own skin and nerves he felt something different.
He repositioned the brush and his fists around it and yanked. She didn't twitch, but his groin did.
Or maybe it was not his groin.
"You like pain?" he said.
"Yes," she said.
"You really like pain a lot," he said.
"Yes, my lord," she said.
"The spell is transferring your pain to me."
"Copying, not giving," she said.
"Good," he said, "I wouldn't want to deprive you, I guess."
She giggled. Or did that qualify as a cackle?
"Why is it … how is it copying the rest?"
"Tracy Davis had an interesting theory that humour is a mild form of surprise or anger or relief? And tickle is the physical aspect of that, surprise, confusion, resolution, and relief."
"Yes."
"I say that an itch is a mild form of pain."
"Perhaps, And that lets it be copied by the cruciatus."
"Very good, my lord."
.
It took him over two hundred strokes to get all the snarls and twists out of her hair, and a few dozen more to get it all into a nice long braid. And all that time every tug of hair and every prick of bush bristles and many tiny caresses of her shoulders and sides and back and breasts accumulated as an insistent itch between her legs, and she refused to touch it, saying only that he could relieve it when he was ready.
Needless to say his groin ached with how hard he was tenting his boxers before he finished the braid he'd set out to create. It wasn't that it had to be braided, in fact he had a good idea that she'd rather it wasn't, because there was more chance of it to be caught or trod on or used to handle and hurt her, if it were not braided.
But he'd set out to brush and braid, and she'd set out to not relieve her itch, but to let him do so, and if she wouldn't give in, then he wouldn't either.
When it was tied off he sat back, "Alright Bellatrix, I'm done, come here."
The flash from the link was not refusal, just polite immobility.
What was she playing at? What did she want?
He grasped her braid and pulled gently. No more twitch than he expected. In fact the braid as a whole anchored better and spread the force so well that he felt no pain in his own scalp. So … he could probably yank her around by it, and she'd lose less hair and feel less pain than what was already represented in the bristles of his hairbrush.
Nim, you're obviously in heat again, come here already,
She glanced over her shoulder in a very catlike way, which gave her a pain in the neck she did not in fact appreciate. Then remembering her shape she climbed up onto the bed and stayed in an downward arch, as if to crawl away.
Harry wasn't at all enthused by the boots in bed, but somehow they made her calves as-a-human look more like her calves as-a-cat, and he wasn't ready to deal with that question and it's deeper meanings if it had any.
"Back or front?" he said and had the weird dizziness of realising that she understood his thought but interpreted something very different from his words.
"What did you mean to ask?" she said.
"Which of us do you want to be laying on our back, and which on our front?"
"Good," she said, "so you're aware of those two positions."
"There are more?"
"Yes, one or the other on the edge of the bed, again on back or front. And the other kneeling between their legs. Both standing up, both standing up with one leaning back against the wall, both standing up but me leaning forward over a bed or table."
"Like cats?"
"Yes, or 'like cats' might be me kneeling on the edge of the bed and you behind and coming up under."
Harry nodded. That mirrored how she'd usually been positioned on his lap when he'd pleased her with a finger.
"There are several others, you sitting and me sitting in your lap several different directions."
"That's a lot," said Harry.
"There are more, but many are obvious nuances on those."
"Which is your favourite?"
She shook her head, "I'm not telling, you'll have to try them all to figure it out, or search through my memories for yourself."
This could get long and tedious. Or long and very interesting.
He shrugged, "alright but which would you like me to try first?"
"Not a standing one," she said, "those are a bit trickier, probably a laying down one, or one of the simpler sitting ones."
Harry nodded, "what else?"
"I think you'll learn best and fastest if the first several are those where I am mostly still and you are the one moving."
"Alright," said Harry.
"And I'm not saying that because I like to be passive, because that's not me at all, it's because you'll be able to understand what you're doing and feel what effect it's having."
"I understand," said Harry, "get on your back then."
"Make me?" she questioned.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, she was lighter than he expected, but still much much heavier than Nim, and between the two he got her moving in his direction then lost control and they crashed down with him on his back, he fixed his legs and the rolled over on top of her. He pushed off his boxers, and realised that her breast was very soft against his cheek. Also that while he didn't seem to be hurting her there, it did have a distinct effect on what she was wanting.
He rubbed against her and tried to push in where the itch seemed most responsive, but she laughed at him and spread her legs.
"Merlin," she snickered, "you know less than I thought."
Huh?
Nim apologises to young master, she thought he knew the shape of a woman already.
Maybe I do, maybe I don't, maybe a human is just a lot bigger than a cat.
Probably all three, Bellatrix grasped his hand and moved it to his mouth, Nim promised to be a Good Tutor, now she knows where Master actually needs tutoring. Start with licking all your fingers.
Harry's eyes widened.
"The most sensitive part is more sensitive than an eyeball," she said, "I might be into pain, but not into lasting damage. Letting you touch me with dry fingers is right out."
Harry started to lick his fingers. She rolled her eyes, then took his other hand and started just plain sucking on it. Not like a straw, to pull moisture away from, but like a lollipop she wished would melt faster, bringing more of her saliva towards.
Sopping wet then, OK.
He changed tactics to copy her.
He noticed that she was trying to remain silent, and speak only in his mind.
(She might have an incorrect idea about how uncomfortable I was about her as Bellatrix vs as Nim. I don't really mind. She was already deadly enough to kill me in my sleep, now perhaps I know she can also kill me while I'm awake. But if she won't then she won't. I think which route she chooses to communicate is a smaller factor in my worry than just the not knowing of earlier. Nice of her to go through the trouble to put me at ease, though. Or is it more about what she's grown used to over the last year, perhaps longer than that.)
"Did you say something?" she said, "you didn't put it in to pictures or sounds well enough for it to get to me."
"A not important wonder," said Harry, "I'll explain it later."
When our mouths aren't busy, she agreed.
After both his hands and much of hers were sopping, she moved on with the lesson, by taking his hand again and moving his fingers to her bottom, and around to give him a tour.
Here is the central itchy spot, yes? Here are other itchy bits, yes? Even farther down is the palace for master to rub the itch off himself.
Oh. That doesn't seem properly centralised at all.
On the one hand, What makes you think centralised would be a benefit? A lot of people start at the toes and work up or at the cheeks and work down. You started at my hair and perhaps have unexplored instincts to work down? On the other hand, the answer to the question you didn't ask: Yes, it does take practice, there are many ways, some like to use fingers or wrists as well as your itcher. Some like to not slide in as far, which can tilt and lever the itchiest part of yours down against the back, and the itchiest part of mine up against your stomach. She sent an image to help that one make sense. Some like taking turns with hands or tongues instead of bottoms together at all. Some like—
I think I liked the sound of the one before last.
.
He got part way in, and then lowered himself feeling for the torque on his member and the press of his stomach on hers and then he tried sliding in and out. Not the way instinct and hand practice suggested, but to explore what seemed to do the best at manipulating the itch that he knew was not his own. Not that those motions didn't manipulate his own itching just fine.
He adjusted to the motions and the sensations they elicited, and his focus could expand outward again, he looked up into her eyes.
"Oddly," he said, "I know this is at least somewhat good for you without reaching through to check, but … is it anywhere near good enough to qualify as acceptable?"
She cackled again, "Permission to silence the walls and door?"
"Oh," he said, "That's fine, I should have thought of that before we even started talking."
She drew the wand that wasn't still exchanging sparks with his chest, and cast several charms at the six surfaces of the room.
"And get the pet doors too," he said, "it wouldn't do to have someone investigating the other end of one and figure out what they are."
She smiled and made more careful casts. "Done," she said, "Now, try harder and faster; we've got all night if you feel like it, but I think you should also get some sleep somewhere in there."
"I'm not sure which kind of challenge that was."
"All of them," she said, "my lord should please himself, either with pleasing himself, or learning his lessons, or with getting his rest."
'His lessons' meant pleasing her, or … maybe being pleasing without hurting her, without harming her, in spite of the fact that she liked being hurt. Getting his rest in time to get up in the morning and run…
The whole idea of shaging a known muggle-killer in his uncle's house and getting up in the morning as if nothing was different and outrunning Dudley just the same as always, was both hilarious and invigorating.
"What are you laughing at?"
"This, and Dumbledore and Bones trying to protect me and my relatives from you. And instead you are tame, and my relatives are clueless. And…"
"I am not tame," said Bellatrix, "I am dedicated."
"Oh," said Harry, "that makes sense."
She smiled, "Don't forget it."
Harry smiled and wondered if he called her his high priestess if she would be amused.
I know you are not a god.
I also know I am not.
Yet.
Is it even likely or possible?
It is possible.
Oh.
"Oh," she said, "That's why you laughed."
"Why?"
"In the morning," she said, "we go down the corridor to the shower together, same as always."
"Right?"
"And but maybe, I take off my boots and shower with you?"
"If you like," said Harry, "how often do you shower anyways?"
"It's not hard to avoid suspicion in gryffindor tower, now that we've trained the early risers to turn on a separate shower for me, as long as I lock the door on the days I intend to change shape. It's also not hard to come back to the tower when everyone is away in class, or go down to the Quidditch pitch during the night. But the less time I am in my human body, the less care it needs."
"I guess that makes sense."
"Your distraction is making you get small," said Bellatrix, "Show me how much you can make us feel."
Harry smiled and resumed his efforts.
She gave him hints by way of nudging him, to alter his motions, or to run her hands around just about every surface of his skin that was within her reach. She even used her feet some.
When he realised that she wasn't only doing it for the pleasure of touching him, but also seemed to be cataloguing his responses, and giving extra attention to his sides and thighs and … she was managing to be an excellent back scratcher, and she wasn't even in that good of a position to be reaching there.
Probably yet another skill he was supposed to be picking up from all this. Right, don't assume the sex act was centralised. Apparently … that might be an illusion perpetrated by the male anatomy. Then again the way he felt when she slid her hands along the top edges of his hips implied that … perhaps he just hadn't explored the sexual response of his male anatomy very well at all.
She grinned at him.
.
This time when she started to shiver and everything including the itch flickered and tried to go out he understood.
"Was that what I was supposed to be aiming for?"
"Yes," she whispered, "don't stop?"
He kept at it, and was rewarded with the flickers getting more and more violent until finally her stomach unclenched and she took several deep breaths, "that was two halves and a whole, you really should take a turn to please yourself now."
"I'm not really sure why this isn't really doing as much of that as it normally would."
"Because you're talking and thinking about talking, instead of concentrating on your desires … and possibly holding your breath."
"Huh," said Harry, "alright?"
He focused inward again, and tried to decide what he wanted to be different, nothing he could pinpoint, but his own itch seemed to pick up, and hers wasn't exactly going completely away. In fact she might be lots more sensitive now, not that sensitive was or wasn't the same thing as pain, because it definitely wasn't and he was fairly certain that she was feeling at least one, probably two things that didn't simplify into 'itch' well enough to also count as 'pain' that could be communicated with the pain curse. Though from the way she moved, it might in fact count as torture or something. Perhaps something to go looking for in her memories later. Now that he had something that sounded like blanket permission to go looking. Now that her mind was the right shape for the memories to transfer quickly rather than being changed into cat memories and back.
And then he came, and it was glorious, and felt like it always did, except now steeped in a roiling broth of affection and giving and receiving and something like trust but not quite. Maybe it would mature into trust later, when he believed that he wouldn't soon lose her to Azkaban or the dark lord or death.
"Ohh," he moaned when it was over.
"And another kitten has attained enlightenment," she whispered, "now it may rest."
"You really are an insane cat."
"Yes, but a very cunning one."
After half a minute more of petting him here and there, somehow much more soothingly than before, she lifted him and pushed him away toward the foot of the bed so that he slid out of her, Then she pulled him up to the side to lay his head on the pillow. Harry arched his back so that he'd balance on his side the way she seemed to want. To his surprise she didn't lay on the pillow in front of him, or turn cat and snuggle in any of her normal spots, instead she kissed his chin, and slid down to put her cheek in his palm, and then played lazily with his necklace.
Was she content like that?
He was starting to feel chill, he drew his wand and levitated the bedclothes over them. It was awkward.
"You need to work on your left hand casting."
"Perhaps I do," agreed Harry.
"Spider queen, spider queen," she said.
"Um? Harry?" said Aunt Narcissa's voice from the necklace.
"Hello Cissa," said Bellatrix.
"Bella?" exclaimed Aunt Narcissa, "Where's Harry?"
"Staring lazily at me," said Bellatrix, "My lord is very fond of his little thrall Nimrodina, mighty hunter, of the sharp claws, quite insane, but very cunning."
"Quit with the elvish naming conventions, and back up to why you called?"
"Because I thought you should know."
"That I should know what?"
"What I'm wearing."
"What are you wearing?"
"Two boots, two wand holsters."
"Lazy and fond … what is Harry wearing?"
"A wand holster and muggle boxers around his knees."
Harry felt conflicting urges to pull them up, or to push them off the rest of the way. But equally weirdly he was content to just lay still.
"Ah," said Narcissa.
"And your necklace."
"Well, that is gratifying."
"I thought you'd enjoy that."
"Anything else to report?"
"Oh, and I am also wearing a thrall mark that looks like a sixth of a lion's face from puffy round ear to intently staring eye, with a lightning bolt in between."
"Ah ha," said Narcissa, "that does seem pertinent to many many things."
"I like to believe so."
"Bella, are you drunk?"
"Am I usually right after?"
"Oh, that."
"And he was a virgin."
"Of course he was, why did he sacrifice that to you?"
"Because things came to a head before I managed to manipulate his mudblood into receiving it."
"Did it have to be tonight?"
"Yes it did," said Bellatrix, "He sacrificed his legal childhood this afternoon, in order to hear a Plea for Mercy from Peter Pettigrew."
"Drat. How did that go?"
"He sacrificed his innocence, not to revenge, but to listen and refrain from revenge when it was thrust into his grasp. I judged he needed strong medicine to recover, and he judged he needed to know why I knew the difference between a thrall mark and a mimic runic tattoo. And so here we all are."
"What else is planned?"
"I've pointed out that he can use investigating a Plea for Mercy from myself as an adequate excuse for waiting for up to two years to notify the ministry that he's caught a fugitive."
"Cunning, Bella. That gives you time at least, use it wisely."
"He wants tutoring in occlumency, the animagus transformation, and proficiency in bed, is there anything else we should cover post haste?"
"He's already self tutoring in law, economics, and bladed weapons, you should help those along as you see fit."
"I know."
"Are there rules?" said Harry, "About needing to listen to pleas in first come first serve basis, or letting me give myself two months vacations in between or anything like that?"
"Not as such," said Narcissa, "Much of it is at your prerogative, nothing is really at stake if you report finding 'no verdict,' or 'insufficient evidence' after two years, except your reputation as able to conduct a fair trial in less than that time. Which is hardly a problem for those ladies and lords who would much rather shirk judge duty."
"Ah,"
...-...
The Shower
Harry woke to being shaken and dragged from bed. Not by Bellatrix.
"Aunt Petunia!" he said.
"Where's breakfast?" she said, "Vernon will be late if you don't get started."
"Sorry," said Harry, and yanked up his boxers even as he threw his covers off and ran to the dresser.
"Did you sneak a girl in here?" said Aunt Petunia.
"What?" said Harry, and turned his bed was messier than usual, but Nim wasn't in sight.
"I smell something," she said.
Harry shivered, "I had a really strange dream last night?"
She stared at him.
"I didn't shower last night like I do sometimes after exhausting chores, because I wasn't exhausted from chores I went to London to …"
"Shop with your girlfriend."
Harry nodded, "Not my girlfriend," if Nim was pushing her at him, that might not stay true long, "yet," he amended. Not that he was clear on why Nim wasn't keeping him for herself.
"Went shopping with your girlfriend, had a rough time coming home, went to bed without supper or a shower, and had a strange dream."
Harry nodded.
"Was there a girl in your dream."
"Yes," sighed Harry.
"Mm, hmm," she said like she'd solved the world's biggest mystery, and nodded, "and you slept late, get a move on."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia.'
He clattered down the stairs and got breakfast-except-bacon ready in record time, and the bacon was almost edible by the time Uncle Vernon placed himself at the table.
.
"Why was Mum smug and cross and something else over breakfast this morning?" asked Dudley as they ran together.
"I learned another way to kill a man yesterday, and didn't."
"How many ways are there?"
"I assume an infinite variety, if one is creative enough," said Harry, "The point was she smelled my adrenalin afterwards and let me go to bed without supper, but … I didn't sleep so much as to get up early, so she was angry that I wasn't, but she's also still mildly proud that I didn't do The Wrong Thing."
"Oh," said Dudley, "What does all that mean in practice?"
"That I need a shower more than usual and that I'll eat a big lunch if I can sneak it past her."
Dudley snorted, "more power too you."
"Also if she starts pestering you about getting a girlfriend already, I'm sorry."
"Why? Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Well … There are several girls I respect enough that I wouldn't turn them down if they started asking for dates or whatever," said Harry.
"What does that mean exactly?"
"Never mind," said Harry, "The point is that she thinks I have a girlfriend, and that might be enough for her to put pressure on you to compete, Even if that's not what you even want right now. And I apologise."
"Oh," said Dudley, "so like primary school grades all over again."
"Exactly," said Harry.
"So if I throw the correct kind of tantrum about it, I get to watch her beat you up?"
"Probably," said Harry, "or try to starve me or make me stop talking or whatever her current idea is."
"As fun as that might be to watch…" said Dudley, "It's more fun to beat you up myself."
"Thanks Dudley, I can respect that."
.
Back at home Harry found Nim on the bathroom counter staring at herself in the mirror, as soon as he had the door locked she was in human form and finishing pinning her braid up into a massive bun.
"Oh, hi," he said.
Keep calling me Nim? Or order me to adjust the door.
Adjust the door.
She cast a locking charm, and a muffling spell on the door, different from the silencing spell. But, Harry supposed, It made sense not to block out all the shower sounds. Or things might get confusing enough to require investigating,
Harry undressed and got in the shower. About the time he had the water to a desirable temperature, Bella joined him, for the first time naked in his presence. Depending on how you counted cat hair. … or boots?
"Does my lord like what he sees?"
Somehow it wasn't about seeing her, it was about that she trusted him to see her. Trusted him enough to not wear her wands and knife and boots.
The true answer wasn't 'yes' or 'no' or anything simple, he picked up her left arm and laid his cheek against her thrall mark.
"Hmm?" he said.
"What, my lord?"
I am in the shower with two thirds of my eyes and ears, and Hedwig doesn't like rain. He held up her left arm again, but this time across his right eye and scar instead of her eye.
"I am my lord's eyes and ears," she agreed.
"And we look pleasing enough," he said.
She looked him over and smirked.
"I should probably teach you about kissing also, but … it complicates things in a different direction than sex."
"Oh? How?"
"Sex is about bodies and blood, kissing is about soul and self."
"All of those sound magic related."
"They are," said Bella, "the killing curse destroys the life in the blood, the dementors' kiss removes the soul."
"Can you cast the patronus?"
"Would you want me to?" said Bella.
"I'd rather you cast it to protect yourself, than faint from their presence or die from their kiss."
She swallowed, "I'm not sure I want to become the sort of creature that can cast it."
They stared at each other, he realised now wasn't the right time, nor this the right place to have that argument, "Maybe someday you will change your mind," he said, "May I scrub you with my wash cloth."
Not that he had another wash cloth to offer her, nor anything else that wouldn't leave the kind of evidence to make Aunt Petunia suspicious.
"It is good and right for My Lord to care about the hygiene of all his … limbs."
Damn straight.
.
By the time he finished, her hips were twitching in a way he knew meant she'd accept rubbing, and he suspected from the way she twitched away from the wash cloth that it was the wrong implement to use.
"And why is that getting up and looking at me?" she said.
Harry shrugged, "because I thought you might want it."
"I might, but is this the time or the place?"
I'll sit down if that would make you more comfortable.
"On rocks and in water and a place like this that is effectively both," she said, "requires more advanced balance, and more widely split concentration than I'd normally recommend for anyone's second time."
"But?"
"The position you suggest is probably the best choice under the circumstances."
"And?"
They stared at each other.
"My lord is kind to think of my desires," she murmured.
Harry smiled and sat down. She turned her back to the water and turned him to face it, though her body shielded him from the spray, then she crouched over him, putting a leg to each side and slid down his front and paused just long enough for them to aim him into place, then she settled farther and stared into his face.
"Did you feel that I wasn't particularly wet or slippery inside as you came in?"
"Err, I guess so."
"Most women don't want you sliding in without wetness, either that of your own, or of hers, or saliva, or any of several kinds of oil."
"Alright," Harry said.
"You were a little wet from the shower, but …" she shrugged, "anyway, I moved slow enough to keep from damaging either of us."
"Understood."
"It still hurt me, but … I happen to like pain."
"I remember that."
She smiled and rocked.
"Until one or the other of us produce wetness of any of the several types, I will rock in a way that changes pressures, not in a way that slips and slides."
"Oh, that makes sense."
"I know you like the slip and slide."
"I wouldn't say I dislike this," said Harry, "I might have done something similar a few times when I didn't … want to undress."
"Right, very similar," she said, "except orchestrated for two."
.
"I think I like this," said Harry.
"What about it?"
"Slower is more like a hug, less like exercise," said Harry, "Not that I don't like the more intense sensations of what we did last night, but that, there are other … emotions? I think, that we could orchestrate for instead of just the intensity of the itch and relief."
"That is true," she said, "a wise observation," she blinked, "And there is some fluid, yours I believe."
"What is it called when it's not piss and not the other."
"Clear and greasy feeling?"
"Yes."
"I believe it is a liquid that your body prepares for dissolving the breed carriers in, I never worried about what it is called, sometimes it is released near the beginning of sex, and it is one of the nicer fluids for this part of the experience."
"What is the range?"
"Well, water or piss for one, better than nothing, but not as good as the others. There's this, there is the mucous that either of our mucous skins makes, which is also nice, but there's often not quite enough of it, even less right now if we've just rinsed most of it off in the shower.
"Right."
"One of the nicest can be …" she stared at him.
He waited.
"Care to guess?"
He shrugged, "You're going to say sperm, but I'm not sure how that's useful."
She smiled, "a few men can produce it more than once in a row. And a few more can produce it and then not shrink. It sort of turns the experience around from either of the natural progressions, but it does feel good."
"What are the two 'natural progressions'?"
"The boy finishes first and shrinks and abandons the girl with unmet desires."
"Oh."
"Or helps her finish with hands or tongue of course, or the girl finishes first, and stays to help him finish."
"And the 'unnatural progression' is if he finishes first and then stays big anyway, and helps her finish?"
"That's one of them, the other is that he can keep going, and finish another time or two, usually only for hello sex or goodbye sex: pent up desire lets him produce over and over again, or knowledge that this might be the last time for a very long time might let him keep going until he has nothing left to give."
"That … sort of makes sense from a biology perspective, but you talk about it like it's instinct or emotion."
"You think those are at all distinct things?" she said, "and finally if he can share her with another man, she might have the advantage of lubrication from the first, and yet also have the prolonged … time to enjoy it there."
"That …" Harry looked up, "I can imagine that is … possible but not common."
"Exactly," she said, "Ah, there we go. Why don't you put your hands," she moved them from her back and placed them under her bum and thighs, "here, and help," she said.
And then she switched from a rocking that only altered pressure, to a rocking and lifting that slid her up and down his chest.
He got the idea and helped.
He remembered there was something special to her about her breasts, and since his hands were busy … could he use his head? But he could only touch them one at a time with his cheek or the other, he turned his head sideways so her lift-and-slide would brush one against his cheek, and the other against his hair.
"Mm," she moaned.
He smiled.
After not very long she moaned again.
"We need to teach you enough occlumency so that you can split your focus between what you're doing in your body and what it's doing to mine."
"Oh," said Harry, "In this position I'm not doing much, maybe I can already try some of that."
He dived into Nim's mind. It was exactly the same, and yet completely different. Nim was there all around, the path in and the memories and the will were all there, the emotions were more tired and human, and less mildly-underfed-predator. And the human memories were clearly visible and understandable instead of interpreted through the brain of a rodent-hunter.
But they were the same memories, despite the change of filter. It took only two trips into memory to learn where to find that which he sought, which wasn't memory.
And then he could interpret the sensations of her skin. Of where his hands gripped her, of where they dragged her stomach and chest against his stomach and chest and face.
About why she'd moaned.
He moaned.
He thought he was about to finish and tried not to, making sure he was breathing and relaxed and, the urge faded back a little, but he wasn't sure it was enough.
She moaned again, and without meaning to, he again copied her, and the vibration was almost sensible in her chest. He hummed as loud as he could and she exclaimed her pleasure. And he finished, except it wasn't the impossible-to-stop of a sneeze it was the relaxing giving in to a desire to yawn. Except it wasn't a yawn it was a vibrating tingle-stretch through his diaphragm and stomach and hips.
Which was also what she'd just done. Not that he'd been able to tell from the disorienting flickering flash of her mind, much brighter than the steady warming glow had been when Nim had been only a cat.
"What was that?"
"That was relatively normal, was that the first one you've watched from inside while I was human?"
"Yes."
"What are yours like? I've never been inside you when you've had one while awake."
"I've had them while I wasn't? Oh, you mean wet dreams."
"Yes, of course."
"Anyway, what I just had wasn't normal. And it wasn't like last night, which seemed normal except better for being a gift from you."
"May I see?"
"Yes."
She pushed him out of her mind, and followed him into his own mind. Her focus inside his head was different than he was used to, but now he could tell it was from looking through the lens of a human brain.
He noticed realising that she was still scrubbing against his front. Was his own skin more sensitive than usual?
She went to recent memory.
And as it played, it triggered a fresh event.
Ah, a male capable of female orgasms, she thought, Lovegood could do that, though it often took a lot of teasing to convince those reflexes it was a thing allowed to happen.
Can females also have male orgasms?
I haven't studied the question, and this is the first time I've been the familiar of a male, and generally speaking when teaching occlumency I concentrate my prying on politically private memories, not on this question. But …
She went through his memories and played his orgasm from the night before.
He got his breath centred and regular again.
She played it again.
And that time he finished in sympathy. And it was still glorious. And yet it was different, partly from being only physically tired out from a run, not being emotionally wrung out from a trial and a confrontation in which two differently dedicated protectors negotiated a … hierarchy?
"Yes," she said, "sometimes I have this, though if there is anything to release it is piss. I am intrigued that I never asked this question before."
"Is it desirable?" he said.
"Releasing piss, rarely, having both orgasms, yes. The girl orgasm does not make you instantly wish to stop. The boy orgasm satisfies more thoroughly, though perhaps not for as long."
"Huh?"
"One rule of thumb is that after the boy orgasm, you cannot desire sex for about ten to twenty seconds, others report cannot desire anything at all, the world as-it-truly-is briefly becomes visible through the normal filtering haze of all desires, and most males usually get small and useless for about an hour maybe two."
"Oh."
"Girls with girls will sometimes play for most of two hours, every orgasm making them a little more sensitive, and that two hours may satisfy them for several weeks."
"Oh."
"And you'll have enough sperm to want release again in a day, maximum three."
"I think that number is off somewhere."
"Meh, teenagers are in transition, they start out with no production and finish with what will be their average amount, but in between it might be considerably higher than average."
"You mean it's going to get worse before it gets better?" said Harry.
Bellatrix cackled, then looked contrite, "But you have me now, so do not worry."
Harry's eyes widened but he sighed and relaxed, "Right, of course."
"Now," said Bellatrix, "I think we both need another shower."
They smirked at each other and climbed to their feet.
.
"By the way," said Harry as he scrubbed the back of her neck the second time, "What did you do to your hair?"
"The bun? Oh, the imperturbable charm. Same as the walls last night. Waterproofs, air proofs, and sound proofs."
"Oh, nice, I just knew that silencio was for people not for objects."
"True, also works on yippy dogs, which in certain rare but amusing cases makes them act elf-struck, maybe even faint."
"Of course you'd think a tiny dog unable to communicate and having a seizure about it would be funny."
"Of course I would, everything dogs do is funny. Especially chase me and expect me to run away."
"Speaking of, why were you running away from Crookshanks that first day I found you?"
"Because he doesn't trust unattended animagi. Or maybe he doesn't like dark marks. It could be either one."
"Yes, but why were you running away?"
"Because he wasn't trying to defend territory, or subdue, or seduce, or negotiate an alliance, he wanted to kill me. I don't back down from pain. Especially not a fight in which I can inflict more pain than I receive. I'm not a big fan of receiving damage, and I'd already figured him out and my chances against him by the time you saw me running away."
"OK, but … why hadn't you just stopped him?"
"I don't know if you noticed, but … his claws are only marginally shorter than mine, but his hair is much longer than mine."
"Oh," said Harry, "And by the time you met again?
"I had a different mark and he still remembered you."
...-...
{End Chapter 2}