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By 14:00 hours, Harry and the new recruit returned to the Auror office. The rest of the afternoon was spent helping her get acquainted with her new position. She sobered up quickly, her sharp intellect making the learning curve much easier. Since she was still dressed in her formal Auror robes, Harry stuck to organizing case files and paperwork. It became clear early on that they would work well together. At one point, she laughed lightly and asked if she should call him Daddy while they were in the office.
There was an undeniable chemistry, one Harry knew was perilous. It was bad enough to risk fraternizing with someone under his command, but if it involved a married woman? That would spell trouble of an entirely different magnitude.
Still, Harry couldn't deny the thoughts creeping into his mind. Her husband was away on assignment, likely for years, unless he managed to visit during leave. It was entirely possible he'd "forget" his vows or dismiss their rushed ceremony in a dusty Ministry building as little more than a formality. Meanwhile, his own temptations grew harder to suppress, and he knew she was likely feeling equally adrift. People had needs—physical and emotional—needs her husband wouldn't be around to meet.
Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. He'd heard the arguments for restraint, for how celibacy built character. But in his experience, all it really built was tension. He had been living like a monk for longer than he cared to admit, and it was becoming a problem. His thoughts, however improper, weren't illegal. Fantasies couldn't hurt anyone, could they? Still, if he decided to act on them, he'd have to tread carefully.
As the workday wound down, Harry offered to give her a ride back to her quarters. She was temporarily staying in the Auror barracks while waiting for housing arrangements, and she mentioned how lonely it was since she hadn't had time to make friends yet. She looked genuinely despondent, so Harry suggested they stop by his house for a Butterbeer or two.
"Thanks, Daddy," she said with a faint smile. "I really don't feel like being alone tonight."
Harry lived in a quiet neighborhood outside of Hogsmeade. When he opened the car door—enchanted, of course, to work in the magical world—she hesitated, sitting with her feet outside the vehicle and her knees pressed firmly together. She glanced up at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
"Are you going to peek at me again?" she asked.
Harry was taken aback by her candor. It was a level of maturity he hadn't quite expected.
"Are you going to put on another show for me?" he replied, deciding to keep the tone light and adult.
"Before today, I've never put on a show for any man," she said, her voice low. "Not that I know of, anyway."
"Not even for your husband? On your wedding night?"
"He said we had to keep the lights off," she murmured.
"Ahh," Harry said, choosing his words carefully. "Well, let me just say that watching you climb in and out of this car is a memory I'll be holding onto for a long time."
"What sort of times?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Harry figured honesty was best, even if the topic was delicate. "Sometimes men think of a particular woman and imagine… being with her," he explained, watching her closely. It wasn't something she'd likely learned from her family or her limited life experiences, and he felt oddly compelled to educate her about the world she found herself in.
"If you're my Daddy, that would make you a mischievous old wizard," she said with a playful smirk. "I've heard tales of those."
"I could always leave you to manage the enchanted door by yourself," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow.
"No!" she exclaimed sharply, making Harry jump slightly in surprise. She didn't elaborate further, instead lifting her left foot to step into the car. The movement stretched her robes to their limits, offering Harry an unintended but revealing glimpse. Through the thin fabric of her stockings, he caught a flash of pale curls that matched the golden hue of her hair—evidence that her blond locks were entirely natural.
Harry exhaled slowly and focused on the road ahead, steering the car past the cobblestone streets of the small wizarding village. They drove for a couple of blocks in silence before she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Thanks, Daddy," she said softly.
"You're welcome, Sweet Cheeks," Harry replied with a cheeky grin, the tension in the air palpable.
Harry didn't want to give the impression he was trying to seduce this young witch. It wasn't like that at all. But she fascinated him in a way he hadn't experienced before. There was a freshness and innocence about her that stood out. She understood innuendo, but she didn't wield it like others he'd encountered in the past. It's hard to explain, he thought.
Women were a bit like bread, in a way. Freshly baked rolls, straight from the oven, were soft, warm, and delightful. (And no, he wasn't talking about children—just bread.) But if you left them out too long, they became cold and hard. The analogy fit young witches who hadn't yet been hurt by life, who still believed in the goodness of the world. They were like rolls fresh from the oven, a joy to be around.
By the time most witches reached their early twenties, they'd had their hearts broken a few times. They weren't as trusting, a little jaded perhaps, and a bit hardened by life. But every so often, you'd meet someone who still had that unspoiled charm, and it was magnetic. That was the allure Harry felt in the moment—not lust, but a kind of raw attraction to her untainted perspective on the world.
Harry lived in a modest two-bedroom house on the outskirts of a magical village. He and his ex-wife had bought it when he first got stationed nearby. Over time, two deployments—one voluntary—had strained their marriage to the breaking point. When he returned home after the last deployment, she was gone. Her version of divorce was to take what she wanted and vanish from his life entirely.
He probably should have sold the place, but it was useful. A spare room was always handy for someone who'd had a few too many Butterbeers at a party. It also gave him an excuse to host said parties.
When they pulled up to his house, he glanced at her. "Do you need help getting out?"
"Yes," she replied, meeting his gaze directly.
Harry felt a familiar, unwelcome stir of desire as she climbed out of the enchanted car, hammed up her movements, and gave him another unintentional flash. This girl had an innocence about her but wasn't afraid to play with the dynamics of a situation.
"Daddy!" she teased. "Are you being naughty?"
He realized then just how inexperienced she was, despite her playful tone. She was trying on new behaviors, testing her boundaries. Perhaps it was her way of spreading her wings after completing Auror training, which no doubt had given her a newfound confidence—things like casting complex spells or disarming dark wizards could do that.
"When you have a daughter as charming and beautiful as you, what's a Daddy supposed to do?" Harry teased back, trying to keep the tone light. "Daddies have urges, you know."
She put a hand to her mouth as if sharing a secret. "That would be incest!"
When they got inside, she excused herself to use the bathroom. Harry took the opportunity to crack open two bottles of butterbeer and handed one to her when she returned.
He'd noticed she was still wearing her formal Auror robes. He had offered to drop her off at the barracks to change, but she'd declined, saying she wanted to keep them on. "I've never had a reason to dress up before," she had said.
An idea struck him, and he led her to the spare room, where a wardrobe still held some of his ex-wife's old clothes.
"I know you love your Auror robes, and you do look amazing in them, but if you want to relax a bit, feel free to try on anything here," he offered. "If you find something you like, you can even keep it. I'm going to go get out of my uniform, too."
"Thank you," she said, already rummaging through the robes and dresses hanging in the wardrobe.
"There's also all kinds of things in that dresser," Harry said, pointing. "She left a lot behind when she left."
"Some of this isn't junk!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement. "These are some really nice robes!"
"Well, she took the really expensive stuff. What's left is worthless to me," Harry replied. "Like I said, if you want it, it's yours. You two are about the same size—though she was a little smaller in the chest."
The young witch glanced down at her well-filled Auror blouse and smiled faintly. "I used to hate my chest when I was younger. I only started liking them when Draco wanted to touch them, and then we got married."
Harry grinned. "Well, for a married witch, they're a lot of fun. For the husband, too."
"Not in our case," she muttered, her tone suddenly sour. "It hurt when he touched them. You're sure being nice to me, though. It's almost like you're my real dad—except my real dad would have hexed me into next week if he'd caught me wearing tights without proper underthings. Not to mention letting you see all that on purpose."
"They're called tights," Harry said with a smirk. "The covering is built in." Noticing her empty Butterbeer bottle, he retrieved another one for her. "Why did you let me see that, anyway?" he asked, keeping his tone curious but light. He wasn't just curious—he needed to gauge where she stood. It was one thing to joke and flirt with someone receptive, but entirely another to cross boundaries with someone who wasn't.
"I don't know," she said softly, her voice suddenly high-pitched, almost girlish. "I guess it was just an urge. Where I'm from, witches don't flirt. It's fun, though, being able to do that here. You're like my instructors at training—except, you know, kind. We had a class on how fraternization is bad, and I know you'd never break a rule or anything. You're a senior Auror! Senior Aurors don't mess up. So… I trust you."
"That's a huge mistake," Harry replied with a dry chuckle. "I'm divorced, no girlfriend, and, let's just say, you're very easy on the eyes. So no, you're not safe around me at all."
"Yes, I am," she said, taking another sip of her Butterbeer. "You're my Daddy. You'd never do anything to hurt me."
"What if I believed that candy is dandy, but incest is best?" Harry teased, testing the waters.
"Ooooo, Daddy is being a pervert," she giggled. "I like this Daddy a lot more than my real one."
Harry leaned against the doorframe. "Go ahead and change clothes," he said. "Want me to stay here in case there's a boggart under the bed?"
She met his gaze, her expression steady. "I'm a black belt in Taekwondo," she said. "If anyone tries anything I don't like, I'll make him regret it."
"Got it," Harry replied with a mock salute. "I'll let you handle the boggart yourself, then."
She raised her Butterbeer and smiled. "You know, I didn't like Butterbeer the first time I had it, but this is good. Do you have anything sweeter? Maybe a spiked pumpkin juice or something?"
"No, but I could whip up a Firewhisky sour," Harry offered.
"Never had one," she said.
"Get dressed, and I'll make you your first," Harry replied, walking out to give her privacy.
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