Warning: This Chapter contains Sexual content at the end of the chapter between Daco and Harry.
Enjoy :D ;P
Chapter 9: Unforgettable Night of Passion Part 1
The winding road to the Kuran Estate curved gracefully through the serene woodlands on the outskirts of Little Hangleton, the trees standing tall like ancient sentinels cloaked in midsummer green. Jess guided her sleek black DeLorean up the cobblestone driveway, its tires humming softly against the stone as she slowed near the grand entryway. On either side, vibrant blooms burst forth in carefully curated gardens—white roses, violet asters, deep green ferns—all lovingly maintained and kissed by the golden afternoon light.
She cut the engine and stepped out, her boots landing softly on the warm stones. The countryside air greeted her like an old friend—crisp and fresh with the faintest hint of pine and distant wildflowers. She paused a moment, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, letting the calm sweep over her. Before her stood the Kuran Estate in all its timeless elegance: a sprawling manor of soft grey stone, high arched windows, and ivy-traced walls. The sheer beauty of it made her heart ache with quiet nostalgia.
Memories stirred, vivid and sweet—running barefoot through the long grass with Sora, hiding behind fountains and giggling as they played tag beneath the towering trees. She remembered summer evenings filled with the scent of honeysuckle and her mother's laughter floating like music down the marbled corridors. Despite all the changes in her life, the estate remained untouched, like a living photograph frozen in time.
The grand double doors creaked open with gentle familiarity as Jess stepped into the manor's embrace. A warm glow bathed the entryway, where polished marble floors reflected the light streaming in from stained-glass windows above. Ornate wooden paneling stretched up the walls, etched with hand-carved motifs of dragons and lilies—a homage to the Kuran lineage and their elemental bloodlines. Gilded mirrors and portraits of ancestors lined the halls, their painted eyes watching over her with regal stillness.
A small pop echoed from the side, and a familiar house-elf appeared. Clad in elegant navy-blue livery with gold trim, he gave a dramatic bow, his long ears brushing the floor.
"Princess Jess has returned to Kuran Manor!" he squeaked in delight, his voice trembling with pride. "Spindle is most honored to greet her!"
Jess smiled warmly and nodded. "Thank you, Spindle. It's good to be back."
The elf disappeared in a flurry of movement, his excitement trailing behind him like a breeze. Jess continued onward, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she walked through the expansive foyer. Her hand brushed the curved banister of the grand staircase, its dark wood smooth beneath her fingertips. The soft scent of old parchment, lavender polish, and blooming lilies lingered in the air, comforting and familiar.
"Mother? Father?" she called gently, her voice carrying easily through the vast space.
"In here, sweetheart," came her mother's melodic reply, echoing from the east sitting room.
Jess followed the sound through an arched doorway framed with ivy-etched stone. The sitting room beyond was bathed in warm sunlight filtered through tall, sheer-draped windows. Cream and forest-green accents adorned the room, from the hand-woven tapestries on the wall to the plush velvet armchairs arranged around a carved table. On the table sat a silver tray with delicate china teacups, a crystal pot of steeping rose tea, and a dish of lemon biscuits.
Her mother, Dawn Mikcloud Kuran, stood gracefully from her seat, her long crimson hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. Dressed in an emerald green gown that matched her eyes and her signature drop earrings, she exuded regal serenity. Her smile lit up her entire face as she moved toward her daughter with open arms.
"Jess, it's wonderful to see you," she murmured, pulling her into a warm, lingering embrace.
Jess melted into the hug, breathing in her mother's familiar scent of lavender, vanilla, and the faintest touch of jasmine. It wrapped around her like a comfort spell.
Her father, Jareth Kuran Mikcloud, stood beside them, tall and dignified in a black and gold suit with polished shoes and his hair slicked back in his usual sharp fashion. His eyes—deep, intelligent gold—softened as he reached out to squeeze Jess's shoulder.
"Welcome home, little star," he said warmly, his voice low but filled with affection. "You look well."
Jess smiled, touched by the welcome. "It feels good to be here," she said softly. "I've missed this place."
"And we've missed you," her mother replied, guiding her gently toward the chairs. "Come, sit. Tell us everything."
Jess sank into the velvet cushions, the familiar softness molding around her as if welcoming her home. The subtle clink of china, the warm breeze from the open windows, and the steady presence of her parents filled the space with a peacefulness she hadn't realized she was missing. Her gaze swept the room, lingering on the comforting details—framed family portraits, the faint shimmer of magical wards laced into the corners, and the ever-present soft glow from the enchanted sconces on the walls.
She reached for the teacup out of habit, then paused, lifting it an inch before resting it back on the saucer.
"Remember I don't like tea, Mom," she said with a playful smirk, arching a brow.
Dawn chuckled softly, reclining in her chair with effortless grace. "I know, sweetheart. I just like pretending one day you'll surprise me and suddenly love it."
Jareth's golden eyes gleamed with mischief as he lifted his own cup. "That's the American in you, love."
Jess pouted dramatically at him, folding her arms. "Okay, but who told Sora I had a date yesterday?" she demanded. "Because he broke into my apartment last night and tried to interrogate me like he was casting for some royal guard position!"
Dawn's eyes widened in horror. "He what?"
Jess leaned forward, her voice rising slightly with indignation. "Picked my lock! Didn't even knock. Just casually let himself in like it was no big deal. I thought I was being robbed!"
At that, Dawn turned sharply toward her husband, her expression instantly sharpening like a blade unsheathed. "Jareth..." she said slowly, each syllable drenched in warning. "Did you overhear my conversation with your mother yesterday?"
Jareth blinked, his cup freezing mid-air. "What? I—"
"Did you ease-drop?" Dawn pressed, narrowing her eyes. "And then tell Sora?!"
Jareth held up a hand in mock surrender, though his amused smirk gave him away. "I may have... heard bits of the conversation in passing."
Jess stared at him, stunned. "So you did tell him!"
"I didn't tell him to break into your apartment," Jareth defended, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "Honestly, I just said you went on a date. I thought he'd tease you—not stage a one-man tactical mission."
"He got a broken nose for it," Jess muttered, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a huff. "And I may have punched him in the stomach. Twice."
Dawn groaned, sinking back into her chair. "That boy has no sense of boundaries."
"He gets it from his father," Jess quipped, shooting a glance at Jareth.
He held his chest in mock injury. "Now that's uncalled for."
"Is it?" both Jess and Dawn said in unison, then paused before laughing.
The tension dissolved instantly. Dawn reached over to gently squeeze Jess's hand, her smile returning. "I'm glad you're okay. And I'm glad you're seeing someone, Jess. You've been so guarded for so long..."
Jess looked away for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching into a soft, almost secretive smile. "Yeah... this one's different."
Dawn's eyes sparkled with curiosity, but she didn't press—at least not yet. Jareth, however, leaned in slightly.
"Different how?" he asked, voice low, though his tone was more protective than invasive.
Jess glanced at them both, considering. Then she shook her head, her smile deepening as she whispered, "You'll see."
"So, why have you called me here?" Jess asked curiously, shifting her purse higher on her shoulder as she stepped deeper into the elegant entrance hall of the Kuran Estate. The gentle scent of rosewood polish and fresh garden air mingled in the space, the soft rustle of her footsteps echoing off the marble beneath her.
Before either of her parents could answer, a warm, familiar voice carried from across the expansive foyer.
"Is that my little Rose I hear?"
Jess's emerald eyes lit up instantly, wide with a joy that blossomed deep in her chest. She spun toward the grand staircase, heart leaping.
There, standing at the base of the steps with regal poise and unmistakable presence, was her grandfather—Maximus Kuran. Time had graced his face with silver strands in his hair and subtle lines etched by wisdom and laughter, but his golden eyes sparkled with the same energy she remembered from her childhood. Dressed in a crisp black and gold suit, he stood tall, proud, and utterly himself—a figure of both command and comfort.
"Grandpa!" Jess exclaimed, voice bubbling with delight. Without hesitation, she dashed across the polished floor, her black flip-flops clicking softly with each step. The moment she reached him, she threw her arms around him, hugging him with all the fierce affection that had built up since their last meeting.
Maximus laughed deeply, wrapping her in a strong, warm embrace. "Ah, my dear Rose, it's been far too long," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. The scent of lavender and lemon lingered in the air between them—a fragrance he always associated with her, his favorite granddaughter. Pulling back slightly, he held her at arm's length to take her in fully, pride shimmering in his golden gaze. "Look at you... more beautiful every time I see you. You must be giving your parents endless headaches."
Jess giggled, her cheeks warming. "I try."
Before another word could pass between them, a familiar voice chimed in with exaggerated offense.
"Hey! Where's my hug?!"
They both turned to see Sora standing nearby with his arms flung dramatically wide, brows raised as if scandalized by the scene unfolding without him. His golden eyes narrowed in mock accusation. "Unbelievable. The favoritism is real."
Maximus gave him a flat look, the kind that managed to silence even royal advisors when needed. "You don't get one," he snapped with theatrical sternness, though the corners of his mouth twitched with restrained amusement. "Especially not after breaking into her apartment and scaring her half to death."
Sora's jaw dropped. "Grandpa!" he protested, clutching at his chest like he'd been fatally wounded. "I was trying to protect her! You know—big brother duties, covert security, a touch of heroic flair—"
Before he could finish his next over-the-top excuse, a hand shot out from behind him and caught him squarely by the ear.
"Shush, you!" came the commanding voice of Amara Kuran, sweeping into the room like a storm in silk.
Their grandmother moved with effortless grace, her snowy-white hair styled in elegant waves, her tailored ivory suit a vision of poise and power. Her crimson lips curved into a sharp smirk as she gave Sora's ear a firm tug, ignoring his startled gasp.
"Ow—ow—okay! Okay, Grandma, mercy!" he yelped, trying to squirm out of her grip.
"Breaking and entering is not noble," Amara said smoothly, releasing him with a light push. "It's reckless. And stupid. You're lucky she didn't hex your eyebrows off."
"She almost did!" Sora muttered, rubbing his ear with exaggerated sulking.
Jess was already laughing, caught between affection and exasperation as she watched the exchange. "I really did," she added sweetly. "I had a spell prepped and everything."
Amara turned to Jess and her expression instantly softened, the pride in her eyes unmistakable. She stepped forward and cupped her granddaughter's face between her gloved hands. "My beautiful girl," she whispered. "You grow more like your namesake every day."
Jess's heart swelled. "It's good to see you too, Grandma."
Amara kissed her forehead before drawing back, slipping her hand into Maximus's as they stood side by side—regal and radiant, the perfect picture of magical nobility.
"Now," Maximus said, his voice once again filling the hall with steady warmth, "let's sit. We have a few things to discuss before you return to your evening plans."
Jess blinked, surprised. "You know about my evening plans?"
Amara's ruby lips curled into a knowing smile. "Darling, we know everything."
Jess glanced toward her parents in alarm. Jareth shrugged with a faint grin, while Dawn simply sipped her tea with a smug twinkle in her eye.
Jess groaned. "Oh no. The whole royal family knows, don't they?"
"Not yet," Amara said brightly. "But they will."
Jareth and Dawn shared knowing smiles from where they stood, their hands brushing subtly as they watched the heartfelt reunion unfold. The warmth and laughter that filled the air felt like a balm—soothing, familiar, precious. It echoed through the grand halls of the Kuran Estate, wrapping the ancient manor in a rare, peaceful glow. For a moment, everything was perfect. Whole.
But as the lightness settled, a subtle shift crept into the room.
Dawn's smile faded ever so slightly, her expression softening with the weight of something unspoken. She took a graceful step forward, her emerald gown whispering over the marble floor as she reached out to place a gentle hand on Jess's arm. Her touch was warm, but beneath it trembled something more fragile.
"Jess," she began, voice low and carefully measured, "I know you've chosen your own path—and I respect it. Deeply. Choosing to attend a Muggle high school, living outside the magical elite, blending technology and independence with your bloodline... I admire your strength."
Jess tilted her head slightly, her brows drawing together as she searched her mother's face.
"But," Dawn continued delicately, "you're still a princess of the magical realm. A descendant of two ancient houses. And as much as it pains me to say this... there are still expectations."
The words struck with quiet force.
Jess straightened slightly, the softness in her gaze hardening with cautious suspicion. "Okay... Mum... What happened?"
Dawn's fingers drifted down to the edge of her sleeve, where they fidgeted nervously—rare for her. The tension in the room tightened. Even the sunlight filtering through the tall windows seemed to dim, casting golden shadows across the ornate carpet.
"Your uncle," Dawn said quietly, "has been speaking with King Zach." She hesitated, then added with a trace of bitterness, "They've been discussing a... possible arrangement."
Jess's heart skipped a beat.
"Arrangement?" she echoed slowly, her stomach twisting. "As in... an arranged marriage?"
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. It echoed too loudly in her own ears.
Dawn nodded reluctantly, her green eyes filled with guilt. "Yes."
Jess's pulse spiked. "With who?"
Dawn opened her mouth, but her voice faltered before she could speak. The hesitation alone was enough for Jess to sense the answer—and dread it.
And then came the name.
"Chida," Dawn whispered, barely audible.
Jess's world came crashing down in an instant.
Her expression crumpled, the color draining from her face. "No..." she breathed, a broken whisper.
Her knees felt weak.
Chida Meyers. Rick's twin. Rick—the man she had once loved with every ounce of her soul. The man whose death had shattered her in ways she never fully allowed anyone to see. The very thought of being forced into a union with the brother of the man who still haunted her dreams... It was like being asked to marry a ghost. A scar that hadn't healed now torn wide open.
"No," she repeated, louder now, shaking her head. "No, no, no—he can't. He wouldn't."
Jareth stepped forward, his tone calm but unwavering. "He did, Jess. But your mother and I are not standing by silently. Neither is Sora, nor your grandfather. We're united on this. Your uncle may be King—but even he knows he doesn't control your heart."
Jess clenched her fists, blinking back the sting behind her eyes. Her breath came in shallow, shaky pulls. "Why would he do this now?"
"Politics," Maximus said bitterly, his arms folding across his broad chest as his golden gaze hardened. "Old alliances. An attempt to revive a dormant treaty between houses through marriage. As if you're a pawn to be moved across a chessboard."
The room fell into a heavy silence—one laden with tension and unspoken fury.
And then—
Sora gasped dramatically, completely oblivious to the emotional weight in the air. "Wait! You're already dating someone?!" His head whipped toward Jess, eyes wide with disbelief. "After only one date?! Who is he?! Tell me immediately!"
A sharp glare from Maximus silenced the outburst instantly.
"That's enough, Sora," the elder Kuran snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His tone carried the weight of command, rooted in centuries of authority. Sora flinched slightly but wisely closed his mouth, sinking back into his seat with a petulant pout.
Maximus turned back toward Jess, his gaze immediately softening as he caught sight of her trembling shoulders. Jess stood rooted to the spot, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes glassy as she fought to maintain control. Her breath hitched softly.
Then, with a quiet, determined inhale, she lifted her head and spoke.
"He's a wizard," she said, her voice low but clear. "His name is Tom... and—I love him."
The moment the words left her lips, a blush bloomed across her cheeks, delicate and raw. But her voice did not waver. Her spine remained straight. Her truth had been spoken.
"I know it seems sudden," she continued, "but it's more than just feelings. There's something powerful between us. Something real. When we kissed..." Her eyes fluttered slightly, remembering, "...our magic reacted. It swirled around us—light and color, energy and movement—it intertwined, like it recognized itself in each other. I've never felt anything like it."
A silence settled over the room—profound, reverent. Even Sora didn't dare interrupt.
Dawn pressed a hand gently to her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering. Jareth blinked slowly, clearly caught off guard. Amara stilled entirely, her gaze sharpening with silent calculation, but it was Maximus who reacted first.
His golden eyes widened as her words fully sank in, the stoic composure of his face cracking into something far deeper—awestruck reverence. He stepped forward slowly, each movement purposeful, as if approaching something sacred.
"A magical connection that strong..." he echoed, his voice hushed. "Swirling auras... light that moves with the soul..."
He stared at her, not as his granddaughter, but as something ancient—something foretold.
"Jess," Maximus said softly, his breath catching as though he were standing in the presence of something sacred, "you've found your Soulmate."
Gasps slipped from both Dawn and Amara, soft and stunned, but neither dared interrupt the moment. The room, once heavy with tension, now held a reverent silence—one that throbbed with awe, ancient knowledge, and the quiet pulse of fate.
Jess stared at her grandfather, her heart beating faster, each thump echoing like thunder in her ears. "Soulmate?" she echoed, the word trembling from her lips as though it carried the weight of the stars. It didn't feel foreign. It didn't feel forced. It settled deep inside her like a key clicking into place, familiar and true. And yet...
A shadow passed over her face.
Her brows furrowed as a wave of emotion surged up from a place she thought she had sealed away. Old grief stirred. A buried ache opened.
"But... what about Rick?" she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands clenched in her lap. "The bond between us... it was powerful. It was everything. We were drawn to each other in a way I can't even explain. Wasn't he my soulmate?"
The room stilled again—this time out of tenderness.
No one spoke until Jareth Kuran finally stirred, his expression thoughtful. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together, his voice calm and full of gentle weight.
"Jess," he said, watching her closely, "some believe a person can have more than one soulmate in their lifetime."
Jess blinked, startled.
"Life," he continued, "is rarely linear. And magic... is even less so. You loved Rick. That love was real, deep, and it carved itself into your soul in a way that changed you forever. I believe he was one of your soulmates—without question."
He paused, letting the words settle over her like snowfall.
"But that doesn't mean he was your only soulmate," Jareth said gently. "Sometimes, a soul can be called twice. Sometimes the universe gifts you a second chance—especially if the first one was taken from you too soon."
Jess's breath caught. A small tremor passed through her as her eyes burned with emotion.
"Tom," Jareth said, his voice steady, "is not Rick's replacement. He's a new light. A different kind of magic. And what you just described—the swirling magic, the connection—it's not just rare, Jess. It's sacred. Fated."
Before Sora could open his mouth—and he was visibly twitching to do so—Jareth lifted a hand without looking.
"And Sora," he said, calm but firm, "please keep that mouth of yours closed for once."
Sora's jaw, which had been primed for dramatic protest, snapped shut with a comical click. He slumped in his chair with a loud sigh, pouting like a child told he couldn't have dessert.
Jess managed a shaky laugh through her tears, her gaze flicking toward her brother with affectionate exasperation. Then she turned back to her family, her voice quieter, more uncertain.
"So..." she began hesitantly, "does this mean I'm protected from the arranged marriage?"
Dawn stepped closer, her eyes kind but sharp with purpose. "Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "No royal court or political alliance can override a soulmate bond. Not even your uncle has the power to break that kind of magic."
Jess exhaled in relief, but there was still a tremble in her voice as she pressed, "I have nothing against Chida—we've always been friends. He's kind and respectful. But... he looks exactly like Rick. And that... I don't think I could live with that."
Her voice cracked again, the old pain slipping into her words like a ghost. The room went quiet—somber and understanding.
Maximus stepped forward, his presence commanding yet comforting. He reached out and placed a firm, warm hand on Jess's shoulder. His golden eyes—so like her father's—shone with fierce protectiveness.
"No one is going to force you into anything," he said, voice low with promise. "You've been through too much to have your future dictated by anyone but you. This family stands behind you, as we always have."
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then leaned down slightly so they were eye to eye.
"You are not a pawn, Jess," he said softly. "You are a queen in the making."
A flicker of strength returned to her eyes, fueled by his words. Jess nodded slowly, grounding herself in that truth.
This wasn't just about love.
This was about choice.
And tonight, she would return to the one person who made her feel more like herself than anyone had in years.
To Tom.
"My dear granddaughter," Maximus said, his voice low and firm, "I promise you—none of us here will allow you to be forced into a marriage you do not desire." His golden eyes met hers with unwavering certainty, and for a moment, he wasn't just a grandfather—he was a patriarch, a protector, a wall between Jess and the cruel politics of their world. "This soulmate bond you've found with Tom is powerful enough to shield you from political arrangements. True love is a force even kings and queens cannot easily overcome."
Jess let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the tremble in her shoulders easing as a warmth spread through her chest. Her grandfather's words wrapped around her like a spell—comforting, unbreakable. The fear she'd carried since her mother's revelation melted away, replaced by a fragile yet growing sense of hope.
Maybe, just maybe... fate had stepped in again. Maybe the universe hadn't forgotten her after all.
"So, dear," Dawn said gently, her voice laced with barely concealed curiosity as she sat forward, "what's his full name?"
Jess hesitated.
A pout pulled at her lips, and her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, betraying both her affection and her apprehension. Her eyes darted around the room, narrowing slightly with playful suspicion.
"If I tell you," she warned, her tone light but edged with sincerity, "you all have to promise not to hunt him down and give him the 'talk.'" She leveled a look squarely at her father, then at Maximus. "Especially you, Dad... and definitely you, Grandpa."
Jareth and Dawn exchanged a look—one of those long, married glances laced with silent amusement and agreement. Jareth chuckled softly, holding up both hands in mock surrender.
"We promise, sweetheart," he said, his tone soothing and warm.
Dawn nodded as well, her green eyes glowing with affection. "No interrogation," she assured, "though I am entitled to a few questions... later."
Maximus let out a deep, hearty laugh that rumbled through the room like distant thunder. "Oh, come now," he said, eyes twinkling as he placed a hand on his chest. "Do you think I would scare away a man who's already brave enough to love you?"
Jess gave him a pointed stare.
He cleared his throat and relented with a fond sigh. "Alright, alright—I give you my word. No interrogations. No ominous staring. No vague threats delivered with a glass of firewhiskey in hand."
Then, as one, the entire family turned their eyes toward Sora.
The eldest sibling sat with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, lower lip pushed forward in exaggerated protest. His golden eyes narrowed as he dramatically refused to meet their gazes.
Jess tilted her head, grinning. "Sora..."
No response.
So she leaned in slightly, her voice turning syrupy sweet. "Oni-chan~..."
Sora's eyes flew open. His jaw dropped. A furious blush surged up his neck and across his face as if he'd just been ambushed with a dozen childhood photos at a royal dinner.
"Wh—Jess!" he sputtered, clutching his chest. "That's not fair! You know I can't resist when you call me that! You weaponized cuteness!"
Jess fluttered her lashes and shrugged innocently. "Mmm... you gonna promise now?"
Sora let out a groan of theatrical despair, throwing his hands up. "Ugh! Fine, fine! I promise not to interrogate or intimidate the handsome prick!" He paused, then muttered under his breath, "Even though I still think he's probably some suspicious, cloak-wearing, broody dark wizard with a tragic backstory and a tendency to monologue..."
Jess snorted a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. Her heart swelled. This—this was her family. Loud, ridiculous, fiercely protective... and hers.
She took a breath, gathering her thoughts, and steadied her voice.
"My boyfriend's name is..." she hesitated for a half-beat, then said clearly, "Tom Riddle."
The room fell completely silent.
Maximus blinked. Dawn's brows lifted in surprise. Jareth's expression froze. Even Amara tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips parting just a fraction. And Sora... Sora just blinked twice, trying to place the name like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
For now.
But Jess stood her ground—shoulders square, chin slightly lifted, heart pounding but steady. She had spoken his name aloud. Not in fear. Not in secrecy. But in love.
And soon, the world would have to accept it.
Amara in her chair smiled "He's such handsome young man too. Remember dear, I told you she was at the farmers market with such a handsome man? Even bought 5 jars of our pickles." Jess flushed and giggled.
Maximum stood there and smiled softly "ah yes, I remember love."
Jess glanced cautiously around the room, her vivid green eyes narrowing as they flicked from one family member to the next. The sudden silence was jarring—so unlike the boisterous energy that usually filled the halls of the Kuran Estate. Her gaze sharpened, suspicion blooming alongside a slow wave of concern as she noticed the subtle flicker of unease crossing a few of their expressions.
"Why did everyone get so quiet all of a sudden...?" she asked, her voice softer now, touched with a nervous edge that revealed the tension curling inside her.
Jareth Kuran caught the question instantly. He bit down gently on his bottom lip, a rare tell that gave away more than he likely realized. But he quickly composed himself, smoothing the unease from his features and replacing it with a practiced, comforting smile. He reached out and rested a steady hand on Jess's shoulder, his touch warm and grounding.
"It's nothing, honey," he said smoothly, his tone calm and laced with paternal reassurance. "Why don't you head back to your apartment now? Didn't you say you were making dinner for him tonight?"
Jess's cheeks flared a brilliant shade of pink, the sudden shift from tension to teasing catching her off guard. She shot an accusing look toward her mother, her narrowed eyes glittering with playful betrayal.
"Mom, seriously? You told him?" she asked, a dramatic pout forming on her lips.
Dawn laughed, caught mid-sip of tea and failing spectacularly to look innocent. "Sorry, sweetie," she admitted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Guilty as charged. You know I can't keep secrets from your father—he reads me like a book."
Jess sighed theatrically, shaking her head as she stepped forward to hug both her parents. Their arms wrapped around her in a warm, familiar cocoon, and for a moment, everything felt light again—whole and safe. After a beat, she turned to Maximus, who stood nearby with a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Come here, my Rose," he murmured, opening his arms.
Jess stepped into them without hesitation, hugging her grandfather tightly. His embrace was steady and strong, just like always. She inhaled the comforting scent of his familiar cologne—cedarwood and a hint of smoky spice—and felt the last of her lingering anxiety begin to melt away.
"Bring him over sometime, yes?" Maximus said, his voice low and gentle as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. "The Kuran cookout is in two weeks. You know your grandmother insists on full attendance. Besides..." He grinned. "I'm still known as Lord Kuran—both in the wizarding community and among the Muggle elite—so you have no excuses. Promise me you'll bring him."
Jess smiled warmly, her heart lighter now as excitement bloomed in her chest. "I promise, Grandpa," she said sincerely. "I'll bring Tom. And you all better behave yourselves, or I'm never introducing him to anyone again."
Laughter rippled through the room, soft and bright, easing the last of the shadows that had clung to the conversation. For a moment, all felt right again.
But beneath the laughter... that flicker of tension still lingered, faint but present. A silence left behind by the name she had spoken—and the legacy it carried.
They remained silent until the soft purr of Jess's DeLorean vanished completely down the winding driveway, swallowed by the trees and distance. As soon as the car was out of sight, the calm mask Jareth had worn cracked—then shattered entirely.
His hand slammed into the carved wooden archway beside him, gripping it with such ferocity that the polished frame splintered under his fingers. The crack echoed through the vast foyer like a gunshot.
Maximus turned from the door, quietly closing it with a soft, deliberate click—the sound somehow louder than it should have been in the sudden, oppressive silence. He faced his son, meeting the storm rising behind Jareth's eyes with quiet restraint, though a shadow of his own concern lingered beneath his composed expression.
Jareth broke first.
"Tom Riddle...?" he said, voice low and shaking with fury. "As in Tom Marvolo Riddle? As in the bloody Dark Lord Voldemort himself?"
The name dropped into the room like a curse, charged and dangerous. His eyes were blazing now, golden irises nearly glowing with disbelief and fear. He turned toward Dawn, who stood frozen beside him, hand still resting gently on his arm.
"Jareth, please..." she said softly, her voice trembling with a mother's fear, a wife's attempt at peace. Her fingers squeezed his arm just enough to ground him.
But her touch could not soothe what was rising inside him.
Maximus stepped forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. His other hand came to rest on Jareth's shoulder, strong but calm.
"We don't fully understand the situation yet," Maximus said carefully. "There could be more to this than—"
"There's nothing more to this," Jareth snarled, wrenching himself away from his father's touch. His voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions. "My daughter—my little girl—is dating the Dark Lord!"
A beat of silence.
Then, from the far end of the foyer, Sora let out an exaggerated groan and slumped forward, pressing his forehead to the wall with the kind of melodramatic flair only he could deliver.
"We know his true name," he muttered, voice muffled but laced with undeniable frustration. "From the locket we found in Grimmauld Place. From the diary Dumbledore gave you. Both Horcruxes. Both bearing that name."
He turned, dragging his hand down his face as he stared at them. "Hearing her say it—'Tom Riddle'—as the name of her boyfriend? Are we sure it's even him? Could it be his son? His nephew? A cursed doppelgänger? Voldemort should be ancient by now. Like... gray hair, cane, possibly undead ancient. Not some brooding, perfectly jawed twenty-something who looks like he walked out of a gothic novel."
The room fell into an even heavier silence as the family digested that impossible truth—one so absurd, so surreal, that it bordered on delusion.
Until...
Clink.
The sound of porcelain meeting saucer turned their attention to the corner of the room, where Amara Kuran sat calmly sipping her tea, unfazed by the chaos unraveling around her. Her posture remained as regal as ever, and her tone, when she finally spoke, was casual—but laced with something far deeper.
"When I met him," Amara said, setting her cup down with perfect precision, "he seemed different than the stories."
All heads turned toward her.
"I was expecting something far worse," she continued. "After all the tales... the rumors of his rebirth, the descriptions of his monstrous appearance after the war... I had prepared myself for a walking corpse, or at best, a hollowed man."
She lifted her cup again and took another sip, as if discussing weather patterns.
"But instead," she said lightly, "I saw a handsome boy. No glamour. No potions. No tricks. Just him."
The silence was thick and stunned.
Amara looked over the rim of her cup, meeting each gaze with that signature piercing calm. "Whatever he has become... it is not what he once was. Of that, I am certain."
Jareth stared at her as though she'd gone mad. Sora blinked rapidly. Dawn looked down at the floor, her thoughts racing.
Maximus exhaled slowly, as if a terrible puzzle had just begun forming in his mind.
And above them all, the name still rang out like a stormcloud ready to burst.
Tom Riddle.
Tom stepped into his loft with calm precision, the door clicking shut behind him as the scent of cinnamon wax—still lingering from Jess's last visit—welcomed him home. He set down the brown paper bags of groceries beside the dark marble kitchen island, the soft rustling echoing in the otherwise quiet space. A glint of polished metal caught the light as he carefully placed a newly purchased Victorian cookie tin on the counter—its ornate design of gilded filigree and faded roses evoking an old-world charm that pleased him.
Beside it, he gently laid down a newly acquired vintage cookbook, the spine still crisp, pages brimming with aged elegance. He had stopped at the bookstore and the antique shop just after returning—drawn to the comforting rhythm of preparation, of intent. Tonight mattered. More than he'd ever imagined something like this could.
He turned back to the grocery bags, pulling out each item with deliberate care: a jar of glossy red Maraschino cherries, glowing like rubies through the glass; bars of rich dark chocolate and smooth white chocolate, each wrapped in paper so luxurious it almost felt sinful; a small vial of almond essence, subtle yet fragrant. His long fingers lingered over each ingredient, his expression focused and contemplative.
Behind him, Nagini stirred lazily atop the kitchen table, her emerald eyes tracking his every movement with quiet curiosity. Her long body lay coiled in the sunlight filtering through the loft windows, her tongue flicking inquisitively.
"Master, what's all this for?" she hissed in Parseltongue, her tone light but inquisitive.
Tom glanced over his shoulder, a faint but unmistakable smile curving his lips as he began rolling up his sleeves. "It's for tonight, Nagini. Jess invited me over for dinner—and I intend to make her dessert. Something special."
Nagini let out a soft hiss of amusement, her tongue flicking with subtle mirth. "Desserts and dinners... humans have such peculiar rituals. I used to be one, of course."
He chuckled, the sound quiet but genuine, as he opened the cookbook and began flipping through its delicately aged pages. The parchment crinkled beneath his fingers until his eyes settled on a single, handwritten recipe: chocolate-covered cherries with dark chocolate ganache, finished with a delicate twist of white chocolate drizzle. Refined, indulgent... and sweet.
Just like her.
His breath caught slightly at the thought of Jess's reaction—the way her eyes might light up, the soft surprise in her smile when she tasted it. The way she glowed when she was happy.
He moved around the kitchen with grace, setting out mixing bowls, utensils, and measuring cups with effortless elegance. As he began organizing the workspace, that foreign warmth stirred again in his chest—a gentle flutter that still unsettled him, not because it was painful... but because it wasn't.
His reverie was broken by Nagini's voice once more, softer this time.
"Master, you smell... happy."
Tom paused, his hand resting over the cookbook as he looked down at her. Her gaze was unblinking, but curious.
A slow smirk played across his lips. "Perhaps I'm simply experiencing happiness, Nagini."
She tilted her head slightly, her movements languid and thoughtful. "It suits you, Master," she said quietly. "It's strange... but not unpleasant."
That made him smile—truly smile. Not the cold, calculated curve of his lips that once sent Death Eaters to their knees, but something softer. Uncertain. Human.
"Strange indeed," he murmured, flipping the cookbook open to the marked page and taking a measured breath. "But I think... I quite like it."
And as the ingredients came together—chocolate melting, cherries glistening, ganache thickening—so too did something else, something far more delicate and rare.
Hope.
A few hours later, Jess stepped through the door of her apartment, the familiar click of the lock echoing softly behind her. Instantly, she was enveloped by a wave of delicious warmth. The air was rich with mouthwatering aromas—savory corned beef, earthy mushrooms, and the unmistakable, nostalgic scent of her family's Traven-style broth simmering in the crockpot. It was the scent of comfort, of home, of something slow-cooked with care.
"Mmm, smells amazing," she murmured to herself with a smile, eyes fluttering closed as she paused to inhale deeply, savoring the layered notes of the meal that had been cooking while she was away.
She placed her purse and ultramarine iPhone onto the small console table near the door, next to her dark green sunglasses, before she was promptly greeted by a soft mrrp.
Anubis, her silver Egyptian Mau, trotted over with the grace of a miniature panther, his tail curling high as he brushed affectionately against her legs. His large, intelligent green eyes blinked slowly in contentment.
Jess chuckled, kneeling slightly to give him a loving scratch behind the ears. "Did you miss me, buddy?" she cooed. "Don't worry, dinner's almost ready."
Anubis purred in response, then strutted toward his perch by the window, already distracted by the chirping birds flitting just beyond the glass. His tail swayed in time with his gaze, ears twitching as he settled atop the plush top level of his cat tree, completely absorbed in the outside world.
Jess straightened with a content sigh and made her way to the kitchen, her sandals clicking gently over the hardwood. The crockpot on the countertop sat like a proud centerpiece, steam gently escaping from under its lid in delicate wisps. Her stomach gave a tiny, eager growl in response.
She glanced toward the clock.
2:00 PM.
Perfect. Still plenty of time to get everything cleaned and ready.
With a decisive nod, Jess moved to the corner of her living room, flipping the switch on her boombox. A burst of static was quickly replaced by a familiar guitar riff, followed by pulsing drums and a guttural voice belting out the start of "Take a Ride." A wide grin broke across her face as the pounding rhythm surged through the apartment like electricity.
"Alright," she declared with triumphant energy, "time to clean!"
She opened the storage closet beside the kitchen, pulling out her white and purple Swiffer power mop, gripping it like a weapon of domestic warfare.
The apartment—already neat by most standards—glowed under her care. She glided across the floors with practiced ease, the soft scent of wax and citrus cleaner trailing behind her. She straightened pillows on the deep gray sectional, realigned the celestial-themed coffee table books, wiped down her white gaming desk, and ensured the green backsplash in her kitchen sparkled beneath the pendant lighting. The plants on her bookshelves received just a touch of mist, their leaves stretching happily toward the sun streaming in through the windows.
In the background, Anubis chirped at a bird and stretched luxuriously, completely unfazed by the chaos of cleaning.
Jess moved with focus, yet her mind kept drifting—to him. To Tom. The way his fingers brushed hers when they walked side by side. The way he smirked when she teased him. The rare but beautiful softness in his eyes when he looked at her. Every sweep of her cleaner felt like a countdown.
She wasn't just tidying up.
She was preparing for him.
For the night that could change everything.
At precisely 3 PM, Tom descended the concrete steps of the underground parking garage, his polished boots striking the stone with measured grace. The cool air clung faintly to the scent of oil, dust, and enchantments long woven into the stone. In his hand, he carried a vintage tin box—elegantly worn, its black enamel surface adorned with intricate floral patterns in vibrant reds, blues, and golds. It was delicate, beautiful... and carefully chosen.
Nestled inside, beneath folds of fine parchment paper, rested the chocolate-covered cherries he had spent his afternoon perfecting. Each one was crafted with precision—glossy dark chocolate encasing a lush maraschino cherry swimming in its own syrupy nectar, with a hidden swirl of ganache at the center. The soft scent of cherry and cocoa still lingered faintly from within the tin.
Tom approached his 1969 Ford Mustang, its deep emerald-green paint glinting under the dim golden light of the overhead fixtures. Sleek and predatory even at rest, the car sat like a living beast waiting to be roused. He opened the passenger door with care, placing the tin on the seat as though it were a rare magical artifact.
Sliding behind the wheel, Tom exhaled slowly, steadying his breath as he reached for the ignition. He closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered in smooth Parseltongue, the ancient language curling easily from his tongue:
Guide me to her... lead me to Jess.
The enchantments bound into the car's frame stirred awake at once. The engine rumbled to life—not loud, but powerful and sure, as if responding not just to the spell but to Tom's intent. The Mustang's magical compass activated, subtly recalibrating to follow the lingering magical essence of the one he sought.
He shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking space with a gentle turn of the wheel, the purr of the engine echoing off the stone walls as he exited the garage and merged into the London streets above.
The city passed around him like a blur of motion and muted color, but Tom was calm, composed... yet beneath the surface, something stirred.
Anticipation.
Affection.
He'd spent most of his life cut off from the very things he was now starting to feel—connection, tenderness, longing. It wasn't weakness. No, this was something altogether different. Grounding. Alive.
The thought of seeing Jess again—her voice, her smile, the mischievous spark in her eyes—warmed him in a way no magic ever had. And as he drove, guided by the charm and something deeper he could not name, he allowed himself to feel it.
Not just the thrill of the evening ahead...
But the possibility that, for the first time in his life, something beautiful and real was waiting for him at the end of the road.
Grimmauld Place was unusually quiet.
The once-dark manor had been transformed over the summer by royal house-elves—no longer a cold, musty stronghold, but a place of warmth and quiet magic. Sunlight filtered through enchantment-cleaned windows, casting soft golden light over polished wood and plush furnishings. The floor couch in Harry's room—a deep forest green, low to the ground and impossibly cozy—had quickly become a favorite spot.
And today, it served as the perfect place for something even more unexpected.
Draco Malfoy sat curled beside Harry Potter, their shoulders pressed together, legs drawn up as they lounged across the couch. A fleece blanket was draped loosely over them, more for comfort than warmth. The television screen ahead glowed with moving images—bright lights, flashing stars, alien worlds. The opening crawl of Episode I: The Phantom Menace had long passed, and now the sound of lightsabers and podracing filled the room.
Draco's eyes were wide with disbelief, clearly enthralled. "Wait... he's nine and flying that massive podracer?" he asked incredulously. "What kind of child is this?!"
Harry laughed, his voice warm and relaxed as he nudged Draco with his shoulder. "Anakin Skywalker. Supposedly the Chosen One. You'll see—it gets so much worse before it gets better."
Draco glanced over at him, silver eyes bright with curiosity and a flicker of amusement. "You're serious about this being the first one to start with?"
"It's the first one in the timeline," Harry replied. "Jess said it'd be fun to show you the whole thing start to finish—chronologically. She practically threatened me if I started with the originals."
Draco snorted. "Figures. She would have."
Their conversation drifted into a comfortable quiet, the hum of the movie filling the space between them. Occasionally, Harry would explain a bit of lore or mutter a sarcastic comment—especially when Jar Jar Binks appeared—and Draco would roll his eyes or make an even worse remark in return. But as the movie progressed, they slowly drifted closer together without realizing it.
By the time Anakin was saying goodbye to his mother on the scorching sands of Tatooine, the emotional weight in the film had shifted something between them. Draco's head rested lightly against Harry's shoulder, his pale blond hair brushing the fabric of Harry's T-shirt. And Harry didn't move. He didn't flinch or pull away. He simply let it happen.
And it felt... okay.
More than okay.
Harry exhaled quietly, his heart thudding in his chest. He tilted his head just slightly, eyes drifting down to Draco beside him. Something warm fluttered through his chest—something electric and terrifying and real.
Draco felt the gaze almost immediately. He shifted, lifting his head, a soft pink rising in his cheeks. "What?" he asked, trying for casual, but his voice came out quieter than intended.
Harry flushed too, lips parting slightly to respond—but the words never came. Instead, there was a pull, unmistakable and magnetic, drawing them closer before either could second-guess it.
And then... their lips met.
It was soft at first—uncertain, exploratory. Draco's fingers rose to cradle Harry's face, thumbs brushing gently over his cheekbones. Their lips moved together with hesitant tenderness, like they were trying to memorize each other in that moment. A soft moan escaped from Harry, breath hitching as he leaned into it, the kiss deepening with growing certainty.
There was no rush, no urgency—only the quiet hum of the television in the background and the warmth of something new, something fragile, blooming between them.
The kiss deepened slowly, like the quiet turning of a page—measured, deliberate, but full of intensity just beneath the surface. Neither of them rushed. It was as if time had drawn a soft curtain around them, sealing them inside this quiet, suspended moment where only they existed.
Draco's fingers moved tenderly, cradling Harry's face with a reverence that surprised even him. His thumbs grazed lightly along Harry's cheekbones, steadying them both as their lips moved in sync, learning each other. And Harry—his hands slid up instinctively, grasping the sides of Draco's jumper, holding on like he was afraid to let go.
One shift. One breath. That was all it took.
Somehow, Harry found himself on his back, the fleece blanket soft beneath him as the cushions gave way under his weight. Draco was over him, their bodies aligned, supported by the couch, propped up just enough by one of Draco's arms braced near Harry's head. The blonde's other hand had moved to Harry's chest, fingertips resting lightly over the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
Harry's breath caught.
Not from fear. Not from nerves.
But from the sheer weight of emotion in Draco's eyes when he looked down at him.
The silver in them no longer gleamed with sharpness—it shimmered, soft and open. Vulnerable.
"Harry," Draco whispered, like the name itself was something sacred.
Harry reached up slowly, brushing a strand of blond hair behind Draco's ear. His fingers lingered, curling slightly against his jaw before pulling him down again.
Their lips met once more—deeper this time. Slower.
Harry's hands found the fabric at Draco's waist, fingers curling just slightly. It wasn't about pulling him closer—he was already close—it was about anchoring. About needing something real in the middle of all this newness.
The world outside the room didn't exist.
Not the war. Not expectations. Not their pasts.
Just the sound of their breathing, the softness of the blanket beneath them, and the warmth of each other's touch.
Draco drew back only an inch, eyes searching Harry's.
"We can stop—if you want."
Harry's reply came without hesitation, breathless but firm. "No. I don't want to stop."
And with that, Draco kissed him again—slower, more intentional, like memorizing every second of it.
Whatever this was between them, it was no longer something to fear.
It was something unfolding.
Something that might just become... everything.
Downstairs, the storm had settled—for now.
The soft hum of the enchanted fireplace crackled gently in the corner of the sitting room, casting flickering shadows across the elegantly modernized décor of Grimmauld Place. The lighting had been dimmed to a cozy amber hue, and the subtle scent of cinnamon and cedar drifted lazily through the air, released from a wax melt placed discreetly on the mantel—one of many thoughtful additions by the royal house-elves during the summer renovations.
Sirius Black lay sprawled across the deep black velvet sofa, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, the other foot tapping idly in rhythm with the music thumping from the television screen. A bowl of crisps rested against his stomach, half-eaten, and his face bore the most content expression he'd worn in days.
Because on the screen in front of him, the glory that was Hot Fuzz was in full swing.
He grinned like a schoolboy every time Simon Pegg whipped out his badge or Nick Frost mumbled something ridiculous between mouthfuls of ice cream. The action. The absurdity. The perfect combination of chaos and dry humor. It was, without question, his kind of film.
He reached for the remote without looking, cranked the volume slightly, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Honestly," he murmured to himself, lifting a crisp to his mouth, "this is exactly what I needed."
A knock echoed through Grimmauld Place, louder than necessary—sharp, deliberate.
Sirius, curled up on the velvet couch mid-Hot Fuzz, furrowed his brow and reached for the remote. He paused the movie, the screen frozen on a mid-chase moment, and rose with a low grumble.
Before he could reach the front hallway, Seb, the royal butler house-elf, appeared with a blink of magic and a grave expression.
"Lord Black... be careful, sir," Seb warned, his voice steady but alert, standing at his full (albeit small) height.
Sirius blinked down at him, momentarily caught off guard by the concern—but still moved forward, curiosity outweighing caution.
He yanked open the front door.
And froze.
His breath caught, his entire body tensing.
Standing just beyond the threshold, cloaked in sleek black robes and wearing a faintly amused smirk that hadn't changed in decades, was Rodolphus Lestrange.
Very Handsome. Dangerous. Smoldering.
The aristocratic curve of his mouth. The tailored cut of his coat. The grey in his eyes that shimmered like polished metal.
"Puppy," Rodolphus said, his voice a low, velvety rumble that wrapped around Sirius's spine like a dark spell.
Sirius's cheeks flushed instantly, heat rushing to his face. "R-Ro...? What are you—how—?"
But Rodolphus didn't let him finish.
He stepped forward—claimed the threshold with a kind of elegant dominance—and backed Sirius slowly into the foyer. The door closed behind them with a gentle click, and Seb lingered nearby, eyes sharp, ready to defend the Lord of the House from a known Death Eater if it came to it.
But Rodolphus was not here as a threat.
He brought up one gloved hand, cradling Sirius's face—gentle, reverent.
"I'm free, my puppy," he whispered, golden eyes locked with Sirius's. "I'm free of that wench."
And then he kissed him.
Not hurried.
Not hesitant.
But with the gravity of years—of grief, longing, and promise rolled into one breathtaking moment.
Sirius froze.
His fingers instinctively clutched the front of Rodolphus's robes—not pushing away, not pulling closer, simply anchoring. The world tilted slightly, the familiar hallway spinning around the force of Rodolphus's mouth, his presence, his return.
The kiss broke only when Rodolphus eased back, brushing his thumb along Sirius's flushed cheek. His touch was surprisingly soft, full of unspoken emotion.
Sirius stared at him, stunned and breathless, eyes wide and voice lost.
"Ro... you can't be here, it's dangerous..." Sirius whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush between shallow breaths. His hands were still curled into the front of Rodolphus's robes, heart racing beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.
"You're a Death Eater..." he added, voice cracking with a deeper fear now surfacing beneath the heat of the moment. "Seb is a royal house-elf. He serves them, Ro. He can tell the royal family. You'll be—"
His voice caught, trembling at the thought.
"—arrested, or worse..."
For the first time since entering, Rodolphus's smirk faded into something softer. Quieter. He turned slightly to glance down at Seb, who remained at his post just a few feet away. The little house-elf stood perfectly still, arms neatly folded, expression unreadable.
The silence that stretched between them was taut—powerful. Rodolphus didn't move. He didn't raise his wand or posture with arrogance. He simply waited.
Finally, Seb blinked once and drew a slow breath.
"So long as Lord Rodolphus does not cause Lord Sirius, Young Harry, or Young Draco any harm," Seb said formally, voice even but firm, "I am bound by oath and order to observe neutrality. I do not act unless a threat is declared or blood is spilled."
Sirius's eyes widened slightly at the phrasing.
Seb turned his gaze up toward him now, softening only a fraction. "However, if you say the word, Lord Sirius... I will act."
The implication was crystal clear: Seb trusted Sirius's judgment—and the moment Sirius deemed Rodolphus a danger, things would end very differently.
But Sirius didn't speak.
His breath remained shallow, conflicted emotions swirling behind his eyes—fear, ache, hope—and something else he wasn't ready to name yet.
Rodolphus looked back down at him, his storm-gray eyes gentled, and this time when he cupped Sirius's cheek, it was with the quiet reverence of a man who had waited years to be this close again.
"I didn't come here to hurt anyone, Sirius," he murmured. "I came for you."
Upstairs in Harry's room which was locked quickly. Clothes scattered on the floor the movie forgotten.
Then Harry gasped has he pulled down has he was laying down on the bed and Draco hovering over him "Lay on your tummy Harry" Harry flushed and nodded turning over on his tummy.
Draco already hard had taken off his boxers' dig and walked over to Harry who has his head in pillow and a pillow under him. Draco grinned crawling over leaning down and kisses Harry's butt, which made Harry jump from a sudden touch. Draco smiled has he started kissing up to Harry's hips making Harry let out a small moan.
"Draco stop teasing me.." Harry whined with a other moan. Draco chuckled with actual wandless magic he whispered the lube spell on his fingers. Draco grins and moves two fingers lower and Harry squirms spreading his legs and moaned has a two fingers entered his bottom hole.
"Fuck~! " Harry swore and muffled moaning has Draco moved his fingers at a fast pace inside him.
Draco nips the Harry's ass playfully which make his lover let out a startled but excited noise. Lifting his free hand, Draco's hand smacked Harry's butt cheek making Harry gasp a moan. Draco bit his lip seeing the small red mark appearing and doing the other cheek making his partner give out the sweetest sound he was ever heard. Draco kissed the sore spot lightly as he rubs it before pulling his finger out of Harry.
"I..." Harry moaned "Never thought... us doing this..." he confessed.. for the two weeks Draco's been staying at Grimmauld Place with him and Sirius. Harry's been feeling the pull, oh they both have. And Tonight was the night when the pull acted.
"Like that~? Want me in you~?" Draco moaned nuzzles in Harry's neck.
Harry moans "Yes Draco..."
Draco grins and pulls his fingers away making Harry pout then Draco muttered the lube spell and started to coat the lube on his already 7-Inch-thick hard cock that a little curve to it. Has he finished coating himself, he grips Harry's hips and pulled him towards him more making Harry gasp.
Harry says blushing "Come on I'm waiting..."
Draco shook his head "So eager, Harry." Draco said lining up at Harry's entrance and slowly pushed in making Harry right away moan. 'holy shit... he's so huge...!'
"So... tight.. Oh fuck..." Draco moaned softly pushing in slowly.
Harry gasps feeling pain from the large member going into him but there was pleasure it was felt. He arched his back feeling a strong sharp tingle. Draco slides himself to bottom out then rocks against him to see how much pain Harry was in.
"You okay Harry?" Draco asked.
Harry nodded "Mhmm... yes..." he moaned out "D-Draco..."
Draco smirked "Feel good Harry?"
Harry shakes in pleasure as Draco fully pushed into him "Yes... feels.. good.." he moaned. Draco hands trailer from hips to his shoulder holding them slowly rocking in and out of Harry.
Harry moaned clinging on the pillow tighter, Harry was rocking with Draco has Draco rocked into him slowly.
Draco slowly fucked Harry in the mattress making it thud against the wall, the bed creaks from the rocking motion. Sound of skin flapping against skin echoed the room, Draco bites his lip has he started to move harder and faster making Harry moan louder.
"Draco! Faster!" Harry moaned out loud. Draco grinned and did what Harry asked, thrusting faster in Harry making Harry Shakely moaned
"Yess! More... more! Draco fuck me more..!" Harry loudly moaned out has he diged his fingers more into the pillow. Draco bites his lip, Hary had just spoke in parselmouth. He had no idea what he said "Fuck.. Harry you just moaned in parselmouth..."
"I did?! Oh fuck!" Harry shouted more in English this time. Draco moaned back and gave a hard and powerful slam of his cock, his cock is buried deep into the wizard making his poor prostate abused.
Harry screams cumming white lines on the pillow and some on the bed.
"H-Harry..." Draco moans thrusting faster as his hips meet Harry's ass. With his cock throbbing, he let's go a loud moan and with a hard thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room with their moans.
Draco pulled out and changed their positions, Harry was on his back arching his back up when Draco reentered into Harry hard making him moan out loudly. Draco gripped Harry's hips tight groaning with pleasure had he thrust is his lover per second hard and fast. "Draco! Make me yours!" Harry moaned.
"Oh god you feel so good Harry..." Draco felt so good doing this to Harry felt so right and good, he moaned aloud 'oh god I wanted to fuck him so bad and know I'm!' He kept thrusting in Harry fast making him moan repeatedly, he can feel Harry tighten around him "Draco... I gonna cum..." Harry was shaking he was close.
Draco bite his lip leaning down kissing Harry with a passionate kiss tangling their tongues tighter has Draco trust into him in fast and even harder than before.
When Draco shifted his angle Harry's eyes widen 'oh my god I think he's in my...' Harry moaned out so loud he came all over him and Draco's stomach moaning Draco's name "Draco!"
Draco felt himself ready to cum, he groaned deeply "Harry! Harry! I'm gonna cum!" Harry's eyes rolled back and moaned "Yes.. in me!" Draco did one last super hard thrust cumming deep into Harry making Harry shiver "Yesss... deeeeep in me... oh Draco.." Harry had slipped into Parselmouth. Draco panting, he fell on top of Harry, both boys were sweating and panting. Draco rolled off Harry lying next to him.
Harry scooted over and cuddling on Draco's side "that was amazing..." Harry breathed out.
Draco smiled "yeah it was amazing" he wrapped his arm around Harry "You're mine know Harry"
Harry humming "I'm so yours..."
Draco could hear soft breathing; he looked up at him 'he's sleeping' He leaned up tucking Harry in the blanket only to join after and he end up falling asleep holding Harry in his arms.